I hold my ticket up again, showing it to Heath. “Which way do I go?”

* * *

“Next time, we’re up in the suites!” I don’t know if Lo realizes how loudly she’s screaming. “This is fun and all, but I can hardly hear myself think!”

I agree, sitting in the stands in the end zone is fun. More fun maybe than I initially expected. But maybe I wasn’t thinking this through. From one end of the field, it’s harder to see what’s happening on the opposite side, which is where the Rebels are lined up, somewhere on their own eight yard line.

But what I do see is the score, and much to everyone’s surprise, having an interim head coach hasn’t done much to bring doubt to a potential Rebels dynasty. We’re about to close out the first half up by fourteen points.

“Oh, oh, go! Throw it!”

I have to check the Jumbotron to see what exactly is happening, but by the time my eyes find the screen, the play is dead. I think Fitz took a sack because they’re lining up the ball farther back than where we started. “Are we on the one yard line?”

“No, no.” Lo squints. “I think the three.”

I belly laugh and look at her. “Is that seriously any better?”

She takes my hand and nods. “It totally does! Football, it’s a game of inches, Parker.”

I’m not sure Lo even knows what that means, but I let her have it, even though the Jumbotron reads THIRD AND 18. I think we need more than just a few inches.

And apparently, Fitz has what we need.

I grab and squeeze Lo’s hand. “Is he… is he running?”

“He’s running!” Lo screams, probably because she didn’t hear me. But she’s right. “Fitzy! Go! Run!”

I hold my breath as I watch what feels like a stampede of navy blue Rebels jerseys make their way down the field, doing their best to block the whites of the other team. But Fitz doesn’t need all that much blocking. He runs like his life depends on it, like he has no time to waste. I start screaming before he crosses into the end zone, but it’s short lived. Because he keeps running, and when Lo’s jaw falls open, I finally get it.

He’s running straight to me.

Before I know it, Fitz reaches up, hoisting himself onto the padded wall. He’s half sitting, and I grab onto his jersey so he doesn’t fall.

“What are you⁠—”

I pause when he lifts up his helmet and gives me a kiss. “How was that?” he asks, his chest heaving.