Page 14 of Home Game

I swallowed. “Not trying to get to you,” I lied.

“Right,” he said, clearly seeing right through me. “Oreo, come on. Let’s get back. Got to call up the Fixer Brothers and tell them all about how excited I am to work with them.” He gave me a look as he scooped up Oreo. “Have a good night, Emmett. Got an away game this weekend, but I’ll see you at the next meeting with Shawn and Nathan.”

I said nothing as he walked off. Just past my gate, I watched as he hoisted Oreo up into the air in his arms, like Simba at the beginning of The Lion King. Then he brought her back down, covered her in little kisses, and headed back home.

4

STORM

Eyes on the ball.

My heart pounded in my chest like a war drum as Andy Watkins got right up in my face, sticking to me like glue. Sweat dripped down every inch of me, and every muscle in my body burned. The good kind of burn.

We were tied 14-14 with Miami.

Past my helmet I saw Watkins’ fierce gaze. He was Miami’s best cornerback, and he was trying to get to me. He’d been trying to fuck with my mental for the whole game. We were nearing the end of the fourth quarter, and the game had been tighter than a fucking vise the whole time.

“Fight me after this, Rosling?” Watkins grunted at me. I waited patiently for the hike.

“Gonna eat shrimp cocktail and fucking celebrate after this, when we win the game,” I muttered back.

I knew I shouldn’t be shit-talking on the field. He shouldn’t have been either. It was only a distraction. Miami had no timeouts left, and this could be a done deal if I played it right.

Eyes on the fucking ball.

That football is the only thing that matters.

I listened to Tomlin’s cadence. When the signal came I broke into action, routing left then going hard right.

Tomlin gave me aperfectlythrown pass, clear and direct and right into my open hands.

The ball hit my fingers like it was coming home.

Yes. Fuck. Yes.

I knew we only had eight seconds left on the clock, but I didn’t have very far to take it. I juked left again, Watkins right on my ass, then took off directly to the right, gunning it down to the endzone. I could feel thousands of eyes on me. The crowd, Miami, my own teammates.Millions, with everyone watching on TV.

The best pressure cooker on Earth.

Just me and the football.

I ran like it was the last thing I’d ever do. When my foot landed past that goal line, I roared, unbidden, as Miami’s crowd groaned and my own team shouted in celebration.

“That’s how we do it!” someone on my team screamed, and as the clock hit zero, my own team came to jump alongside me in the endzone.

“How’s that feel, Stormy Eyes?” Kace shouted out at me, grinning wide as he used my silly nickname.

He jumped over to hug me. “Kind of feel like I’m about to puke from that last route, but you fucking bet your ass I loved every second of it.”

Kace laughed.

Miami’s fans were already flooding out of the stands a few moments later. I couldn’t blame them. Their team had been on fuckingfireall night—but we’d just outplayed them in the last few seconds.

“You werenastywith that route running in the third, too, Storm,” Kace said to me, giving me a big pat on the back. “This is going to be a fun season.”

I choked up a little, despite myself. Pride welled up in me, hearingKace Tomlinsay something like that to me. Moments like this made all of the bullshit worth it. Having my name in headlines, being misunderstood, and dealing with people who didn’t believe in me meant nothing when we played football that well.

Within another couple of hours, we were all already back on our flight to Colorado. Other than my legs being tired, I felt pretty great, and when the plane touched down in Denver, an email popped up in my notifications.

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