Page 110 of Keep Me Never
I roll my neck, stretching out the tightness in my shoulders, and push to my feet, following Mason out the door.
The team is jumping up and down, singing along to the music filling the stadium, and I bob my head, grinning like a motherfucker. I pull my helmet on, strap it up, and smirk at Brady when he gives it a little slap.
“Let’s go, my boy!” he booms, flexing his muscles with a grin.
Somehow, as we run out, the energy cracks the air even harder, rolling through my chest and down my arms.
You’d think it was the damn championship game, the way we’re all responding—everyone in the stands and those of us in uniform.
My eyes seek out my girl as the kickoff team takes the field, and there she is, tucked in beside Ari and Cam, her eyes locked on mine like sheknewI’d be looking.
She lifts her hands in the air and does a little dance, and fuck, my whole chest warms. She can’t see my smile or my lips through my face mask, but I mouthI love youanyway.
And then I lift my hands high, clapping them three times in the air before extending them wide, as if to sayThis. I’m grateful for this moment right here. On this field, with these people in the stands watching. Withyouwatching.
Her smile is fucking blinding, and I can feel the softness that I know her laughter is full of.
“This is for you baby,” I whisper. “For us.”
My eyes slide to the right, meeting my dad’s.
His smile is small, soft, and for a moment, it’s just us—me and the man who spent hours in the street in front of our house, teaching me how to catch. How to run routes.
The man who was always there, no matter what. Who is here now.
My nostrils flare as my emotions slip in, but all it does is hype me up more.
I nod—once.
A long sigh pushes past my lips, and I face the field.
This is it.
I feel no pressure. No nerves.
All I feel is downright determination.
The ref blows the whistle and it’s a turnover on downs.
Showtime.
I take the field, lining up on the opposite side for the second-half game plan—gotta keep them on their toes.
“Okay, my man.” The cornerback grins around his mouthpiece. “I see you. Let’s get it.”
A low chuckle leaves me, and I get ready. I know this dude’s stats.
He runs a 4.6.
My last recorded time was 4.3.
I smirk back, turning my attention to my quarterback. Mason nods and gets set.
Everything clears, nothing but the swoosh of my own breath in my ears.
My head is clear, my legs fast. Every snap is like pure instinct.
Coach doesn’t take me off the field the entire third quarter, letting me be the one who drives us down it.
