Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Titan
By the time I arrived at Kinetiq’s headquarters, most of the people attending the meeting were already there.
Grid Iron was finally ready.
For the better part of the year, the project had only lived in conversations, meetings, product reviews, and marketing presentations.
Every few weeks, somebody had another adjustment, another idea, or another reason to sit me in a room and ask for my opinion.
Seeing everything finally come together made it feel different…
made it feel real, like all the planning had finally turned into something tangible.
The meeting was already underway by the time the conversation shifted toward the final campaign materials.
One of the creative directors stood near the screen walking everyone through the assets scheduled for release after the season.
As images appeared across the screen, she explained the strategy behind each phase of the campaign, occasionally stopping when somebody at the table wanted clarification or had a question.
“I know we’ve reviewed these individually,” she said, advancing to the next slide, “but this is the first time we’re looking at everything together in its final form.”
The entire room studied the presentation while she continued speaking.
“Our goal from the beginning was to make sure the brand felt larger than sports. We wanted discipline, consistency, preparation, and performance to resonate whether someone played football or not.”
I nodded.
Grid Iron wasn’t something we were building anymore… it was built… my legacy.
Everything wrapped up pretty quickly, and I was glad because I hated this part of the business.
By the time I got home, Tink was upstairs in the nursery.
I found her in front of the dresser with baby clothes spread around her like she had opened a boutique in the middle of the room.
Some still had tags on them… some were folded…
while some looked like they had been sorted into piles.
I stood there for a second, watching her move through it all and admiring the woman who was carrying my child.
“You think she got enough clothes by now?” I walked behind her and circled her waist and kissed her neck. “She won’t be able to wear half this shit, Tink.”
“Yes, she will. You’re just being a hater already,” she joked, causing me to laugh.
“Man, watch out. The fuck I’m gone hate for when she’s mine?”
Cadence must’ve noticed I’d gotten quiet because she reached over and took the outfit from my hand, folding it with the rest of the clothes before looking up at me. “You good?”
I nodded, but my eyes stayed on the room. “Yeah… just thinking,” I responded.
“About what?”
“Everything,” I responded as I looked around the room.
She didn’t press me for more, and I appreciated that. She just moved closer, slid her arms around my waist, and rested against me while I wrapped mine around her.
For a while, we stood there like that in the middle of a room that wasn’t finished yet but already felt like it belonged to our daughter.
A year ago, I thought my life was full because football kept it busy.
Now I was standing in a nursery with my fiancée in my arms, a baby girl on the way, and a future that looked nothing like what I planned.
Somehow, it looked better.
***
“Titan Samuels has been outstanding tonight,” one of the commentators said as the camera found me on the sideline. “Seven receptions. One hundred twenty-three yards. A touchdown. He’s been the difference-maker every time the Cannons offense needed a spark.”
“And what’s impressive is how he’s doing it,” his partner added. “They’re moving him all over the formation. Outside. Slot. Motion. The defense knows where the ball is going, and they still haven’t consistently found an answer.”
The defense forced a three-and-out a few plays later, and the stadium erupted as our offense started jogging back onto the field.
Tatum stepped into the huddle and immediately started calling the play while everybody else crowded around him.
“Let’s go finish this shit,” he called out as he slapped his hands together.
The huddle broke with everybody moving like they understood exactly what was sitting in front of us.
Nobody needed to say it. By the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl, every man on that field knew what one possession could do.
Tatum walked to the line with that same calm look he always carried, calling out protection while the defense shifted across from us.
I moved into position, eyes scanning the corner in front of me, the safety creeping just far enough inside to tell me they were still worried about me breaking loose.
“Third and manageable here for Cannon Hills,” the commentator said over the broadcast. “This is exactly where Miles Tatum has trusted Titan Samuels all night. Seven receptions, one hundred twenty-three yards, and a touchdown. If they need a play, seventeen has been the answer.”
Tatum took the snap and looked right long enough to pull the safety one step farther than he wanted to go.
That was all I needed. I pushed vertical, then snapped my route inside before the corner could recover.
The ball was already coming by the time I turned my head.
I caught it clean, tucked it, and took the hit across my ribs as two defenders dragged me down past the sticks.
“First down, Cannons. And once again, it’s Titan Samuels keeping the drive alive,” the commentator said as the replay flashed across the screen. “That’s his eighth reception of the night, and he’s closing in on one hundred and fifty yards in the biggest game of the season.”
I got up with one of their defenders still talking shit under his breath.
Whatever he said wasn’t important enough for me to respond, so I tossed the ball to the official and headed back to the huddle.
Tatum met me there with a look that said he already knew what I was thinking.
We were close now. Close enough that the defense had to decide whether they wanted to keep playing cautious or finally take a chance.
“They’re cheating inside,” I told him as the rest of the offense closed in around us.
“I saw that shit,” Tatum confirmed.
“Then stop looking at the shit and throw the fucking ball,” I snapped.
Tatum didn’t like that shit and I knew it, but right now I didn’t give a fuck about that.
We had a game on the line. He just repeated the play call and sent us back to the line.
That was why I trusted him. He didn’t need to get loud.
Didn’t need to sell confidence. He had it, and in a moment like that, it mattered.
The defense shifted again before the snap.
Same look, different disguise. They wanted me to think the help was outside, but the safety was leaning too heavily toward the hash, and the corner was playing like he expected me to break short.
I stared straight ahead and said nothing.
Tatum changed the protection, clapped once, and the ball snapped into his hands.
I released hard off the line, selling the route underneath just long enough for the corner to bite.
The second he did, I turned upfield and left him reaching at air.
The safety tried to close, but he was late just like I said he would be.
The ball dropped over my shoulder before he could get there, and once it hit my hands, there wasn’t anything left for anybody to do but watch me finish this shit.
“SAMUELS HAS IT! TITAN SAMUELS DOWN THE SIDELINE!” the commentator shouted as the crowd rose with every step I took. “HE’S INSIDE THE TEN—TOUCHDOWN, CANNON HILLS! HIS SECOND OF THE NIGHT!”
The stadium lost its mind before I even crossed the goal line.
I slowed just enough after the score to turn back toward Tatum, pointing at him while he jogged toward me.
The rest of the offense hit us a second later, hands slapping my helmet and shoulders while the crowd roared around us.
The broadcast kept rolling while I made my way back to the sidelines.
“What a performance from Titan Samuels,” the commentator said as the replay showed the route from three different angles.
“Eight catches, one hundred forty-six yards, and two touchdowns. Coming off the injury, coming back late in the postseason, and now doing this on Super Bowl Sunday? That is why he’s one of the best in the league. ”
I pulled my helmet off once I reached the bench and took the water somebody handed me. My body felt every hit of the night, but none of it mattered. Across the field, the defense was already getting set for the next possession, and all I could do was stand there with the rest of the offense.
The final minutes didn’t move like regular minutes. They made to stretch it out as long as they could.
“This is the game right here,” the commentator said, voice rising with the noise in the stadium. “Cannon Hills trying to close out a Super Bowl championship. One final play left for the offense on the other side.”
The ball snapped. Their quarterback dropped back, then launched it downfield into a crowd of bodies. For a second, nobody moved. When it finally came down and hit the turf, the sound that came out of our sideline echoed through the entire arena.
The Cannons were Super Bowl champions.
Everything after that happened fast and slow at the same time. Gold confetti started falling from above, covering the field while cameras rushed toward the middle of it.
When the announcer called me the Super Bowl MVP, the stadium erupted all over again.
Nine receptions. One hundred and forty-six yards.
Two touchdowns. The numbers sounded good coming through the speakers but standing there with confetti sticking to my jersey and the trophy being placed in my hands, I wasn’t thinking about numbers… I was looking for Tink.