Dillon, a special teams player, and I sprint toward the center of the field to close ranks around him just as he bursts out of the end zone and across the ten. The fifteen.
I block a lineman in purple looking to crush Tyus. I hit him hard on the left, spinning him out and dropping him to the ground. I scramble to stay on my feet. When I’m upright again Anthony is blowing past me, his body a blur of orange and yellow diving and weaving between linemen. Two Kodiak defensive linemen are there blocking for him, but I fall in line behind him, giving it everything I got. I cover his ass in case anyone gets around him and I’m there if he gets jammed up and has to unload the ball. Or, worst case scenario, he takes a hit and it pops loose.
I feel someone coming up on my right. It’s a Viking, pushing hard to reach for Anthony. I turn on the juice and crash into him. I knock him sideways, making him stumble, taking Anthony out of his reach.
Tyus ducks and weaves, faster and faster. He’s pulling away from us all, even me, until he’s at their thirty. Their twenty. He’s all alone at the ten. The five. The end zone.
Touchdown!
Thirty seconds off the motherfucking clock and we’re on the board.
I sprint into the end zone where Tyus is standing with his back to the field, his face thrown up to the sky, and his arms open wide. He’s howling like a wolf at the moon.
I crash into him, lifting him up off the ground and shaking him like a ragdoll. I carry him like a trophy to the sidelines. He pounds on my helmet as he keeps on howling, as his yell merges with mine, then Matthews’ and Lowry’s. Hibbert’s and Lefao’s. Domata’s. The crowd’s. We’re brothers and animals. Fighters and family.
We’re unstoppable today, I can feel it. It’s one of those days where nothing can go wrong. And five minutes later when Trey hands off the ball to me and I see that opening to the end zone, I honestly believe that’s true.
I make a fake to the right to draw out the defender covering the line. He falls for it, stuttering two steps to the side, leaving me a window only three feet wide, but it’s all I need. I only have to get the ball across the line. My body doesn’t matter.
I sprint into the opening with everything I’ve got. I see it closing fast as the lineman realizes his mistake and moves to block me, but he’s too late. I’m diving for the ground, stretching out my arm in a dangerous move that could either cost us the play or get us the score.
I take a hit from the left. Shoulders drive into my side, knocking me away from the line. The ball bursts out of my hand. I shout in rage as everyone scrambles to recover it. As this mountain plows into me and drives me into the turf, away from the fight. Helmets and pads crash, men are shouting, whistles are blowing, the fans are on their feet screaming. It’s a deafening, mad mess.
And still, in the midst of it all, I hear it when my knee pops.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
LILLY
Culver City, CA
My hands are clasped over my mouth. They’re clammy, the hot air of my sharp breaths trapped inside them. My family looks at me with concern but I’m staring at the screen. I’m watching the pile being pulled off Colt and I’m waiting for him to get up. Why isn’t he getting up?
“Something’s wrong,” Dad mumbles darkly.
It pitches my soul, sending it down, down, down.
I’m gravity. I’m a stone in the bottom of the sea.
As the last man is pulled away, Colt curls in two. In agony. He’s reaching for his leg and rolling from side to side.
It’s not just wrong. Something is horribly, terribly, painfully wrong.
“What happened?” I whisper into my palms.
Dad shakes his head minutely. “His knee. He injured it in college.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“He tore his ACL and MCL. They’re ligaments that help hold the knee in place. He was lucky he didn’t dislocate it the way Marcus Lattimore did. Cut his career short. He retired when he was younger than Colt. It was either that or he might get hurt so bad he’d never walk on that leg again.”
My stomach turns angrily. “Oh my God.”
Dad looks at me sympathetically. “He’s not hurt quite that bad, Linda. He’ll be okay. Look, he’s getting up. If they’re not carting him off the field, it’s not the worst case scenario.”
My heart clenches painfully. “Lilly,” I whisper.
Dad frowns. “What about Lilly?”
“I’m Lilly.”
“Honey,” Mom tries to intervene.
I shake my head, putting up my hand. “I’m done. I know. I’ll stop.”