Epilogue

Asher

Iowa state championships, one year later

The stadium lights remind me of the ones in my dreams. The ones that would shine down on me when I made that final touchdown, taking my team to victory. The roar of the crowd behind me mixes with the roar inside my head as I work hard to separate dreams from reality, knowing all the while that this, this , is what I was meant for.

North Wynn High has, for the first time in history, touched state championship ground, and now find themselves facing the final minutes against defending champions, Linksfield High.

The air is cool, but my blood is hot. Behind me, in the stands, Reece and Sawyer, my mother, Pippin with baby Ezra scream with the crowd. And behind them, college freshmen, Sam Garcia, and the entire former Linksfield football team, dressed in their former school colors, but screaming equally hard for North Wynn. For a moment I'm overcome by the love these kids have shown me, but there isn't too much time to dwell on it now.

I glance up at the scoreboard.

21-20.

One minute left.

Linksfield has the ball. They're within striking distance of the end zone.

The North Wynn Bulldogs know what to do. We've simulated this play before. The defense takes the field, strong and hungry. They're not just playing with skill. My God, they're playing with heart tonight. They won't give in now.

They line up against Linksfield's offense.

Aaron Barker reads the next play perfectly. He forces the running back to change direction, giving Tyler Bennet the perfect opportunity to bring him down.

Jesus fuck , these kids are fucking dynamite tonight.

Linksfield's quarterback drops back to pass, and my eyes move to Luke. He's taking no one's shit and it's just fucking exhilarating to watch. He flies into the air, disrupting the pass, and the ball falls to the ground.

"Fuck, yeah," I mutter, tuning out the roar of the crowd.

Twenty seconds on the clock.

Linksfield's open receiver blasts down the field toward the end zone, but fuck, Kyle isn't having it. His tackle is sensational, and we're on the fourth down with ten seconds to spare.

I call my final timeout.

"Who's taking this championship tonight?" I demand

"Bulldogs," they chant.

"One more. One more stop and it's yours. Get back in there."

My defensive end breaks the line. Linksfield's quarterback is distracted and makes a high throw. Wrong move.

Fuck. We're gonna make it. The crowd goes silent. My heart is in my throat. The ball sails through the air.

Kyle has tracked it like a fuckin' pro. He flies up into the air, landing in the end zone with the ball, and the clock stops.

North Wynn players rush out onto the field along with Principal Branson, and the crowd behind me is wild. I turn back to the stands. Sam and the squad have probably lost their voices. Reece and Sawyer are wild with cheers. I grin up at them, then reach up to turn my cap backwards. Sawyer gives me a sexy grin, and I laugh when Reece's eyes widen.

Linksfield's coach, Bryce Johnson, walks over to me for a handshake. "Nothing but respect, Coach Cameron," he says.

"Likewise," I reply.

I stand back and watch my young team taste their first victory. It wasn't just their skill. It was their heart. That's what it's always about. Their heart. And here at North Wynn, that sort of thing is celebrated. I'm glad to be a part of it.

I turn back to the two men in the stands, their eyes shining with pride and love. I have so much to be grateful for. My life is full.

Nothing more is needed.