Page 130 of The Hearts We Fumble
Too close. Too risky.
The safety reads the play and jumps the route.
Interception.
A blur of black and red streaks down the field, the opposing player sprinting untouched toward the end zone.
The stadium erupts, a deafening roar shaking the bleachers, but I don’t hear it. My pulse is too loud, my stomach sinking as I watch Zane rip off his helmet, frustration carved into every tense muscle in his body.
“No,” I whisper, my fingers tightening around the railing.
Tatum buries her face in my shoulder, muffling a curse. Everly covers her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper. “His dad is gonna lose it.”
I don’t even want to think about James Kinnick right now.
But there’s no time to dwell. Braysen has to keep fighting. And they do.
They claw their way back in the second half, determined to stay in this game. Beckham throws crisp, calculated passes. Zane adjusts, finding his rhythm again, his movements sharper, more deliberate.
With two minutes left, they’re within reach. One final drive. One last chance.
The entire stadium is on its feet. The energy crackles, thick with anticipation. My heart races, hammering against my ribs as Braysen lines up in the red zone.
Beckham takes the snap. Zane cuts across the middle.
For a moment, everything slows. The opening is there. He sees it, Beckham sees it. The ball spirals through the air, a perfect pass—
Then… A blindside hit.
Zane never sees it coming.
The defender drills him just as the ball hits his hands, his body twisting violently before he crashes to the ground. The ball pops loose, bouncing once before the defense pounces.
Fumble.
Recovered.
Game over.
The other team’s sideline explodes, helmets flying as they rush the field in celebration. I barely register the chaos around me, my focus locked on Zane, still on the ground.
He stays there for a beat too long before pushing himself up, slow and unsteady. He doesn’t need to look to the sideline to know what’s waiting for him.
Tatum grips my arm tighter. “We need to get down there.”
I nod, swallowing hard, but my feet won’t move. Not yet.
Because even from up here, I see his father standing at the edge of the field, watching.
Waiting.
And the weight of that alone is enough to make my chest ache.
Zane doesn’t need anyone to remind him of what happened tonight.
He’ll carry it long after the lights go out.
Chapter Thirty-Three
