Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,97

receiver to receiver, pumping them up, getting them ready.

“We’re gonna get one set of downs,” he said. “This is your show, Charming. You be my right-fucking-hand.”

“Ain’t nothing to it,” I said. “We got this.”

True to his word, Cole pummeled a receiver on third down. He dropped the ball, and the Tigers punted.

Two minutes remaining.

One time-out left.

We could do it.

But the first snap was botched when our center tumbled backwards. The whistle blew almost immediately as Jack fell under our own linemen and two defensive ends. He clutched his ankle but waved away the trainers before they rushed to the field.

Too late.

The referees charged our last time-out. Jack lurched up, limping behind the line as he walked off the pain and called the next play in the huddle.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Not your problem.” Jack pointed to the clock. “We have sixty seconds to go sixty yards. Worry about that.”

But the play call wasn’t for me. I shook my head.

“I want the ball!”

Jack ignored me. “Taking it down the sideline first. Isaac’s got this one.”

We lined up. The snap was quick, and I did my block. We got the ten yards, but no more. Isaac was pushed out at the fifty. It stopped the clock, but the Tigers weren’t giving up the big yardage.

The next call was a timing pattern, a quick drop and spiral over the middle twenty yards down the field. Jack completed the pass to Troy, but we lost time running down the field for the spike.

Twenty-five seconds left on the thirty. Second down.

I beat my chest in the huddle. “Give it to me, Jack. I’ll get open.”

“Shut your mouth, rookie. One more shot to get closer.”

He called the play.

It wasn’t gonna work. I knew it. I think he knew it too. But the radio in his helmet ordered another pass to a receiver.

I lined up, the ball snapped, and Jack dropped back to throw. Isaac grabbed it, but he wasn’t near the sidelines.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I bolted to the line, but the team was slow. Jack snapped it on the fifteen and stopped the clock.

Ten seconds left. This was it.

I didn’t need to hear the call. I read it in Jack’s eyes.

Time to prove my worth.

The past four weeks I’d played well. Held my own. Kept the team alive.

This was the moment that would define me.

The sweat stung my eyes. I wiped it away. Didn’t matter. More would spill. I couldn’t catch my breath, and every second I spent on my feet shocked me with a piercing agony even the adrenaline couldn’t cure.

Jack barked the snap count. My heart lurched.

The ball snapped.

And I sprinted, slamming through the linebacker assigned to cover me and jetting across the field. I cut, turning just as Jack found me in the open field.

The pass spiraled through the air. A defender leapt to bat it away.

I surged forward, nipping the ball with my fingertips and grasped it just as I lost my balance and tumbled through the back of the end zone. I plummeted to the ground, swearing the entire way.

I didn’t breathe until the stadium started to cheer.

I’d fallen into line of media and reporters, but Elle was the first one there.

She snapped a picture. I gave her the ball.

“It’s yours, Red!”

She took it and leapt out of the way as the offense crashed through the end zone. Jack beat everyone there, chasing me down the field the instant the ball was in the air.

He slammed into me, pulling me into a hug, beating my helmet and cheering louder than anyone in the stands.

“That’s what I want from you!” He slammed his hands into my chest. “Every fucking game, rookie. Every single one!”

The game ended, and the success belonged to me.

A victory over my opponents. A win for the team.

And the proof that I needed.

This was where I belonged.

Elle’s Epilogue

How many football players did it take to ruin a photoshoot?

One. His name was Lachlan Reed.

“Who’s idea was this again?” I groaned, lowering the camera onto my swelling belly. “You take any longer, Charming, and this baby’s gonna pop out.”

He grinned, flexed, and made a kissy face at the camera. “Our boy’s still got two months to cook. But these guns…” He kissed his biceps. “These are prime grade, ready for the spotlight.”

I snapped a shot and gave up. It wasn’t even our shoot. Lachlan was selected by the league for one of their Rookie/Veteran shoots—a passing of the mantle for players close to the end of their reign and the up-and-comers. It