Page 127 of The Wrong Quarterback

We broke the huddle and lined up, the clock ticking down. I barked out the cadence, and the ball snapped into my hands. Dropping back, scanning the field, my eyes darting left, then right. I saw Matty slipping through a gap down the middle. I fired the ball, a quick, sharp pass, and he hauled it in, charging forward as he was swarmed by defenders. We picked up twelve yards and moved the chains.

“Atta fucking boy, Matty,” I yelled, and he nodded, his eyes sharp and determined. The clock was still running, and I motioned for everyone to get back in formation.

Three minutes left. The line held firm, and I dropped back, scanning for an opening. I saw Jace sprinting down the sideline, hands up, ready. I launched the ball, a perfect spiral arcing through the air, and he leaped up, snagging it mid-air and coming down just inside the line. Another first down.

Oregon’s defense was fucking relentless, though. They were crowding the line, trying to stop every play before it started, pushing back hard, daring us to run. I called a quick play-action pass to keep them on their toes. We snapped the ball, and I faked the handoff before darting to the right, slipping out of the pocket as the pressure built around me. Jace was open in the flat, but a defender was barreling toward him. I had to move fast.

Two minutes on the clock. I glanced over at the sidelines to catch a glimpse of Casey. She was in the front row, wearing my jersey, gripping onto the railing in front of her with a terrified look on her beautiful face.

I blew her a kiss and then called an audible, adjusting to Oregon’s coverage, and took the snap. The pocket collapsed, and I dodged left, then right, my eyes scanning the field. Finally, I saw my slot receiver, Jordan, cutting across. I lobbed the ball over the defender’s head, and he snagged it, dragging two Oregon defenders for a few extra yards. But he couldn’t make it out of bounds to stop the clock.

Less than a minute. Coach had to call our last timeout. The team huddled around me, breathless, faces slick with sweat. “This is it,” I said, locking eyes with each one of them. “We’ve got this. Focus. Protect the line, keep it tight, and we’re bringing this home.”

We lined up again, every muscle in my body tense, every instinct tuned to the game, the stakes, the clock ticking down. I took the snap and saw a gap open up. No time to think—I darted through it, barreling forward as the defenders closed in. They hitme hard, but I held on to the ball, my eyes fixed on the far side of the Red Zone, just a few yards away now.

Thirty seconds. We lined up one last time, and I felt the weight of everything in that single moment. The snap came, and I took a quick drop back, searching for an opening.Nothing. The pressure was coming fast, collapsing the pocket around me.Fuck. I tucked the ball and ran, pushing through the line, every step taking me closer to the end zone.

Five yards. Three. A defender dove at my legs, but I hurdled over him, stretching out as I crossed the goal line.Touchdown.

We’d fucking won!

Jace reached me first, knocking his helmet against mine hard as he tackled me to the ground. “Fucking hell, QB. You beautiful, beautiful man. You fucking did it!” he crowed. Matty jumped on me next, and my eyes widened—because I might be about to die when more of the team came.

The rest of my teammates did pile on me after that, laughing, cheering, and, in Chappie’s case—crying when he joined the throng of our teammates.

When my oxygen was about gone, they started getting off me. It was complete chaos in the stadium, the fans had started pouring out of the stands.

The energy was infectious, and the crowd was pushing us toward the middle of the field, but I needed to get to the sideline.

I needed to seeher.

Pulling off my helmet, I pushed through the swarm of people—my teammates, coaches, and the fans trying to touch me, dodging reporters and cameras as they tried to get interviews. Someone slapped a Championship hat on my head as I moved through the crowd.

“Parker, how does it feel to have just won the championship?” one reporter asked, shoving a microphone into my face as I tried to pass by.

“Awesome,” I yelled, before I ducked under her hand and kept moving.

Finally, I spotted her still in the stands, flanked by Olivia and Nat, and guarded by Walker, Cole, and Olivia’s bodyguards, who were staring daggers at anyone that dared to get too close.

Her starlight eyes were locked on me. I could see the relief, the pride, and something else—something that made my heart race even faster than it had on the field.

I dodged bodies left and right until I finally reached the stands. Without a word, I reached up, grabbed her hand, and pulled her down onto the field.

“Baby,” I murmured, and she jumped into my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist.

I kissed her, hard and fast. I’d been waiting all night for this moment. She melted into me, her arms wrapping around my neck as she kissed me back, the world around us fading into nothing.

The noise of the crowd, the chaos of the celebration—it all disappeared. All that mattered was her.

When we finally pulled apart, she was breathless, her eyes shining with emotion. “You did it,” she whispered, her voice full of awe.

I smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “It was all for you.”

Casey snorted and scrunched her nose at me. “Corny as usual.”

I laughed and leaned in, pressing my forehead to hers. “It’s the truth.”

The moment stretched between us, perfect in every way. But eventually, the world came crashing back, the sound of the crowd and the celebration pulling us back to reality.

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