Chapter 48 Sawyer
FORTY-EIGHT
Sawyer
When I was a kid, I used to lie awake at night replaying this exact moment in my head like a movie.
Super Bowl. Packed stadium. National anthem playing.
Me on the field, wearing some random number that felt impossibly cool at the time.
I didn’t know what team I’d be on or what city I’d represent; I just knew I wanted to be there one day.
Back then, it was simple. Win the game, make people proud. Easy-peasy.
Now, it was loud, bright, blindingly massive, and somehow still not the thing I was thinking about.
The second the anthem started, I looked up at the suite where Ellie was supposed to be. Everything else, every cheer, every flashing light, every ounce of childhood wonder I’d stored up for this day, went quiet.
She wasn’t there. My family was; I spotted them instantly. Everyone except Colt, who couldn’t get the time off a case to come. They were all up there to support me, but Ellie’s absence left a hole in my stomach.
Was she late? Stuck somewhere? Had she just…decided not to come?
I didn’t know, and I didn’t have time to spiral, not with the whole damn world watching.
I turned back to the field, helmet in hand, heart nowhere it was supposed to be, and told myself the same thing I’d said a thousand times since I started playing this game.
Show up. Play hard. Don’t screw it up.
The other team won the coin toss. I was grateful for those extra minutes before our offense took the field. I needed a moment to clear my head and remind myself why I was here: to play the game, not to think about anything else.
Even as I focused on the field, my mind kept drifting.
Bronx was out there like a damn tank, holding the line.
The other team wasn’t making it easy. Every time they pushed forward, they came that much closer to breaking through.
A couple of quick passes slipped past our defense, but we got it back.
Turnover after turnover, the tension in the stadium was intense.
When it was finally my turn to take the field, I tried to slip into the zone. Coach’s voice echoed in my head—the plays, the assignments, every muscle memory I’d drilled in over the years. I knew what to do. I was ready.
But West wasn’t himself, and I wasn’t either. The first few throws were rough: balls too wide, too far, pockets collapsing faster than usual. You could see the frustration building in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders.
We fought our way down, grinding inch by inch, and finally got close enough for the field goal. Three points. Not enough, but points, nonetheless.
Back on the sidelines, I kept stealing glances toward the suite. My family was loud and alive, but there was still no Ellie.
It felt off, but I didn’t have my phone. I had no way to check if she’d tried to reach me, so I shoved the worry down deep. No distractions, not now.
The next quarter moved in a haze of hits and blocks, every yard a battle. I was on autopilot on the field, blocking, pushing, protecting West as best I could. The scoreboard flicked back and forth, neither side pulling far ahead.
When halftime came, the three-point deficit felt heavier than the numbers said. Once we were back in the locker room, it felt so much different than being behind at halftime during any other game. It was silent except for heavy breaths and the low murmur of the guys trying to regroup.
West ran a hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath.
Bronx came up beside him, steady as ever. “You good?”
“Yeah.” West sighed. “I just can’t seem to get a clean pass. Feels like I’m throwing bricks out there.”
“We’re only down three,” I said. “There’s time.”
Music from the halftime show seeped in through the walls.
Bronx looked over at me next. “You okay? You’re playing well, but you seem…off.”
I shook my head. “All good.”
He didn’t buy it, narrowing his eyes like he could see right through me. “Sure?”
I nodded, even though I definitely wasn’t sure.
“Ellie here?” West finally asked.
“No. Not that I’ve seen.”
Bronx frowned. “What? Why not?”
“I thought she’d be in the box with my family. She’s not.”
“Have you called her?” West asked.
“Haven’t had my phone.”
“Well, go get it,” Bronx said. “Call her.”
“I don’t want to get distracted.”
“Dude, just check your phone.” Bronx scoffed.
I sighed, grabbed my phone from my locker, and stared at the screen—no missed calls, no messages. I tapped her name and called.
Straight to voicemail.
“Guess she decided not to come,” I said, hanging up.
“Shit, man,” West said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool. I’ll talk to her later.”
“Listen up.” Coach’s voice rang out, and all heads snapped to him.
“We worked damn hard to get here. This is the biggest stage there is, but nobody’s handing out rings for luck or half assed effort.
We don’t take home that ring by making bad passes, missing assignments, or giving up free yards on defense.
West, you’ve gotta keep your head in the game, make the smart plays—the ones we’ve practiced a thousand times.
Defense, tighten up. Stop giving them room to breathe.
We’re down by three, but that means nothing if we don’t come out and own the second half.
Every play matters. We’re gonna win this game because we want it more than they do.
So, get your heads right. Let’s finish this. ”
I nodded along as Coach spoke, every word hitting hard. No bullshit. No room for doubt.
West let out a breath, and I caught his glance, giving him a quick nod—a silent promise I’d have his back.
My hands clenched at my sides. The noise from the stadium seeped through the walls, a reminder that the whole world was watching.
No mistakes. Every play counted. I took a deep breath and shook off the knot tightening in my gut. This wasn’t just another game. This was it.
I was ready.
We took the field to start the second half. Coach’s speech was still in my head, keeping me steady. The stadium felt louder.
I glanced at the suite again before we lined up, just to be sure.
Still no Ellie.
West called the play—three receivers to the right, no one in the backfield, a clear pass play meant to open things up and get us going.
The snap came fast. I stepped into the defender, got my hands under his pads, and held the pocket.
West threw a clean pass, and we gained fifteen yards. First down.
We were moving.
The next few plays were a battle. We fought for every yard, doing whatever it took to keep the ball moving. No flashy plays, just hard work. By the end of the third quarter, we’d managed to tie the game.
The fourth quarter started, and just like that, they were ahead again. They got the ball back and ran it all the way to our twenty-yard line, kicking another field goal.
West slammed his helmet onto the bench. “We can’t keep trading threes.”
“No one’s trying to,” Bronx said, already standing.
Coach pulled us in. “You know what works. Clean football. You stay focused, you stay smart, you win.”
On the next offensive play, West fired a perfect pass—forty yards downfield to our wide receiver. The guy caught it right on the sideline, stayed in bounds, and we scored. Touchdown.
We were up by four.
I looked up, and there was still no Ellie.
Cameras swept the stands. Celebrities, families, random crowd shots. No sign of her. No big-screen moment. Nothing.
I couldn’t let my mind dwell on it.
The other team got the ball with four minutes left. They threw a couple of long passes; one was almost intercepted, but they continued to move the ball down close to our end zone. On third down with six yards to go, their quarterback ran for the first down himself.
West was pacing. “Come on,” he muttered. “One stop. Just one.”
They lined up like it was a run then faked it. Quarterback rolled right, but our linebacker read him and came running.
We sacked their quarterback on third down. Now, it was fourth and thirteen. They had no choice but to go for it. The ball snapped, the quarterback scrambled, looking for an open man, but threw it too low.
Incomplete pass.
The crowd went wild. West threw his arms around one of the coaches, nearly knocking over the water table. Everyone was yelling and celebrating, but I couldn’t stop glancing at the suite.
Still empty.
One-twenty left on the clock. They had timeouts. We had the ball. The defense made a huge stop, and now, it was on us.
Coach grabbed West’s shoulder. “Finish it. Ball security. Kill the clock. Win the damn thing.”
We jogged onto the field. I was locked in and ready.
First down—the running back hit the gap for four yards. Nice and steady.
Second down—same play. He spun through the tackle and kept the chains moving. First down.
Timeout.
I took a deep breath. Less than a minute to pull this off.
West wiped the sweat off his face and looked over to me. “We got this.”
We ran down the clock with smart plays and quick throws. West kept his cool, and I kept anyone from crashing the pocket. When it came down to the last play, he found the guy in the end zone like it was nothing.
Touchdown. Game over.
Super Bowl champions.
Confetti fell like it was snowing fucking paper. Bronx ran from the sidelines and launched himself at West. Reporters swarmed. Someone shoved a Gatorade jug. I hugged whoever was closest and let it hit me.
And still, I looked.
After a few minutes, people flooded the field. I saw Dotty first, pushing her way forward like a linebacker. Trent followed behind her, holding Gracie’s hand, trying not to get trampled. My dad shouted my name.
“You did it!” Dotty grabbed my helmet and hugged me hard.
“Where’s Ellie?” I asked.
She pulled back, frowning. “She didn’t show.”
Trent caught up. “Congrats, man!”
“Uncle Sawyer!” Gracie said, hugging my legs.
I took off my helmet and picked her up.
“You did it! You won!”
“I did, didn’t I?” I said. “Hey, can you…call Ellie? See if she’s okay?”
“Maybe something came up?” Dotty said.
“Congrats, son,” my dad said, patting my back. “Proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I smiled. “Noah and Dorian still up there?”
“Yeah, hard to make it down here with one working leg.” He chuckled. “He said he’d congratulate you after.”
I set Gracie down as Bronx came barreling toward me, yelling something in my ear about rings and glory and maybe immortality, I couldn’t tell. West was already mid-interview, gesturing like a cartoon character, helmet swinging from his hand.
A reporter shoved a mic at my chest. “Sawyer James—how does it feel?”
I blinked. “Uh…incredible. Really proud of the guys. Team effort.”
Did I sound like a coach? That felt coach-y. Whatever. I smiled for the camera. Gave a couple of high fives. Took a photo with my family. Gave another quote that made no sense. Someone sprayed champagne in the air, and I accidentally caught it with my eyeball.
It was chaos. Beautiful, loud, head-spinning chaos. Everything I’d dreamed this would be.
Except something was missing.
No matter how many people were on the field, I couldn’t stop looking for one face. Just one. I scanned the sidelines, the tunnel, the stands. Nothing. No flash of Ellie’s hair, no goofy smile. Not even a grainy jumbotron shot.
If she’d made it, I would’ve known. Someone would’ve seen her. I wouldn’t still be searching.
Bronx was the first to notice the shift.
“Everything okay?” He dragged a towel across the back of his neck, breathing as if he’d arm-wrestled a god.
“Yeah. Yeah, totally. Just…gimme a sec.” I turned to walk off casually, like I wasn’t about to spiral.
“Wait—what for?” Bronx called after me.
“I just wanna check something.”
West jogged over, half-laughing, still soaked in Gatorade. “Dude, we just won the Super Bowl. Are you seriously gonna be the guy who checks his texts during the celebration?”
“I need to check on Ellie. I think something’s wrong.”
I really fucking hoped I was wrong.
Bronx stepped in front of me, blocking my path like he was a damn security gate. “James.”
“I need to check.”
He sighed. “Alright, fine. But if you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m telling the media you sobbed and tried to call your dog.”
“Joke’s on you,” I muttered, already moving. “I don’t have a dog.”
The tunnel was quiet, dim, and cold in a way the field wasn’t. There was just the thud of my cleats on concrete and the leftover smell of adrenaline and victory. I passed a couple of staffers cleaning up, nodded once, and didn’t stop.
The locker room was mostly empty. A few trainers spoke in low voices. Equipment was getting packed up. But it was like a different world in here. No music. No celebration. Just me and the nagging, itchy feeling in my chest.
I grabbed my phone from my locker and flipped it over.
Four missed calls.
All from Rachel.
Shit.
I tapped Ellie’s name first, but it went straight to voicemail. Then, I called Rachel, walking toward the far end of the room, where I could hopefully hear myself fucking think.
She answered on the first ring. “Sawyer?”
Something was off. Her voice was tight. Clipped. Not panicked, but close.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Where’s Ellie?”
She hesitated. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“What?”
“I thought it was weird. Usually, they show her on the screen, but I’ve been watching since kickoff and...nothing. Not even once. I figured maybe she was late or didn’t want the attention, but I kept checking. And—”
“She’s not here,” I said. “She never made it.”
There was a beat of silence.
“She texted me,” Rachel said. “Right when she left her place. Said she was on her way.”
“She was coming? I thought maybe she changed her mind.”
“Of course she was coming.”
“Rachel…” My voice dropped. “She didn’t come. I don’t know what happened, but she’s not here.”
“…she never made it.”