Page 113 of Fighting Fate

Nah, too much adrenaline. Can't sleep.

Selfie in the gym.

Luke

Dude, relax.

Gunner

You are lifting right now?

Devon

And at fucking 5:30 am? Who does that?

Cam

It's game day, baby. It's what I do.

With an affectionate roll of my eyes, I set my phone aside and turn back to Milli. Gently, I pull her into my arms, our bodies fitting together perfectly. "Spend the morning together?" I suggest, an eyebrow playfully raised.

She laughs, soft and sleepy, it's pure music as she nestles in closer. "Need to ask, do you?" she shoots back, her grin lighting up the whole room.

The morning unfolds in a blissful rhythm—wrapped up in each other's arms, sharing warmth and whispers. We linger in the shower, letting the water cascade over us, and later, we sit down for a hearty breakfast, laughter and light conversation filling the air. As we part, Milli teases with a twinkle in her eye, promising a special reward if tonight's game goes well. Her words add an extra layer of motivation, as if I needed another reason to give it my all on the field tonight.

"Miles, this is no time for setbacks to shadow your dreams, our dreams. The sweat and grind you've endured to get here, to break into this league, it's monumental. Hang in there a bit longer, and you'll see—it's all going to pay off." My father's words anchored me as I nodded, absorbing his conviction. "Remember, pain is transient, a mere visitor. But pride, that's a constant companion. Football tests your spirit just as much as your physical strength."

He laid a hand on my shoulder, a reassuring weight, then smacked my helmet, a silent cue to rejoin the fray. It was a nudge to confront my fears, to push past the shadows of post-cancer anxiety. I shook off the last of my nerves and strode back onto the field; his gaze followed me through the grid of my helmet. He clapped, a signal clear as day—it was my time to shine, to live up to the faith he'd placed in me. I flashed him a smile, a silent promise, and he mirrored it back. His hand tapped his temple a few times, and he mouthed the words I've come to live by, "It's go time."

Looking back as an adult, I see the truth in my dad's words. Football, like fighting cancer, is a battle of the mind. It's about laser focus—locking onto that ball, reading your opponents, syncing with your team. Cancer is similar. You've got to cling to hope, even in the depths of pain.

Decision-making in football is split-second, strategic. In cancer, it's choices about treatments, bracing for their fallout. And tactics? Football's got its plays, but cancer...you need to really know your enemy, anticipate every side effect.

Pressure, that's something else. As a kid, it was proving myself on the field, living up to my dad's sacrifices. Motivation? In football, it's pushing through the toughest drills, the longest seasons. In cancer, it's about the people around you, their support fueling your fight, making you believe in a comeback greater than any setback.

Dad's words cut through my thoughts, a lifeline in my mental storm. "It's go time, Miles." It's like a jolt of adrenaline. I've faced worse; I beat cancer. I can handle this.

I'm ready to fight, to come out on top.

Dad's hand is heavy on my shoulder pads. We're staring down the field, the tunnel mouth framing our view. It's not just the crowd, my team, or our rivals out there. There are NFL scouts, sizing me up. Dad's trying to ease my tension, but it's locked in there, deep. The crowd is wild, their "Let's go, Panthers" banners a blur. My stomach twists. The pressure's never been this intense. It's not just Dad, not just the scouts. It's everyone's hope for me, Miles Chasen, to clinch the Panthers' Day trophy.

I feel Dad's hand again; a firm tap. "Leave it all on the field, Miles. Shine." It's meant to inspire, but it's another weight on my shoulders.

I turn, give him that practiced, reassuring smile. "I've got this," I tell him. And myself.

But am I ready? Really ready?

There's no time to dwell on the week's pain—the headaches, muscle aches, blurred vision, swollen feet. I know what they mean, but I won't let them follow me onto the field. In that moment, the world fades. It's just me and the game. This is where I push my limits, where my mind and body are tested to their extremes. The crowd fades into a distant roar, my pain and fear dissolving into the background.

It's go time.

I step onto the field, the November chill a welcome slap against my skin. My cleats crunch satisfyingly on the grass. The announcer booms my introduction, and the stadium unfolds before me—a sea of faces, a buzz of excitement.

The crowd chants my name, a rhythmic, energizing call. It's electric, lifting me up. The colors, the sounds, the crisp air—it all converges into a single, vivid moment. Energized, I'm ready to dive into the game under the bright stadium lights.

"Ready for this?" Luke's slap on my shoulder jolts me back to the moment. Over his shoulder, I catch Milli's gaze.

My girl.

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