Page 134 of One and Only

Greer: I love you, win or lose.

Greer: But please destroy them.

By the time we took the field again, the stadium trembled from the leashed energy trapped within the walls of the building. Our fans were rabid for a win, and so were we.

The roars were deafening when the ball tipped end over end on the kickoff, and I closed my eyes for a moment before I moved to line up.

I didn’t know how many more years I had to play, injuries could happen at any time, or priorities could shift on a dime.

And every single time I got to play one more game, I wanted to appreciate it.

Parker and I stood side by side as we waited for the special teams to leave the field. He gave me a sidelong glance.

“We’re winning today, Coleman,” he said.

Despite how hard the last six months had been for the Wilders, and they had been, Parker was trying.

And whatever felt too hard for him to handle, he was leaving it all on the field. He’d been an absolute beast this season.

I smacked my brother-in-law on the back of his jersey. “Yeah, we are.”

We jogged onto the field side by side, lining up on opposite sides of the offensive line, with Christian Reyes anchoring us in the middle.

And for the next sixty minutes of play, that’s what we did.

Every single person who lined up for Portland played with terrifying efficiency.

Parker and I decimated their defense, Christian throwing bomb after bomb down the field. And when the defense lined up, we stifled every single one of their weapons.

By the time we lined up in the red zone with three minutes left on the clock, we were up by twenty-one, and the atmosphere in the stadium was electric.

Our fans stomped and screamed like we were about to win the championship.

Reyes lined up in the pocket, shouting his play-call. He pointed out to the D-line, making sure his blockers watched for the blitz.

The ball snapped, and Parker shoved forward on the right, blocking the defensive end while I took off on an out route—ten yards on a dead sprint, then I cut to the middle of the field toward the sidelines. With Parker’s blocking and the fact that I was easily two steps ahead of the safety guarding me, Christian hit me with a bullet into my outstretched hands about fifteen yards out, and I tucked the ball under my arm as I ran unchallenged into the end zone.

The noise was deafening as my teammates surrounded me.

The final score was thirty-five to seven, the kind of definitive win we’d never had.

Inside the locker room after the game, Coach teared up as he addressed our performance in front of a raucous group that couldn’t quite settle down. The game ball went to Reyes, who did nothing but tap it against his chest and humbly accept all the yells and whistles from his teammates.

“Can I skip the press today?” I asked Coach after my shower.

He eyed me as I finished tugging the shirt over my head. “You got somewhere else to be?”

With a smile, I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

He waved me off, and I shoved the rest of my things into my duffel and made my way down to the place she told me they’d be.

The hallway leading to the field was quiet, and we’d done that on purpose. Greer stood with Olive’s hand in her own, pointing to something out in the rows and rows of seats.

Before they were aware of my presence, I took a moment to watch them.

They both wore Coleman jerseys, and the sight of both of them with my last name on their backs had my chest aching. For years, I’d been missing this—and I’d hardly even noticed.

Quietly, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and zoomed in on the two of them, just as Greer crouched down to say something to Olive.

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