The elastic around my hair makes a satisfying sound as it snaps, and then, as if thinking about them conjured it up, there’s a text from Morgan: Good luck tonight!!

A few seconds later, Sage adds, Oh yeah! Good luck!

Okay, not loving being an afterthought, and a text is pretty weak for them, especially since they know it’s my biggest game so far, but it’s something. They haven’t forgotten about me. They’re still going to welcome me home with open arms.

I exhale deeply.

So many things to stress about. So many questions. So many people caught up in this mess.

At least I know not to bother looking for texts from my brothers.

I look into the mirror and slap my cheek so hard, it immediately flushes. “Stop being so fucking emo, Walsh,” I order myself, because there’s no tough-talking coach around me to do it. The pep talks happen in the guys’ locker room, and shockingly, I’ve not been invited. Of course, they pretend the weak-ass minute on the field is the real deal, but I know where the actual coaching is happening.

I slap my other cheek, hard, and put on my helmet, just in time to hear us being announced onto the field.

Naturally, they wouldn’t bother waiting until I was ready. I rush to catch up with the flood of bulky yellow shoulders and bright green numbers, just barely emerging at the tail end of them.

And then. A rush of volume.

Applause. Whistling. Screaming. The homecoming crowd is officially in town.

Except.

“Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack!”

The fuck?

I peel off my helmet and look up into the stands, immediately regretting removing my protective headgear when I feel an unfamiliar prickle at my eyes.

They’re here. Sage and Morgan, and what looks like an entire bus full of old friends I’ve barely kept in touch with. My parents and brothers. Cousins. Grandparents.

Holy shit. I have a fucking cheering section.

I have never, ever had a cheering section. And with so many people in the stands who don’t know the politics of treating me like a human person at this school, their cheering is infectious. Contagious. Strangers who haven’t been here in months or years are picking up the chant of my name and all I can think is Please listen to this, Terry Lawrence. Please, when you see my entire team throw me under the bus, remember this moment that proved that out there in the world are people who want me to succeed.

And because I am a stupid fool with a stupid heart, I hazard a quick look at Amber, who doesn’t seem surprised at any of this. Who looks thrilled and … accomplished.