“Sorry. I got here as soon as I could.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Reid drags the back of his hand across his forehead, which is already dripping. “You and Piper good?”
“Better than ever, believe it or not.”
He shrugs. “That’s all that matters.”
Reid is a natural born leader and I’m not sure he even realizes it. Here we are playing the most intense game of our lives, there are scouts everywhere, and he’s worried about me and my girl.
We watch in silence as Carter takes her position on the field.
The ball is snapped and James catches it, planting it on the ground just as Carter winds up. Her leg swings forward, her foot connecting with athwump,and then the ball sails through the upright.
The crowd goes nuts and just like that, we’re on the board.
Coop turns to Reid, smirking. “Are you really going to let your girl show you up like that?”
“It’s not a competition,” Reid says in a tone that suggests they’ve already had this conversation at least once.
“The hell it’s not.” Coop glances over his shoulder, confirming Coach is out of earshot. “Everything is a competition.”
“Facts.” Parker snickers. “I heard they’re taking bets on more than just the spread in Vegas.”
“The only thing I’m worried about right now is our next drive.”
“I hear that.” Coop shakes his hair like a wet dog, sending sweat flying. “The Georgia cornerback is fast as hell. He’s gonna make me work tonight.”
I snort. “Maybe you should’ve spent a little more time on leg day.”
He looks down at his biceps and the muscles ripple as he flexes. “Nah, I’m good.”
Our defense holds the line and Georgia’s forced to punt.
I strap on my helmet and when the return team calls for a fair catch, I take the field with the rest of the O-line, ready to work.
Three hours later,I’m sweating balls, my right elbow is torn up, and we’re trailing the Dawgs by three. The game has been a dogfight, no pun intended, and as the clock winds down, our dream of winning a national championship slips further from reach.
“Come on,” I whisper, willing our D to make a big play.
The momentum has been in Georgia’s favor since the start of the third quarter and they’re running our defense ragged.
“Daniels and his boys need to buck the fuck up,” Coop says, squirting water into his mouth from one of the team bottles. “I’ve seen turtles with more energy.”
I give him the side-eye. “Were their names Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Raphael?”
Parker snickers. “You walked right into—”
A roar goes up from the crowd, drowning out the rest of the sentence. Adrenaline floods my system as one of our safeties picks off the Georgia QB inside the red zone. He runs it back twenty-five yards before he’s tackled, giving us great field position with nearly two minutes on the clock.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Coop shouts, thumping his helmet.
Reid’s jaw is set as he looks at each of us. “Let’s bring this thing home.”
The noise in the stadium has reached a fever pitch by the time we take our positions on the line of scrimmage. Fortunately, we’re used to it. Waverly’s known to have one of the loudest stadiums in the country. The Georgia fans can scream themselves hoarse trying to drown out the play call, but it won’t work.
I stare across the line at the defensive end, sweat dripping from my brow.
This is it. Everything we’ve worked for all season. Hell, the last four seasons. It’s all going to come down to this last possession.
