37. Chapter 37

"Fourth quarter. Less than fifteen minutes, boys!" Coach Campbell yells in the huddle.

It's the fourth quarter in the Lafayette game, and we are down by two touchdowns. It's been a fucking battle since kickoff.

Both teams have so much on the line this year. For me, I've got everything on the line. It's my last chance at winning my third conference title, my last chance to go to the playoffs, and my last chance to win a National Championship.

"We've got this," Harris yells out. "This is for all the two-a-days, all the weightlifting, early mornings, and aches and pains. Let's go out there and kick some Gators" ass!"

"Eagles on three!" I yell.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

"Eagles!" the team yells as we turn and run onto the field.

Valor Stadium is a sold-out, white-out game. It's fucking sick to look up in the crowd and see nothing but white shirts and white towels waving in the air. Crowds of people are on their feet, screaming and cheering us on.

Smacking his hand on my helmet, Harris pulls my attention back down to the field. "Stay focused. You've got this, man."

Taking my place on the field, I line up to the right of Tyler. Xavier did a helluva job with his kickoff return, setting us up on the forty-five-yard line. Only fifty-five more yards ‘til we score.

Harris calls for the snap, and it's perfect. He takes a step back before handing it off to me. Running toward the left sideline, I pull up quickly, eyes searching down the field. The offensive line is securing the line, blocking anyone who tries to get to me. A hand flies in the air, and I pull my arm back before snapping it forward, launching the ball into the air. It's a playbook throw, spinning in a perfect spiral and landing perfectly over Grant's shoulder.

He gives one shimmy before he fakes out the safety.

He's down to the fifteen-yard line.

Ten.

Five.

TOUCHDOWN!

Running all the way down, I join in on the celebration. Our trick play was textbook. Grant is hitting the Griddy before he turns, finding me. Jogging toward me, he motions up with his finger, and we both jump up, sides hitting each other.

"Fuck yeah!" I shout.

"Fuckin' perfect throw!" he says, both of us jogging off to the sideline as we wait for the extra point kick.

Energy radiates off us, especially when the defense makes another epic stop to keep Lafayette from scoring. Five minutes flash on the scoreboard, and we are still down by a touchdown. I can't stand still, bouncing from foot to foot on the sideline, my nerves frayed.

The punter for the Gators kicks the ball high in the air. All of us are standing still on the sidelines, silence among us as we hold our breath, waiting for Xavier to catch the ball.

Catching it with ease, he takes off in a sprint, following the blockers in front of him. A hole appears out of nowhere, and Xavier blasts through it. He hits the twenty-five, thirty, and thirty-five before being tackled at the thirty-eight-yard line. Another great return.

Xav is having a hell of a game, and my chest booms with pride.

I make my way onto the field with the rest of the offense. The stadium is loud, man, it is loud. It makes hearing Harris difficult, but we make it work. Grabbing the snap, he steps back and finds Riggsby, our tight end, open for a short pass. Riggsby digs in and makes it another five yards before being taken down.

On second down, Harris finds Grant down the field for another big play. Grant picks us up another twenty yards, putting us inside the fifty-yard line with a fresh set of downs.

Lining up behind Harris, I wait for the snap. It comes, and Harris turns immediately, handing the ball off to me. A quick jab to the left, and my legs explode to the right. Dicing and cutting, sliding past the defensive line, I power my legs forward, getting another ten-yard run in.

The clock is winding down, and we up the tempo even more, going no-huddle. Everyone gets set, and a quick snap has Harris finding Riggsby near the sideline. He runs for a couple of yards before stepping out of bounds to stop the clock.

Three minutes and ten seconds remain, and we still need twenty yards. Once again, I line up in the backfield, only this time, I'm to the left of Harris. Snap, catch, step back, pitch, and I'm exploding forward. Finding a hole, I kick it into another gear, diving toward the goal line.

Slam!

A brick wall slams into me, my vision blurs, and my body goes limp.

Holy fuck!