Page 90 of The Comeback Pact

It’s so primal. Even more electricity sparks through me.

“What are we going to do about it?”

“Win, win, win!”

Another guy in a gold shirt at the mouth of the tunnel signals for the team to go, and they start running up the ramp, battle cries ripping from their throats. Their coach walks next to them, but then he does a double take when he sees me. He changes direction, and I shuffle back and forth on my feet as he makes his way toward me. “McKenna?”

I nod, nerves fluttering in my stomach.

“I wanted to personally apologize to you about the thoughtless incident that occurred last year that injured you. I’ve often had sleepless nights thinking about you and wondering how you were doing. I have a daughter of my own and would’ve been just as furious as your parents.”

His fingers grip a whiteboard in front of him fiercely.

“As my family likes to remind me, I can get overzealous about the sport I love. Football is like a living, breathing thing to me, but I would never put that over someone’s well-being.”

More tears prick my eyes.

“I had the pleasure of seeing you dive, and I can only imagine the hard work and dedication it took to get you back on the diving board. Kudos to you, young lady. I can see why West dedicated the game to you.”

My heart skips a beat. “He dedicated the game to me?”

Coach nods, and his expression morphs into one of fondness. “We have a tradition in our pregame that if one of our players wants to share about someone or something that has really influenced and motivated them, they can do so. I’ve never seen West get up and talk in front of the whole team before, but today he spoke about how brave you are.”

“Oh,” I murmur, my gaze falling to my feet.

West’s coach claps me on the shoulder, nearly toppling me over. He grimaces. “Sorry, you’re a lot lighter than most of the players I work with. Good luck to you, Miss Knowles. You’re welcome at a Bulldog practice any time. We could use people like you. Sometimes these players don’t realize how easy they really have it.”

I can barely wrap my head around what’s happened, but I manage to call out, “Good luck!” as he walks away. He gives me a wave and continues to jog up the ramp. The school band is playing, people are still clapping, and the announcer’s words echo off the stadium walls. On the TV screen near the ramp, a shot of the audience pans, and as soon as West runs out on the field, the entire place starts to chant “Hulk, Hulk, Hulk!”

It’s electric. Chills run up and down my arms, and a well of emotion builds until tears prick my eyes.

So, this is football?

CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE

West

Why didshe have to be right there? I didn’t know they were going to replay the interview I gave this morning before we took the field, but worse was when Kenna was staring right at me when I evaded the girlfriend question. My mind wasn’t ready for that.

Hell, my heart wasn’t ready for that.

Seeing her and hearing the crowd scream my name makes it difficult to remember why I put up all those barriers. When I talked about her in the locker room, I laid out a story about a goddess who could conquer anything. At first, I thought I was just ramping up my teammates, but when my voice cracked, I realized I was talking about her because I missed her. Sure, she is all those things. Brave and beautiful and smart. She looks fear in the eyes and challenges it every day.

And what did I do? Fuck it up.

The whole crowd groans, and I snap my attention back to the field. Sweat pours down the side of my face while I spot the officials on the side moving the chains. Hamilton got a first down. They’re winning 7–0, something I didn’t think would be a possibility.

“Come on!” I shout from the sidelines before squirting water from a bottle over my face.

To my left, Aidan approaches. He already has a grass stain on his shoulder from when I missed a block. He eyes me but keeps walking. Then he turns again, keeping his attention on me. I try to avoid him, but when Aidan has something to say, he’s going to say it.

“What?” I grind out. Behind him, Hamilton’s quarterback passes off for a run and gains five yards. My legs jump up and down.

He moves up to me, the face guard of his helmet clenched in his hands. “I need you in this fucking game.” His words are raw and gravelly.

“Iamin the game.”

He gestures out on the field. “Really? Because it seems to me you’re in your head. Missing tackles. You missed a freaking handoff, West.”

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