then two down attempts. Mississippi managed a third-down conversion, though, and Justin clenched his fingers on Graham’s hand so hard his arm shook.
Graham held on, through every brutal minute. “Don’t you worry, Justin,” Graham said. “This game is already won. Wes won it. His team won’t let him down now. You watch. Those boys are playing for more than a title right now.”
Mississippi had one more chance. They needed a touchdown to send the game into overtime. It came down to one play, one attempt by the Mississippi offense, and the biggest stop of the Texas defense’s life. Justin held his breath. His dad leaned forward, body taut.
Mississippi snapped, and the quarterback dropped back, searching for an open player. They had all their receivers running deep, hoping for a long pass and a breakaway, a deep Hail Mary. But Texas was blitzing, sending every man at the quarterback instead of downfield after the receivers. It was risky on both sides. Justin almost closed his eyes, afraid to watch the pass.
But Anton got through the line. He came over the guards and flew at the Mississippi quarterback.
Justin watched as the quarterback buckled and folded in on himself. He watched him go down to the dirt as Anton’s arms wrapped around him, sacking him ten yards behind the line of scrimmage.
And that was the game. There was still a little over a minute on the clock, but the stands were already erupting, Texas fans and the Texas sideline going wild as Colton and Wes jogged onto the field. Colton led the offense in a victory formation, taking a knee after the snap to run the clock down.
Wes’s teammates stormed the field as national champions.
Justin pitched forward in relief. Big hands stroked his back. Graham’s hands. Someone else guided him up, and he saw his dad’s face.
Wes did it. After everything, he’d done it. He brought his team to glory.
A stadium rep appeared at their VIP box and led everyone down to the field. Out of view of the cameras, Justin wiped his eyes and downed a bottle of water. His dad checked him before they went on the field, and he took a napkin and wiped Justin’s face again as Graham watched and smiled.
They came onto the field and into a cacophony of noise and bedlam. Players were screaming, running to the stands for handshakes and high fives with the fans leaning over the lower railing. Confetti twirled in the air as balloons clung to their ankles and tried to trip Justin with every step he took. It seemed like a million people were on the field: the players, the families, the coaching staff, the dignitaries. Justin pushed through the crowd. He had to find Wes.
There he was, in the center of the field, jumping up and down with Colton and Art and Josh and Orlando. They were screaming at the tops of their lungs, arms wrapped around each other, heads tipped back in pure relief, pure rushes of adrenaline, and pure, unbridled happiness.
“Wes!” Justin shouted.
Wes turned, and his eyes landed on Justin. He grinned even wider, and he pulled away from his teammates.
Wes started running, and so did Justin. Wes flung open his arms and Justin leaped, flying into his hold, yelling his name as he wrapped his legs around Wes’s waist and his arms around Wes’s neck. He pressed his forehead to Wes’s, smiling, crying, too many emotions thundering through him at once. “You did it, mon coeur.”
Wes held Justin tight. “I did it for you. I won for you, so the world could see how much I love you.”
Justin cradled Wes’s face in his hands as he leaned down and captured Wes’s lips. He meant for it to be a sweet kiss, something ESPN could replay, but Wes deepened it, and then deepened it again, even though the cameras were circling and zooming in. Colton and Josh started batting the cameras away, and the rest of the team surrounded Wes and Justin, clapping and cheering.
Eventually, Justin broke the kiss and pushed their foreheads together again. “Wes, there’s someone here to see you.” He dropped down to the grass, took Wes’s hand, and turned.
Graham Van de Hoek was right there, his hat on his head, his smile as big and wide as the Texas sky as he stood in front of his son.
Wes stilled. “Dad?”
Graham grabbed Wes, rocking him in his arms, his cheek pressed against his son’s. They were mirror images separated by time and the sun.