Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
We boarded the flight to Houston on December thirtieth with clear eyes, steadfast and ready.
On New Year’s Eve, when we made our way onto the freshly painted field for warmups, we all buzzed with an uncontrollable energy.
This was it. This was our moment.
This was what we’d fought for all season long.
We were one win away from the championship game, two wins away from taking home the title. We’d come too far to let anyone take what was ours now, and I ran over my speech in my mind as we finished our warmups and jogged toward the locker room for pre-game.
Julep stepped in front of me before I made it to the tunnel.
I slowed my pace, stopping a few feet from where she stood. My stomach tightened, chest aching at the sight of her. She looked as strung out as I felt, and yet somehow more beautiful than I’d ever seen her before. The setting sun cast her in a warm golden glow, one that sparked her brown eyes to life.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if she wanted me to speak at all. So, I just stood there, helmet in hand, wishing I could reach for her, and using all my strength in that moment not to.
For a long moment, she just stared at me, her eyes flicking between mine as she held her chin high. Then, she took one minuscule step toward me, sucking all the air out of the stadium when she did.
“Good morning. I’m still here, too. Every breath burns without you,” she said, her voice wavering a bit.
My throat tightened with pain, even as relief washed over me.
She was answering my texts.
“I haven’t given up on us. You’re crazy if you think I’ve looked anything close to beautiful in this mess of a state I’ve been in. I do trust you.” She paused, smiling, and then whispered. “Merry Christmas.”
A breath of a laugh left my nose.
“This is your win,” she finished, letting those words hang heavy between us. “Go fucking get ’em, Cap.”
And then she jogged through the tunnel with my heart in her hands.
Julep
“GO! GO! GO!”
I screamed along with the rest of the team as Leo zoomed down the field, the ball tucked into his side as he weaved through the defenders aiming to take him down. He was an animal and ran for nearly forty yards before he was finally dragged to the ground.
The crowd roared, and my heart was in my throat as I looked up at the time on the clock and the score shining back at me.
We were down by four with only twenty seconds left, and not a single timeout.
I thought my dad was going to chew his fingers off as he watched Holden and the rest of our offense scramble back to the line. Leo hadn’t gotten out of bounds, so the clock was still running. As soon as they were lined up, the ball was snapped, and Holden spiked it down to the ground.
The whistle blew, the clock stopped, and now we had thirteen seconds.
“I can’t fucking breathe,” Riley said, her hands clasped on top of her head as she paced next to me.
I felt the same way, but I stayed quiet, focusing on Holden.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered under my breath.
He huddled up the offense, talking through the route he had on his forearm play holder. He clapped, and they all hustled back to the line.
We were up against what the nation saw as the best team — the Central Louisiana University Beavers. And although the crowd was split about fifty-fifty, it sounded as if the whole stadium was a CLU fan as they roared for defense to hold us.
The ball was snapped, and it had no sooner landed in Holden’s hands before he had it sailing toward the left corner of the end zone where Kyle was waiting. But it was tipped, and it bobbled precariously in the air, almost snagged by a safety before it mercifully flew out of bounds.
Six seconds left.
“Fuck,” Zeke cursed under his steepled fingers where he stood next to me.
Clay shouted from beside him, “Come on, boys! Let’s fucking go!”
My stomach turned violently as I watched Holden through the huddle. He had black smeared under his eyes, sweat dripping off his nose, his green eyes severe through the metal slats of his helmet. He called what would likely be our last play, and then they all clapped and got back on the line.
We were only a few yards from the touchdown. Everyone expected us to run it now. It just made sense. But when the ball was snapped, our receivers zigged and zagged and tried to get open in the end zone.
Holden retreated deep in the pocket, eyes scanning, right arm locked back and ready to throw.