Page 72 of The Purest Fake

As we break and head toward the tunnel, I breathe deeply and slowly. I have to restrain myself. There’s a fine balance between being fired up and being too excited.

The roar of our fans hits us as we run onto the field. Even though this is an away game, there’s a surprising number of Silverback supporters decked out in their red and black gear. The energy is electric, and it’s like a shot of adrenaline.

The first quarter is intense, with both teams trading possessions without scoring. Halfway through the second quarter, we’re successfully marching down the field when I see an opening. Breaking away from my defender, I sprint as fast as I can toward the end zone. Rogan launches a perfect spiral. I track the ball as it arcs through the air, my focus locked on it like a hawk to its prey. My fingertips barely make contact with the pigskin before I grasp it tightly and tuck it against my chest to prevent any chance of fumbling or it getting punched loose. The stadium erupts as I race into the end zone. Reveling in the cheers from the Silverback fans is the greatest feeling in the world. Although Scarlett touching my cock comes in a close second. Speaking of… I promised her a better end zone dance. I do an exaggerated version of the robot, slowly moving my arms in angular motions and then I channel Michael Jackson, spinning around before I look at the nearest camera, tap my fist over my heart, and point. The crowd goes wild, cheering. My teammates laugh as they congratulate me.

As I jog back to the sidelines, Rogan slaps me on the helmet. “Nice catch, Cooper, but what the hell was that dance?”

I grin. “Just keeping a promise.”

Halftime is spent rehydrating and eating a few slices of an orange and a peanut butter sandwich. Coach goes over a few things with us, mentioning what we need to do better going forward. As usual, it feels as though we just got off the field when it’s already time to return. I take a few more sips of water, grabmy helmet, and rise. I roll my left shoulder and hide the wince before it can show on my face. During the first quarter, I landed on it wrong and it’s still tender. But it’s not enough to stop me from playing out the rest of this game.

We return to the field and the second half starts off strong for us. Our offense finds its rhythm and the energy from our fans pumps us up, feeding into our momentum.

On a crucial third down, Rogan calls an audible at the line. I recognize the play instantly—it’s

one we’ve been practicing all week. When the ball is snapped, I take off down the field, my defender hot on my heels. I cut sharply to the left, creating just enough separation.

Rogan’s pass spirals perfectly toward me. I stretch my arms out, my fingers grasping the ball securely as I pull it in. But I land hard on my sore shoulder. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I remind myself I got the first down, and that’s what matters.

As I jog back to the huddle, I subtly rotate my shoulder, trying to work out some of the stiffness. Rogan gives me a questioning look, and I shake my head slightly, letting him know I’m fine. We can’t afford for me to come out now; we’re too close to scoring again.

The next play is a run, giving me a brief respite. I use the moment to take a few deep breaths, pushing the pain to the back of my mind. When we line up for the next down, I’m laser-focused once more.

Rogan calls another pass play, this time with me as the primary target. As soon as the ball is snapped, I burst off the line, juking past my defender. I see the ball sailing toward me and I leap, stretching out as far as I can. My fingertips barely graze the ball, but it’s enough to secure the catch.

I come down hard, landing just inside the end zone. The roar of the crowd is deafening as I pop up, holding the ball high. My teammates rush over, slapping my helmet and shoutingcongratulations. The pain in my shoulder is momentarily forgotten with the rush of adrenaline and excitement.

As I jog back to the sideline, Coach gives me an approving nod. “Great catch, Cooper. How’s that shoulder feeling?”

I’m surprised he noticed, but I shouldn’t be. Coach doesn’t miss much. “It’s a little sore, but I’m good to go,” I assure him. He studies me for a moment, then nods. “I’m trusting you to let me know if it gets any worse.”

“I will,” I say, but it’s a lie. There’s no way I’m going to leave this game early, no matter how much pain I’m in. This win carries too much weight toward our season’s momentum.

The rest of the game is a battle. Our defense holds strong, but our opponents manage to score twice more, keeping the game close.Too fucking close.Every play feels crucial, and the tension on the field is palpable. As the clock winds down in the fourth quarter, we’re clinging to a three-point lead from a field goal. The other team has the ball and is driving down the field. My shoulder is throbbing, but I push the pain aside, focusing on the game.

Our defense makes a pivotal stop on third down, forcing them to attempt a long field goal. The stadium falls silent as their kicker lines up. The snap is good, the hold is clean, and the kick is up... It sails wide left.

The crowd goes wild, cheers from our fans mixed in with disappointed shouts from the home crew, as we take over possession. There’s just over a minute left on the clock. All we need to do is run out the time to secure the win.

Rogan calls a run play, keeping the ball on the ground, while the clock ticks down. I line up wide, prepared to block if needed. The ball is snapped and our running back takes the handoff, plowing forward for a short gain. The opposing team immediately calls a timeout.

As we huddle up, Rogan looks at each of us intently. “One more first down and this game is ours. Let’s finish strong.”

We nod in agreement, determination etched on every face. The next play is another run, but this time the defense is ready for it. Our back is tackled for a loss, forcing us into a third and long situation.

In the huddle, Rogan turns to me. “Cooper, how’s that shoulder? Can you give me one more big play?”

I nod without hesitation. “I’m good. Let’s do this.”

Rogan calls a pass play, with me running a deep route, to try and seal the game. As we break the huddle, I can feel the weight of the moment. This play could be the difference between a win and a loss.

I line up wide, my defender playing tight coverage. At the snap, I explode off the line, pushing myself to run faster than I have all game. My shoulder screams in protest, but I ignore it, focusing solely on creating separation.

I see Rogan looking my way as I cut toward the sideline. He launches the ball just as I make my break. Time seems to slow down as the ball arcs through the air. I track it, pushing myself to reach it.

My defender is right there with me, his hand reaching out to deflect the pass. In a burst of desperation, I leap, extending my body to its limit. My fingers touch the ball first, and I manage to secure it against my body as I crash to the turf. The impact sends a jolt of pain through my injured shoulder, but I hold on tight, doing my best to keep control of the ball. The roar of the crowd tells me I’ve made the catch before I even look up to see the referee signaling a completion. First down. Game over.

My teammates rush over to help me up and celebrate. The pain in my shoulder is almost unbearable now, but the thrill of victory overshadows it. We’ve secured the win and gotten our season back on track.

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