They were only up by three points, and with a little over a minute left to play, that was enough time for us to get the ball down the field far enough for Riley to kick and tie the game for overtime. But if they got even one more first down here, they’d be in field goal range — and that would put us down by a touchdown.

The ball was snapped, and I fired off the line, chasing after the wide receiver I was covering. I had him, no matter how he tried to juke and break away. The quarterback’s wild eyes as he frantically searched the backfield told me my teammates were doing their jobs well.

There was nowhere for him to throw, and the poor sucker ran out of time.

One of our defenders blasted through the line, wrapping the quarterback up and taking him down in a sack that made the stadium go quiet, save for the roaring little corner of it that was filled with NBU students.

We celebrated on our way back to the sideline, the loss so big we knew they wouldn’t dare a field goal. And as our special teams jogged out for the kick reception, I guzzled down water and tried to preserve what little energy I had left for what was still to come.

It took every ounce of effort I had to keep my mind on the game and off Giana.

That was new for me. Football had had my full attention since I was a kid. Even when I was with Maliyah, the girl I thought I’d end up marrying, she faded easily to the back of my mind when it was game time.

It was different with Giana.

She was on the sideline, too, fielding reporters and camera crew with a cool, steel reserve. It shouldn’t have made sense, how well she handled professionals at least five years older than her, some more than that. She also wrangled us as student athletes, which was akin to herding cats. But somehow over the last year and a half, she’d found her voice, her confidence. She spoke clearer and louder, knew what she was doing, and had the ability to look as cool as a cucumber while she did it.

It was hard not to watch, to admire — especially when I also knew how to unravel that well-put-together woman when it was just the two of us.

Zeke catching the ball down at the ten snapped me back to the present, and I watched him zoom almost thirty yards before he was taken down. I kept my focus on the field as Holden ran out with the offense next, leading them in a myriad of plays that got us well within field goal range.

But we didn’t need it.