Page 110 of Fashionista's Playbook

Travis

I rewrapped my ankles in silence. After Coach Caley’s breakdown of the first half, only the occasional grunt or huff of breath from players could be heard in the locker room. The walls of the arena muffled the sounds of the halftime show.

Coach’s pep talk was about giving all we had, changing the game, playing our way.

This was what I’d dreamed of when I’d taken the field as a peewee. Dad taught me to work hard for what I wanted. Nobody was going to hand me anything.

Once Vin went away, I worked my ass off, until the game was the only thing I had. And then there’d been my brightly colored, vibrant mariposa. Full of light and life—she’d changed my whole world.

I’d hurt her. I’d spent too much time wrestling with my misplaced obligation to Vincent. She might have ended it, but I’d been the reason. Loving me had cost her too much. One dream had cost me the other.

All I could do was go back out there, leave it on the field. Everything. All I had now was the win. The more points I put on the board, the more snaps I took, the further I was away from all thecould-have-beens.

“You good?” Clutch shrugged back into his jersey. A note of concern streaked across his features.

Not trusting my voice enough to speak, I nodded. My nerves had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with—Moriah. No matter how good I was, how many wins I had, I hadn’t been good enough to work things out with her.

I tightened my laces, stood, and stretched. This should be the biggest day of my life. It damn sure didn’t feel like it.

Jones grabbed me by the front of my jersey and shook me. “This is the big show, man. One more half. I need you—all of you. Got it?”

“Let’s go.” I jerked away, slapped my chest a few times to get the blood pumping, and grabbed my helmet. I shoved in the mouthguard and pulled on my helmet, a modern-day gladiator ready for battle.

And it felt like that, especially on a night this big.

“Madera, get your shit together! Make each play count, get out of your damn head!” Coach Caley slapped the clipboard against the back of my helmet.

The pressure was heavier here, than it was with millions of people watching. Letting the fans down, I could stomach that. Letting my team and coaches down, letting Linc down when he’d put his faith in me—the very idea made me wanna blow chunks.

“We got this, baby!” Dozer shouted as we trotted out of the tunnel.

I wish I could mimic his enthusiasm, but the nerves had set in.

The crowd erupted as both teams took the field. The energy here was bigger, stronger, and sent tendrils of excitement coursing through my body. I rolled my shoulders, bounced up and down on my toes, and for the first time thought of only one thing—the game.

By the time our defense lined up for the third snap, I looked everywhere but the scoreboard or the game clock. I’ve always thrived on being the underdog, but thinking of the score wasn’t doing me any favors.

I cracked my neck one way, then the other, and shook the tension from my legs and arms. This was it, my second half redemption.

With a fair catch called, I jogged with Dozer and Clutch out to the twenty-five-yard line. We lined up and when Jones called the play, I shifted to my left for a short pass.

This wasn’t a big play, but one that would get us closer to the first down—we were grinding it out.

I darted forward the exact moment the ball was snapped, glancing over my shoulder when I knew the ball would be there, gripped it tight as I wrapped my fingers around it, and absorbed the hit several feet past the first down marker.

Dozer tugged me to my feet and I tossed the ball to the ref. Every move was a step toward the next set of downs. Around us, the crowd stood and cheered—but I couldn’t hear them. I was a machine, here to win, I wouldn’t celebrate until we did.

We continued to move the chains, one play after another, until I flew through the air onto my back, the wind knocked from my lungs. As I lay there gasping, the sound rushed in. Cheers bled into jeers until I couldn’t tell the difference, but the excitement bled into me.

The stadium was louder than anything I’d ever heard. It was amazing.

I was smiling by the time the guys pulled me to my feet and I jogged to the sidelines. This was why I played.

The nerves were long gone now.

The remainder of that possession played out the same way, and I was fully invested in game mode.

DeSean had his helmet off, arguing with one of the offensive coaches. I walked right by them, snagged a water bottle.

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