But they don’t know me. I won’t fail. I can’t. My mom’s counting on me and so is this team. It doesn’t matter that I’m not a fan of football players, because this isn’t about the guys or my asshole father. It’s about the game and the commitment I made to give it my all. It’s what I’ve spent the last three weeks training for, this moment.
I relax my shoulders and exhale, shoving all the noise and pressure and speculation from my brain. It’s an easy kick. One I’ve made hundreds of times in practice.
The stadium has gone silent like no one dares to breathe. The ball is snapped and I hear it slap against James’s hand before he plants it on the ground, laces out. And then I’m moving, the sound of helmets crashing at the line of scrimmage a distant lullaby as I swing my leg forward, eyes on the prize.
I’ve got this.
Chapter Eight
Austin
Holy fuck. Watching Carter set up the field goal is the longest thirty seconds of my life. I stand with the O-line, hands gripping the collar of my jersey and the pads beneath, because what else can we do but watch and wait? It’s not exactly a game-winning kick—we’ve still got time—but it’s tense as hell.
The stadium has reached fever pitch, but the sideline is silent. All eyes are on Carter. It’s the moment of truth. Did I make the right call convincing her to try out? Was Coach right to start her today? Everyone’s on the edge of their seats, wondering if she’s going to crack under pressure. The media’s been salivating over the news of Carter’s scholarship, churning speculation daily, but with closed practices, no one had any actual facts. Just a whole lot of conjecture.
Most of it total bullshit.
“Have faith, man.” Coop wipes the back of his arm across his forehead. It’s hot as balls and we’re all feeling it. What should have been an easy game has become a race to score, because no way are we going to lose our home opener. “Carter can make thirty-five with her eyes closed.”
“I know.” I do know, but there’s that tiny little ball of doubt zinging around in my head. What if… It’s the same damn pattern of second-guessing myself I’ve always dealt with when it comes to football. Not that I can let it show. That shit has to stay buried deep. I’m expected to lead by example and leaders don’t sit around stewing over what-if scenarios.
Carter marks her spot and walks off her steps. The stadium falls silent as the play clock counts down, and I swear to God an eternity passes before the ball is finally snapped. James positions the ball, but Carter stands frozen, taking her sweet-ass time. If she doesn’t get the damn ball up, it’s going to be blocked.
Or worse yet, she could get tackled by the defense.
Sure, her body’s made of muscle, but that doesn’t mean I want to see her crushed by some two-hundred-pound goon who doesn’t mind a personal foul. It sure as shit wouldn’t be the first time and with all the hype surrounding Carter, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are guys in the conference gunning for her.
Shit. I should’ve warned her, given her a heads-up or something, because unlike her, I actually do know what football players are like, and while most are pretty decent guys, there are always a few assholes.
Like Langley.
My gut clenches when the defense leaps forward, closing in fast. What the fuck is she waiting for? A personal invitation? I step forward, stopping just short of the field thanks to Coop’s grip on my shoulder.
Thank Christ. Carter’s finally moving. She springs into action, one short step followed by two longer ones. Her foot connects with the ball, sending it arcing through the air, sailing over the heads of the defensive players with just enough clearance to avoid a blocked kick. The ball flies through the upright, dead center, and just like that, the game is tied up.
That’s my girl!
I pump my fist in the air as the stadium erupts, but no one’s cheering as loud as the guys on the sideline when the announcer calls Carter’s name over the loudspeaker. You’d think we’d won the game by the way the team’s reacting. Or that she’d set a new school record. But I know exactly how they feel. Like it’s all finally coming together. Like this is our season. Like we’re unstoppable.
Relief washes over me like a Gatorade shower after a championship game. I came through for the team, patching the hole Spellman left and making us stronger for it. I may have gotten lucky finding Carter, but she’s with us now and the team is delivering on all fronts.
This is our time, our year.
Carter jogs off the field, and I find myself hanging back as the team surrounds her. There are high fives and cheers and probably an excessive amount of celebration, but what I notice most? It’s the way her cheeks flush and her eyes shine with pride as the guys pile on the congratulations.
She turns to face me. I should give her a fist bump or a clap on the shoulder or…something. But it’s like we’re frozen in time. Just a split second where it’s me and her and no one else. No teammates, no coaches, no crowds. And in that moment of hesitation, I know something has shifted between us. I can feel it in my gut, see it in the way she studies my face, in the tiny wrinkle that forms between her brows.
Fuck.
I’m the team captain. I’m supposed to see her as one of the guys, treat her like one of the guys. I haven’t forgotten Coach’s
