brows furrowed with concern and anger. “What the fuck is good with you? Can’t handle the heat? Come on, dude!”
“I don’t know.” I shake my hair. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“You Goddamn better be.” He shoves my arm. “Get up. They didn’t score. You better get out there and stop looking like a damn zombie. This is your shot. Don’t blow it.”
I take a deep breath and pull my helmet back on, biting down on my mouth guard and jogging onto the field with the rest of the offensive line.
My heart is slamming so loud in my ears it drowns out the noise of the crowd. As I dig my cleats into the grass, the world seems to shift into slow motion around me.
I feel like I’m swimming in adrenaline as it pumps through me. The stadium is a blur of faces. The announcers’ voices sound miles away.
Leo mumbles something to me as we line up, but I can’t even hear what he says. Blood pounds in my head, and I try my hardest to shake everything off.
The way I’ve played this whole game. Ellie. The fact that we’re about to lose the Super Bowl. The baby. Christopher Vice. Grandma. Love. Money, fame, stardom. Love.
“You ready?” Elliot grunts.
The air I’m breathing in feels thick and heavy and seems to stick in my throat.
“Let’s go, McKenzie.”
Everything stops and stands still. I can’t think or move or breathe, and all the nerves racing through my body come crashing down on me at once.
My grandma’s voice echoes through my head as her words bounce around and grip me.
Love is the most important thing.
“McKenzie,” someone yells. “Call it out!”
I look around. I look down at my jersey, the field, the packed stadium, the scoreboard. I look at the cameras and microphones suspended over our heads and the hundreds of reporters and press staff gathered around the field.
It’s everything I’ve dreamed of since I was a kid. It’s all right in front of me, just as intoxicating as I’ve always imagined.
But I don’t want any of it. It doesn’t mean anything without her. I don’t want to win the Super Bowl if I can’t hold her and kiss her afterward.
Grandma’s right. I am being a pussy. But not anymore.
Suddenly, I must be either on drugs or a lunatic, because I stand up straight and back away from the line of scrimmage.
“The fuck are you doing?” Leo shouts.
I yank off my helmet, staring straight past the sidelines for the first time all day.
“McKenzie!” I hear Coach yelling in fury.
“Time…time-out!” I say loudly, making the T symbol with my hands. “Time-out!” I shout again, looking right at the ref and motioning toward the sideline.
“What are you doing, dumbass?” Sterling growls at me as the offensive line breaks up. “That’s our last time-out. Why would you use it?”
I ignore him, jogging over toward the coaches and the rest of the team. Coach Watson is furious, and understandably so.
“Boy, I don’t know what the hell is going through that messed-up mind of yours,” he grumbles at me as we form a cluster, and I get dirty, pissed-off looks from everyone on the team.
I don’t care, though. I don’t care.
“Let’s just…” Leo says, gathering the guys around in a close huddle. “Let’s just revise our play strategy. You know…” He glares at me. “Since we’re here.”
I swallow and look up past the rest of the team and the staff on the sidelines. I scan the first few rows until I find the private executive field-side seats.
There she is.
“Hang on, guys.” I step out of the group and lock eyes with Ellie, my heart squeezing.
She looks confused. But I’m not. I’ve never been less confused about anything in my life.
Twenty-nine
Ellie
“Has he lost his effing mind?” my dad yells through gritted teeth, clenching his fists. “See, Elizabeth? I told you that boy was a train wreck. I didn’t know he was quite this much of a moron, but…”
“Stop,” I say sharply.
“What? Do you know what he’s doing?” My dad gestures toward the huddle of players during the unexpected time-out.
I glance down to see Matt stepping away from the huddle and looking at the crowd. Looking…at me?
“I have no idea, Dad.”
My heart is racing, and my palms are starting to sweat. Chills prickle up my spine when his gaze meets mine, but I force myself to look down.
He’s not looking for me. He doesn’t care about me.
“Losing us the damn Super Bowl. That’s what he’s doing.”
“Calm down, Chris.” My mom pats his arm. “You’re