Page 6 of Who's Saving You
The roar hits me like a wave as I step onto the field. It’s not just noise; these stands are alive. Even with the shield on my helmet, I blink against the stadium lights. The spotlights are shining down on the most capable players the league has to offer. Chants bounce off the stands, rolling like thunder. My green and black jersey fits like a glove. I was made for this.
This is Sunday Night Football.
The huddle breaks, and I do my best to ignore the scoreboard. I already know what time it is. The game is tied with a minute and fourteen left on the clock, ball on the forty-two. Coach Gage gave me the green light. I check thedefense and see that a safety and a cornerback are locked in on my every move. They know the ball is coming to me.
Let them try to take it.
I line up wide left, one toe digging into the turf. The cornerback across from me is eyeing me like I'm about to be dinner, but I just give him a slight chuckle. I’m too fast for him, and he knows it. With six million watching from home and sixty thousand right here in the stands, the crowd's energy gives me the extra boost I need. They chant my name, and it hums in my chest louder than my own heartbeat.
Here comes the snap. I rock forward, weight even, and fingers twitching. This is the moment every rookie dreams of. This is the moment they’ll either praise you for or castrate you. The one run where they say,“yeah, he's ready to play”or“nope, too green. Take a seat on the bench.”
I know I’m better than anything they say.
The ball is snapped, and I explode off the line. The corner tries to cut me off, but I slip by, shoulder down, and accelerate into the open field. The safety guarding me overshoots his shot, and I cut inside, circling him before taking off toward the sideline.
It's my favorite route to run, and now I’m wide open.
Jameson Winters, my QB, sees it and already expects me there as he lets the ball fly. It’s a tight spiral aiming right for me, and I’m ready.
The clock ticks, and I push hard, one, two, three, four steps. I reach out, and the ball hits my hands like a moth to a flame. I cradle it to me, twist away from a defender, and run out of bounds.
First down!
The stadiumerupts. I mean, it literally explodes. I’ve been to games, sat in the stands, and watched as myfavorite team was inches away from scoring. There’s no better feeling, it’s as if I was already playing for them. I laugh to myself, remembering that analyst who said I wasn’t ready, the one who said I still needed a year.
Fuck your year.
My teammates swarm me, slapping me on my helmet before quickly pulling me back to the huddle.
Line up. Do it again.
On the outside, I’m calm. I stand amongst my team listening to Jameson call the play. But inside?Fucking fireworks. My blood runs through me like lava, my heart pumping like I've been electrocuted. I’m half-fucking-hard standing here because I know what's coming.
They throw it to me because I won’t drop it, because I make the plays the vets hesitate on. I’m too new and too stupid to feel any other way but to sacrifice it all.
America loves an underdog, but they worship the one who can prove them wrong. And I’ll do it every fucking time.
Ball’s on the 17, and the clock is ticking. Jameson steps up and meets my eyes.
“Coach called a Ghostfade. You got this?”
My lips twitch. “You know I do.”
This play is designed for me as I’m the only one who can outrun a defender every single time. Like a ghost fades into thin air, I fade into the end zone, outrunning everyone around me.
I line up wide and see the corner’s already pressing in, but he won’t ever catch me. The snap hits, and I fake inside, sell the slant hard, thencut. I’m running outside, straight and clean. He stumbles; it’s just a step, but that’s all I need to take off. The end zone opens up like a door.
The ball is in the air, and I lock eyes with it. There’snothing left but me, the ball, and the field under my feet. I don’t hear the fans; I don’t hear my teammates. I just run, arms pumping, before leaping at the last second and snatching that ball from the air.
Got it.
The ball hits my hands and I tuck it in close to my body, not caring how I land, just knowing I can’t let go. My feet drag, my elbows are down, and I hit that end zone and roll.
I listen for the whistle and look up. The ref is standing with both hands in the air.
Touchdown.
If I thought the stadium was loud before, it’s got nothing on what this sounds like. I still grip the ball, afraid to let it go and rise to my feet. Teammates crash into me, helmets bang, and I’m pulled in all directions.
