shuhaige
Chapter 50
My heart pounds as we take what will most likely be the final possession of the game. We’re down by three. All we need is a field goal to tie it, but I don’t want to tie. I want to end the game and win the Super Bowl.
I look around at the men standing in the huddle, all staring at me, waiting for me to make the call. They’re tired—I can see it in their faces and by the way all of them gasp for air. The Portland Pirates had only been on the field for two minutes when they managed to get up by three points. We hadn’t had much of a break, but a break won’t be needed if we can just do one final drive and have the fairy-tale ending to our fairy-tale season.
I meet the eyes of the guys, suddenly feeling choked up about this possibly being the last drive of my football career. I want it to mean something, for us to go out on top as a team. Leaning forward, I make sure to yell so all of the men looking to me for guidance can hear me. “This game with all of you has been some of the best football I’ve seen in my life. It’s been an honor to play these last four quarters with you, and I know we’re tired, but we’ve got one more drive left. No one will be able to discredit the amazing things we’ve done this season if we just run down and score a touchdown.”
The guys clap, nodding their heads and getting fired up. Their excitement has me moving forward with my speech. “They think we’re going to run the ball to eat some of the clock, but we won’t do that. Not yet. I’m going to throw it and make them wish they’d paid more attention to our game plan.”Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.
Everyone nods as I look over the play on my wrist. It’s risky and could backfire on us. Their defense is the best we’ve played this year, so it won’t be easy, but I’m ready for the challenge, and I know the group of guys around me are too. “One more fucking drive and the championship is ours.” I swallow, suddenly feeling emotional knowing what I want to say next. “These will be the last plays of my career. I want to make them fucking count. We’re going to win it.”
“We’ll win it for you,” one of my receivers chimes in, hitting his chest to get even more hyped.
I smile, reaching across the circle and tapping his helmet. “We’re going to win it for us. For our coaches. For the fans. Let’s fucking go.” The last part is yelled as I jump up and down. My muscles protest. They’re tired and already ache. I’ve been beaten up on the field today, but all of that won’t matter in the three minutes we have left of the game.
Everyone runs out to the line of scrimmage. I follow suit, my eyes traveling to the large jumbotron above our heads. It shows the suite I rented out for my family. It’s crowded in there, making it hard to make out who’s in there.
I know I see Peyton sitting front and center, her eyes glued to the field. Behind her, I swear I see a flash of blonde hair I’d recognize anywhere talking to Gram. I rip my eyes away, knowing it’s my head playing tricks on me. No matter how badly I want Emma to be here for this moment, she isn’t here, and that’s okay. All that matters is the next three minutes of gameplay. After that, I can think about Emma all I want, but until then, I owe it to the men around me to stay focused.
I take my place behind my center. We both get into position, and just by the way the Pirates’ defense is lined up across from us, they definitely think we’re going to run the ball.
I smile, leaning forward and stomping my foot. “White eighty!” I yell, telling him I’m ready for the snap.
The next three minutes play out in a blur. It’s the most perfect football that not only I’ve ever played, but the rest of my team as well. We work the clock perfectly until only four yards stand between us and winning the Super Bowl. It’s fourth and goal, and the smart decision would be for us to kick a field goal to tie the game, but we opted out of that. We’re not going into overtime. We’ve played great football up until this down, and we’re going to win it with this one.
This defense is on to us. They know I’ve been throwing lights out and hitting every single one of my targets. We only started running the ball at the end so we didn’t give them the opportunity to get the ball back if we did score a touchdown.
Everything around me slows down as my center snaps the ball beautifully, making it land right between my palms. I pretend to hand the ball off to my running back, trying to fake them out.
It works. They chase him while one of my other receivers gets double-teamed by two of their linemen. It leaves the perfect opening for me. Tucking the ball into my chest, I take off running toward the open goal line. One of the linemen notices me, and he starts running full speed right at me. My muscles protest as I try to beat him to the paint.
Knowing this is the last play I’ll ever do in the league, I give it my all, no longer caring about what injury I could sustain from it. I leap, trying to go right over the lineman already coming at me at full force.
I can’t hear anything as I soar over the goal line, the ball securely tucked into my chest. My shoulder hits the ground—hard—the same moment the full force of the lineman’s weight falls onto me.
I wince, pain ricocheting through my body. I try to look to make sure I made it over the goal line, but I can’t see anything. I hit my head on the way down, and things are fuzzy.
The only way I know we won is when my guys come rushing to me, pulling the lineman off me with the biggest smiles on their faces. I stay on the ground, trying to catch my breath from the run. I’m not a quarterback known for running or putting my body on the line, but I was willing to do anything to get this win.
“What a fucking play!” someone yells. I don’t even know who it is. All I know is one moment I’m lying on the ground, and the next, I’m being lifted up by my teammates.
“Did we win?” I ask, looking around to see the reactions from others. The Pirates have already left the field as black and red confetti falls from the sky.
I don’t need anyone to answer me. Suddenly, body after body is pulling me into a hug. Grown men around me fall to their knees and cry as I make my way across the field, completely stunned that we not only won but I’ll never play another snap of football again.
My teammates hug me as family members and staff begin to rush the field. Cameras are in my face as different reporters try to get my reaction to winning. Someone hands me a Super Bowl hat, and I place it on my head, knowing going out on the very top is all I wanted.
I know people interview me about the win, but I have no idea what I tell them. I kind of black out, happiness completely overwhelming me. My eyes scan all of the bodies on the field, trying to look for my own family as players lift their kids in the air and embrace their loved ones around me.
And that’s when I see her, my girl, rushing toward me in a small black skirt and wearing my jersey. I have to blink, wondering if seeing everyone else with their loved ones has me hallucinating. But something deep inside me knows the truth.
She’s here. She’s back. She’s mine.