Page 92 of Trust Me Always

“No.” I grip his face mask, my eyes hard on his. “I’m telling you to do what I know you fucking can, so quit with the self-doubt. Make the pass, Howl. Watch the way the crowd stands up for you when you do.”

His nostrils flare, and he yanks away, both of us getting ready.

It’s fourth fucking down. If we don’t get in there this drive, our chances are cut in half. We need three touchdowns to win. We get into the end zone here, and we’ve got all of the fourth quarter to turn things around.

“You sure about this?” Chase mumbles, arms hanging loose at his sides.

“He can do it. Show him you can too.”

Chase gives a hard nod and, when Alister calls the first hut, shifts.

The ball is snapped, I do my job, and not long after, the ball is sailing over my head.

I jerk free, watching as it soars toward the left corner of the end zone.

Chase, once again, is being double-teamed, a guy on each side of him.

The ball starts to drop, Chase’s cleats digging into the turf as he runs, arms swinging, the defenders right on him.

He jumps, reaches, and does his fucking job, the ball yanked into his chest, shoulder down as he barrels his way across the one-yard line.

Touchdown.

The crowd flips out, the band plays, and I turn to Alister, grinning like a fool.

He throws his fist in the air, but he doesn’t stop to seek the praise like he has done in the past. No, he gives that single show of celebration, but he’s already running toward the end zone.

Fuck kicking for that extra point, we’re staying on the field and going for two.

And we get it, leaving us just shy of two touchdowns.

We run to the sidelines, and the team is on their feet, giving Alister the credit he deserves while the kickoff team takes the field.

I smile to myself, meeting Mason’s eye when he claps my shoulder as I walk toward the water table.

I tear my helmet off, wiping my head, and take a long drink, my eyes scanning the crowd until they land on my favorite girl.

Only this time when I find her, she’s not looking at me.

She’s smiling at him.

We won.

The team is still celebrating, running around and saying hi to their families, and I do the same, searching for the others where the girls were sitting.

Sure enough, Mason and Chase are already over there, hugging Mason’s parents and laughing with the girls.

Mason takes Deaton from his mama’s arms and turns, setting him down on the field. The two jog out to the end zone, and my chest warms as I watch little D run his fastest, his little legs pumping as he tries to catch up to his dad.

“That was him not all that long ago.” Mason’s dad, Evan, claps me on the shoulder. “Of course, I was playing some adult rec league trying to relive my college days at that point, so it wasn’t as cool as this, but man, that kid thought I was the coolest thing in the world.”

“Little D sees him the same.” I smile, turning to give his wife, Mason’s mom, Vivian, a sweaty hug.

She kisses my temple. “That’s from your mama, and this”—she kisses my hair with a wink—“is from me. Good job out there.”

“Thank you. Thank you, you guys, for coming to watch even though Mase couldn’t play.”

“Pssh.” She waves. “We have three sons on this team, not just one. Chase, honey, come give me a hug.”

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