So I dug in deeper, harder, my thighs and calves screaming in protest as I gave it everything I had.

Then, out of nowhere, one of our defensive linemen hopped up from where he’d been pushed back into our zone, and he tipped the ball.

It wobbled, spinning off target, and without hesitation, I leapt into the air and snagged it before the offense could even realize what was happening.

The roar of the crowd assaulted me as I landed, spinning just in time to avoid a tackle, and sprinting the opposite way down the field. My lungs were on fire, ribs aching, but I kept on, glancing behind me to find the opposite team on my tail.

“Go! Go! Go!”

Riley’s distinct voice pierced through the noise, and I pushed harder, glancing up to see the clock was about to run out.

And it did.

Right as I crossed over into the end zone.

“TOUCHDOWN REBELS!” the announcer bellowed, and our home team went absolutely insane as I puffed my chest and threw the ball into the stands. I was bombarded by my teammates in the next breath, my helmet being smacked hard enough to concuss me as they hyped me up. Then, before we could get in trouble from the coach or the officials for too much celebrating, we all jogged toward the sideline, only to be encompassed by reporters.

It was madness, and I fielded through each question that was thrown at me until I couldn’t take anymore. It was my fucking birthday, and I didn’t want to spend all of it answering the same shit over and over, but I also didn’t want to be a pain in Giana’s ass. So, I politely answered and then politely excused myself and made my way into the locker room.

“Way to end the game, you showboating sonofabitch,” Holden said when I dipped inside. He grinned, smacking me with the end of his jersey before he threw it in the dirty laundry basket. “We still would have won if you would have just run out the clock.”

I crossed my feet and did a little spin, plucking my jersey off my shoulders. “Yeah, but that wouldn’t be as fun to watch on the highlight reels later, would it?”

Holden shook his head, but his smile was wide, hair matted to his forehead after a grueling game. It was at least starting to cool off finally, fall taking over the northeast like it always did this time of year.

“Clay,” Leo said, nodding at me as he rounded into the locker room and set his helmet on the bench. “You have a visitor.”