Logan nods, lips pressing together. "Yeah. Probably."
The coach calls for everyone to get moving.
Carter pats my shoulder. "Let’s go win a championship."
I nod once. "Yeah. Let’s do it."
The tunnel is dark, filled with nothing but the sound of cleats scraping against the concrete, deep breaths, and the low murmur of coaches giving last-minute instructions.
I roll my shoulders, shaking out my arms as I bounce on my toes, trying to loosen the tightness in my chest.
This is it. My final college football game.
The last time I’ll put on this jersey, the last time I’ll run onto this field as a college athlete.
After this, everything changes.
But right now? I shove all of that aside. For the next sixty minutes, there’s only this game.
I glance around at my teammates, the guys I’ve sweat with, bled with, pushed through hell with. Carter catches my eye, his helmet tucked under his arm as he nods once.
"Let’s give ‘em hell, boys," he says, voice steady, confident, ready. "It’s our final time. Let’s make it count."
There’s a collective murmur of agreement, pads slapping, fists knocking against helmets.
"Storm on three," Carter calls, raising his fist. "One, two, three?—"
"STORM!"
The moment the word echoes through the tunnel, the doors open, and the noise hits like a tidal wave. It’s a deafening roar, thousands of voices chanting, screaming, the rumble vibrating through my chest as we break into a run, charging onto the field.
Stadium lights blaze down, fireworks shoot into the sky, and for a brief moment, I just take it in.
The moment.
The noise.
The way this feels.
I want to burn it into my memory, never forget the way adrenaline surges through my veins, the way the crowd chants ourname, the way my heart hammers in my chest like it knows this is the last time.
The whistle blows, and it’s time to work.
We start strong, coming out aggressive, pushing the ball fast, keeping their defense scrambling.
I make my first catch on a quick slant, taking it up field for an extra twelve yards before getting shoved out. Carter is right there, yanking me up with a grin.
"Nice start."
I nod, chest heaving. "Let’s keep it going."
And we do.
Our running back breaks a twenty-yard gain on the next play, our offensive line holding strong against their rush. By the time we hit the red zone, our QB fakes a handoff, rolls out, and fires the ball to me in the corner of the end zone.
I jump, fingertips grazing leather, securing the catch as my feet plant inbounds.
Touchdown.
