Page 33 of Remember Me

“In your dreams,” I called after him as he jogged toward his huddle, his gait unaltered by the hit. He was a tough son of a bitch, I had to give him that.

Dean was the first to reach me, smacking me on the back hard enough to make my helmet jolt forward. “Damn, big man still got it!”

I scoffed, adjusting my chin strap, feeling the adrenaline still surging through my system. “You doubted me?”

“Nah,” Dean said, still grinning, his eyes wild with the high of a good defensive stand. “Just making sure you remember how to put a man on his ass.”

I smirked, my pulse still hammering against my throat. “Anytime, anywhere. Now let's go get him again.”

The huddle broke with sharp slaps and grunts of encouragement, the offensive line getting back into position across from us. I crouched down, and pressed my fingers into the turf, my muscles coiled and ready.

But my mind flicked, for just a second, to Reign.

I knew she was up in the suite, watching. Probably sitting there with our kids, trying to keep the twins from climbing all over Aster while managing the triplets and simultaneously pretending she wasn't stressed about me getting hit. She always worried, even after all these years, even knowing this was what I was built for.

God, I loved her.

Loved the life we built. The home with too many toys scattered across the floor. The kids who screamed my name when I walked through the door after road games. The chaos of trying to get five children dressed and fed and out the door without losing my mind.

I loved every part of this. The feeling of peeling off my pads after a brutal game, muscles aching in that satisfying way that told me I'd left everything on the field. Walking through the door and seeing Reign look at me like I had just won the damn world, even when we'd lost the game.

And I knew she loved it, too. Loved the fire in my eyes after a win. Loved the way I could scoop up all five kids at once, their squeals filling our too-big house. Loved how I’d never give up proving how much I loved her.

The ball snapped, yanking me back to the present.

I surged forward, pushing through the line with raw power, Drew was already scrambling in the pocket, his eyes darting for an open target. His offensive lineman was better prepared this time, getting his hands on me, but I fought through it, closing the distance one hard-earned inch at a time.

Drew saw me coming, a flash of recognition in his eyes.

A smirk pulled at his lips, the kind that said he wasn't going down easy this time. “You coming for me again, Walker?”

“Every damn play, McCallister.” I growled, pushing against the block, feeling the give in the lineman's stance.

The pass sailed incomplete, and Drew shook his head at me as he jogged back toward his huddle. “See you next play, asshole.”

“I'll be waiting.” The trash talk between us never got too personal, having found that sweet spot between genuine competition and respect.

The rest of the quarter was a back-and-forth battle, neither team giving an inch. When the Rattlesnakes finally punted with thirty seconds left, I jogged toward the sideline, my lungs burning with exertion.

Tanner met me at the Gatorade station, already suited up and ready to take the field. He handed me a cup of electrolytes, his game face on but a hint of excitement dancing in his eyes.

“That sack was nasty,” he said, nodding with approval. “Drew's gonna be feeling that one tomorrow.”

I gulped down the neon liquid, my breath still coming hard. “Good. Maybe he'll think twice before trying to extend plays.”

Tanner's mouth quirked up at one corner. “Their safety's cheating on curl routes. Gonna hit Cohen deep on the first play.”

It wasn't a question. It was Tanner letting me know what was coming, the way he always did. A heads-up so I'd be ready when our offense struck fast and the defense would need to get back out there.

“Make it count,” I said, crushing the paper cup in my fist. “And hey—”

Tanner looked back at me, eyebrow raised.

I slapped him on the shoulder, harder than necessary, but with all the weight of brotherhood behind it. “Good luck today, man. For everything.” I gave him a meaningful look. “And I mean everything.”

“Trust me,” he said, his confidence returning as he jogged toward the field as the whistle blew for the end of the quarter. “Focus on keeping Drew on his back, I'll handle the rest.”

I watched him go, our offensive captain, the guy who'd led us through a brutal season to get here. Whatever nerves he had about proposing to Aster tonight, I knew they'd vanish the moment he stepped on the field.

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