My teammates flank me, our hands over our hearts as a country singer I didn’t recognize belted out a beautiful rendition of the National Anthem.

I lock eyes with Connor, who nods, black streaks of tar paint smeared under his eyes. My gaze scours the stadium, taking in the scents and sounds that have become my theme song, my soundtrack, for the past eight years.

This is it. The last game. I knew for a while that it was coming, but I wasn’t fully prepared for the emotion clutching my heart and bringing unshed tears to the back of my throat.

I found them in the stands, in the family suite that sat just above the fifty-yard line, at the top of the first section of seats. Demi stood with her hand over her heart, my jersey underneath her big parka jacket. She looked breathtaking, my lucky charm, my second chance. How fucking lucky was I that she had given me one? That was divine intervention if I ever saw it. A gift from the stars.

On one side of her stood Dylan, his face painted with my number drawn out in white paint. He looked like a total groupie, and I had to laugh at his enthusiasm.

And on the other side was Sarah and Aaron. They’d been so thrilled when I’d sent them tickets, told them I wouldn’t want them to miss this big moment. Little did they know that the moment they weren’t supposed to miss wasn’t the actual game, but the grand gesture after it was over.

The anthem ended, and our team moved into a huddle, Coach delivering one of the most motivating pump up speeches I’d ever heard.

“Men, we’ve worked damn hard this season. Overcome all of the odds stacked against us. No one thought we would be here in the end. But here we fucking are! Go out there and play the best four quarters of your life. Leave nothing unanswered, nothing stays out on that field! Sixty minutes of glory, that’s what I want from you. Hands in!”

We all put them in, the circle of brawn and courage buzzing with raw energy that could spark an explosion.

As soon as the first whistle blows, our special team’s unit receives the punt and the receiver runs the ball out to the forty. Time to go to work, and I can feel the blood coursing through my veins. I can practically hear it, flowing overtime and giving me this adrenaline high that is indescribable.

I line up, the cornerback covering me giving me some sneer and trash talk that I don’t even bother to listen to. This is my game, he has no business even being on my field. Some of the youth and cockiness floods over me, and I’m transported back to the hotshot know-it-all who used to make risky plays that sometimes paid off, and sometimes didn’t. That ego combined with my knowledge now is what will get me through this.

Play after play, we advance, scoring or picking up first downs. It feels like time is standing still, and for the first time in a year, I don’t feel the aches and pains of old age as an athlete plaguing my body. It’s like the universe is allowing me to give the game of football one last shot, scratch free. My knee is mobile, the tendons flex and muscles tense, without having to favor the other leg or go easy on it.

I put every ounce of myself into the last drives, trying to see the game through the eyes of the little boy who fell in love with it.

Because it will be his last time, my last time, under the lights.

* * *

Ticker tape is everywhere.

In my hair, in my mouth, fluttering down from the sky like stars that have exploded into our team colors.

It’s a sea of people, cameras, new championship merchandise being flung at me or pulled over my head. My teammates are crying, happy tears, and reporters are shoving microphones in my face, trying to get a quote from the one guy who is on top of the world right now.

It was my swan song. The last game. A ring. Going out as a champion.

My body, my heart, my mind, they all sing with triumph. And there is only one person I want to share it all with right now.

I see her through the crowd, her milk chocolate-colored hair waving wildly as she congratulates person after person, every other second jumping up and down next to Dylan in disbelief.

Moving people out of the way, dodging cameras and handshakes, I finally make my way to her.

“Baby!” she screams, hugging my neck and all but jumping into my arms.

I bury my nose in her hair, squeezing her tight to me, basking in this moment. She’s the only one I want by my side for every moment in life. It took me a long time coming to realize that.

Placing her down, I sink to one knee, pulling the ring box from my football pants. I’d had the thing in my extra helmet on the sidelines all game. I held it up to her.

“Demi Rosen, I’m done with this chapter. Now, I want to start my next one. The one where we live happily ever after. Now, I know you deal in wishes, so I’d like you to grant mine. Marry me. Make me the luckiest man on the face of this earth. The luckiest man in the galaxy.”

People around us start to catch on, there are some shrieks and wolf whistles. Then the crowd begins to cheer, they must have this playing on the Jumbotron.

But I’m only focused on Demi, her expression priceless. She stands stock-still, her mouth hanging open, tears glistening in her beautiful brown eyes. I wait her out, trying not to ask again because I know she’s in shock.

“Answer the boy, bubbala!” Her mom nudges her, both of her parents looking on in surprised awe.

I look at her, really look at her, inching the ring toward her.

“Yes,” she whispers, her eyes boring into me, tears spilling down her cheeks.

I don’t wait on my knee any longer, which is starting to throb, and instead jump up to lift her in celebration. She squeals and buries her head in my shoulder.

“I love you so much,” I whisper into her hair.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time,” she whispers back.

Someone around us yells, “She said yes!”

Flashbulbs come from every direction, and people rush us, pulling Demi away from me. I laugh, the whole atmosphere just one of huge celebration. I make my way to her again.

“I think I need to give you something to seal the deal.” I take her left hand, putting the ring on her third finger.

Studying it on her hand, Demi puts her other one to her mouth. “It’s so beautiful. Pax, I can’t believe this.”

I gaze at it on her hand, knowing that it is exactly where it belongs. That ring is home. “It was my mother’s.”

A gasp, and then tears. “This is the most special ring you ever could have picked. I promise I will cherish it forever.”

Taking her face in my hands, I kiss her lightly and then lean my forehead in to hers. “I know you will, because I’ll never let you take it off. You’re mine. Forever.”

And then chaos takes over again. Her parents smother her, as Dylan shakes me by the shoulders and shouts about being the best man and sitting on a float in the Super Bowl parade. The press surrounds us, asking questions about my game and the engagement.

Through it all though, I’m looking at Demi. My future wife.