Huddled around Coach Bennett, I glanced up at the scoreboard.
Fourth Quarter. Five seconds left on the clock.
Mavericks: 21
Dallas: 27
We needed a touchdown.
This was our last time-out, and not only that, we had thirty yards to go before we reached the end zone.
“Everything we’ve trained for. Everything you’ve worked so hard for. It all comes down to these five seconds. These last seconds will decide if you’re going home with that championship trophy or not,” Coach Bennett said, his voice firm and his eyes serious.
He looked each and every one of us in the eyes.
“Now, I know you can fucking pull this one out. You’ve done more in less time. But you need to go out there and play these last five seconds like it is the very last game of your fucking career, and once the clock hits zero, you’ll never have the opportunity to step onto that field again.”
“We got this, boys!” Sam Sheffield bellowed. “We fucking got this!”
We responded with fervor, hooting and hollering and pumping each other up.
“All right. All right,” Coach said and raised both arms in the air, gesturing for us to settle down. “Martinez, I need you to hold your fucking ground and give QB time in the pocket.”
Teeny nodded, jaw stern. “Got it, Coach.”
“And, Bailey,” Coach instructed, looking up from his crouched position in the center of our huddle to meet Quinn’s steady gaze. “We’re going to set up for Razzle Dazzle because we know their defense is looking for you to get the ball into Sean’s hands, but instead, I want you to find Mitchell.” Coach’s eyes locked with Cam’s. “You got it?” he asked, and Cam nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“All right,” Coach said. “Get out there and show Dallas how we win games.”
Hyped up and ready, we jogged back onto the field, and before we lined up, I grabbed Mitchell by the helmet and stared him straight in the eyes.
“You got this,” I said and smacked the top of his helmet a few times. “You fucking got this, son!”
Toes to the line and only five seconds on the clock, we were ready.
The instant Quinn called for the ball, we jumped into action.
With two defensive backs on my fucking balls, I did my best to keep their attention. And by the time I hit the twenty-yard line, I moved in the opposite direction of Mitchell and prayed to everything holy—God, Jesus, Buddha, fucking Mother Teresa—that I’d pulled the defense enough to give QB room to complete the pass.
Just as I glanced over my shoulder, Bailey let the ball soar out of his fingertips.
High into the air, the pigskin flew like a fucking spiral rocket until it landed directly on Cam’s fingertips.
He snagged it from the sky and pulled it to his chest.
Ten yards.
Five yards.
Three yards.
One yard.
He ran until he couldn’t run anymore, until Dallas’s defense stopped his progression, and all he could do was fall to his knees. But the entire time, that fucking ball stayed cradled in his arms.
The game clock hit zero.
Referees blew their whistles.
More defense piled on top of Mitchell until he wasn’t even visible, and the refs blew their whistles some more as they jogged toward the mountain of players.
Adrenaline pumping hot and heavy into my veins, I ran toward the end zone, praying to God Mitchell had managed to get the ball over the line.
The instant the refs were able to get Dallas’s defense off of Mitchell, my battered, bloody heart damn near fell out of my chest and onto the field.
There it sat.
The ball, just outside the fucking end zone.
The refs blew their whistles and waved their arms in the air, signaling no touchdown, and then, it was over.
Zero seconds on the clock.
And barely an inch outside of the goddamn end zone.
We’d lost.
We’d lost the fucking championship game.
While Dallas’s team cheered and fireworks and confetti guns went off like rockets and the crowd inside the stadium went wild, I fell to my knees.
Straight to my fucking knees, right outside the end zone.
Fuck!
I stared up toward the sky and sighed the heaviest, saddest breath that had ever left my lungs.
God, I wanted that win.
I wanted that win so bad I could taste it.
I wanted to walk away tonight with a championship ring on my finger, and I wanted what we’d all spent years working toward to come to fruition. Quinn’s jaw was hard as he battled against the emotion, and Cam gave him a commiserating slap to the helmet. Teeny’s walk was subdued, weighted, no doubt, by the same lead in my chest.
It looked like what I wanted and what was reality were two goddamn different things.
I shut my eyes and took another deep breath, trying to come to terms with the loss.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It hurt. It fucking killed. Hours upon hours of work and weeks of fantasizing right down the drain.
I breathed through the disappointment, readying myself to start all over again. There’d be another season next year. Another championship game. Another chance to have it all.
I wasn’t sure I was fully convinced, such was the sting of frustration, but when I opened my eyes, there she stood, her body mere inches from mine and her big brown eyes looking down at me.
Six. My Six. The only woman to ever hold my heart.
She was a mess of wild and beauty. Tears stained her beautiful cheeks, and a worried little smile covered her lips.
The crowd, the field, the fucking stadium, everything around us faded away, and we just stared at one another for the longest time.
Until her perfect voice broke our silence and took all the pain away.
“You pick Six?” she asked, and more tears spilled from her eyes.
“No.” I shook my head. “Didn’t you watch the video, baby? I more than pick Six. I love Six.”
She was better than a fucking championship. She was better than one win in a bucket full of games. She was the ultimate season, the neverending championship, the tiniest, most perfect trophy of all.
She was everything.
A little gasp left her lips, and I hopped back to my feet.
With love and want and deep, deep need coursing through my veins, I moved toward her, and before she could even respond, I had her in my arms.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered and buried her tear-stained face into my chest. “I’m sorry I ended things the way I did. I was just so scared. God, I was so afraid of getting hurt. I had fallen for you, Sean, and I just didn’t think it was possible for you to fall for anyone.”
“It wasn’t,” I agreed, but I didn’t hesitate to speak my truth. “Until you, baby.” I leaned back and put my finger underneath her chin and lifted her gaze to mine.
And when those big brown eyes of hers looked up at me, my heart pretty much melted.
“You changed all the rules,” I said. “You changed everything. And fuck, I’m so happy you did. I love you, Six. I really fucking love you.”
She didn’t hesitate to respond. “I love you too.”
“I know you do, baby.” I grinned, and she raised a curious brow.
“Wait a minute…what do you mean, you know?”
I shrugged. “Well, you kind of let everyone know you loved me when you posted that amazing ramble of a video…”
“Oh God,” she muttered. “I swear I’m never going to live that video down.”
“You had a lot of wonderful things to say,” I teased, and she grimaced.
“Oh yeah, especially the part where I waxed poetic about your penis. That was real wonderful.”
I nodded and chuckled softly. “The best damn poetry I’ve ever heard.”
She shoved me playfully in the chest. “Of course it is, you cocky bastard.”
I laughed again, but I did it while I wrapped her up tightly in my arms again. “God, I’ve missed you,” I whispered into her ear.
“I’ve missed you too.”
I leaned back and stared deep into her gorgeous eyes. “You’re mine.”
She quirked a brow, but I didn’t let it stop me.
“I’m yours,” I added. “And now, we’re going to get the fuck out of this stadium and spend the rest of the night making up for lost time.”
A beautiful smile kissed her lips. “Count. Me. In.” Mischief colored her chocolate eyes with a creamy swirl and settled as she winked. “You could use the practice.”
My laughter was a roar.
For a man who’d just lost the game of his life, I felt victorious.
I’d won more than just a championship or a trophy or a ring.
I’d won the fucking girl.
Without a second thought, I leaned down and tossed her pint-sized, curvy little body over my shoulder and proceeded to carry her off the field.
She laughed and giggled and swatted at my shoulders the entire way, but I didn’t give a shit. I was taking her, my girl, back to my hotel room caveman-style, and not anyone or anything was going to stand in my way.
When several cameras and journalists tried to grab our attention, I ignored every single one of them.
Now wasn’t the time for an interview.
Now wasn’t the time for anything but Six.