'Holy shit,' Tommy said, finally letting out his breath.
'Tommy!' Mrs Woods exclaimed, swatting his arm with a pillow. Mr Woods echoed the curse under his breath, and Chrissy's giggles turned into a full-on fit, having her rolling on the floor in front of the couch. Exasperated, Elizabeth Woods threw up her hands and muttered: 'Men.'
William Woods chuckled, getting up and kissing his wife on the head before mentioning he was going to get another round of pop for everyone. Once Chrissy recovered from her fit, she hopped up, eager to help.
Jackson watched in silence as the rest of the Dons' defence swarmed Ty, almost trampling Kentavious—who remained on the ground—in their haste to celebrate.
The Dons had kept fighting to start the second half, but even their hope must've been running low after the smashing they'd received earlier. With the offence's touchdown, and Ty following it up so quickly with a long-awaited interception, their hope had been fully restored.
The broadcast showed a replay of the tremendous interception, and Jackson almost slipped off his seat he was that far on the edge of it. He wanted to press his face to the screen, absorb every detail of the play, repeat it on loop for hours. But most of all he wished he was there. What a birthday gift that would've been.
Next year, he thought. I'll get there myself. The dates wouldn't line up again, but the sentiment would be the same; this game would always be his birthday, and next year he was gifting himself the championship.
Tommy grinned. Despite Jackson's silent concentration, his excitement and passion were clear in his eyes; a shining beacon proudly displaying his love for the game. Tommy couldn't wait to see him back on the field.
Even with the replay, they couldn't see how Ty had pulled off his interception. Kentavious wasn't out of position. The ball should've reached him, and with his skywalking leap he shouldn't have been stopped. Yet Ty had stretched just far enough, and got a fingertip to the ball somehow. From there, Jackson knew it wasn't luck. It was all Ty.
He hadn't given up. Even after being beaten so badly. The first three touchdowns of the game had been scored directly against him, even when another Don helped. Yet within the same game he could turn it around completely, and secure an interception all on his own. No wonder he was at the top of their class, fighting alongside Kentavious. Ty wasn't just a rival, he was an inspiration. Now it was Kentavious's turn to show how he handled adversity. Was he like Ty?… Or was he like the old Jackson?
###
Fun. Kentavious repeated the word in his head. Eventually Morrison reached his side and helped him to his feet. Until the boy had arrived, it looked as if Kentavious might stay laying there even as the Longhorns' defence took the field.
When was the last time football had been fun? It was something he pondered as Morrison helped him off the field. He didn't hear the other boy's profuse apologising; didn't ease Morrison's worries by saying the fault lay with him alone.
Senior was irate when Junior finally made it to the bench. His booming voice broke through Kentavious's stupor.
'Are you serious right now? How are you going to let that little brat embarrass you like that? Do you have no shame? Do you care so little about yourself; about US?!'
But Junior had long learnt how to deflect his father's voice. Those words weren't for him. The shouting became muffled even as Senior's volume didn't decrease. It was as if they were in different rooms, a wall between them; as if Senior was shouting at someone else.
He'd found it. That spark of fun. So far back. Sure, winning was… well it wasn't bad but he wouldn't call it fun, anymore. Once it's expected—demanded—it becomes an obligation, and those are never fun.
It's strange, because the sensation associated with his fun was familiar. One he experienced nearly daily. He was soaring, through the clouds rather than the stars themselves. Somehow, he'd never been more free, even if he was so much closer to the ground. It was so much lighter. He wasn't weighed down by the thought of finding someone who was a rival worthy of challenging him, nor was he concerned with being the best. He simply was.
Delving deeper, chasing that source of fun to its zenith, much like he chased a football, brought him to an even simpler time. There was no game at all, just a backyard, a ball, a son… and a mother.
His mother.
Junior couldn't remember Nia Rice's face, not completely. He remembered how her sea of brown curls framed it so perfectly; how her scent of dewdrops and honey lingered after she was gone; how her hugs were as warm as a summer's day; and how her smile could ease even the most grievous pain.
She was smiling then, when he soared so high. Oh, how joyful she was, and how proud, too. Proud of him, and amazed by how high her starlight could jump. Each cry and exclamation of wonderment fuelled him. He was desperate to reach higher, right into the stars themselves and come down with some real starlight for her, just to see that beautiful smile grow.
He was just a kid back then. (Of course, he still was, but anyone, no matter how young always thinks themselves a kid when looking back.) What must Nia Rice think seeing how high her starlight could jump now?
'Are you fucking crying?!'
A crack like a whip shattered Junior's memories and flung him back to the present. He lay against the bench, face stinging.
'Unhand me!' Senior demanded.
There was a commotion with the Longhorns staff. They were dragging him away, shielding Junior from him. Morrison looked ready to throw hands, and Coach Bourne was standing over Junior with concern, asking him if he was okay. Senior eventually shrugged off those who were restraining him, but he made no move to get back to his son, leaving peacefully.
Junior sat up, touching his face where the sting of his father's hand still burned, darkening his cheek. 'I'm fine,' he said. 'Sorry, Coach.'
'What?' Coach Bourne said, taken aback. 'Don't be ridiculous. I'm the one who should be sorry. I never should've let him on the sideline. Are you sure you're okay?'
Kentavious nodded, his gaze lowering to the field. The Dons' offence was setting up, and the Longhorns' defence matched them. The defence was haggard after their minuscule break, but they were determined to end the Dons' comeback before it could pick up further steam.
Coach Bourne gently patted Kentavious on the shoulder, then turned back to the game. Morrison sat back down.
'Yo, KJ, you good?' Again Kentavious nodded. 'Bro, I swear if your pops does something like that again, I'm swinging, I don't give a fuck.'
Kentavious smiled slightly. He must've looked mad, smiling after everything he'd been through in the past couple of minutes, but why wouldn't he be happy? Despite how horrible and distant he'd been, he still had a great friend in Morrison—one who deserved better, and Kentavious would make up for that beginning now—and his search was finally over.
Tyrese was here, standing on the mountaintop, and he was the real deal. So real, in fact, that Ty was already looking past, and beginning to climb into the heavens themselves. Kentavious couldn't let him get a head start; what could be more fun than having something to chase after all these years?
He held onto that feeling, and kept his smile as the Longhorns' defence looked to make their stand, having less than half the field to do so.
###
Adam darted this way and that amongst the Longhorn's formation, slapping helmets, backs, and shoulders, giving his teammates a last bit of advice and motivation as he nudged them over a step or two.
'Watch them out here, they like to run wide; you gotta cut that shit down; they think their Receivers can seal the edge themselves. Don't be scared to get hit; we have the numbers; we just gotta run harder and bring one of them down with us.'
He wouldn't let the game slip from their fingers; wouldn't let the Dons run through them any longer. Julian Jones belonged on the defence, not the offence. Even then, Adam Pearce was determined to be the better MLB.
The Dons, of course, were still in their newfangled formation, with the three-headed monster of JJ, Cam, and Chris in the backfield. Surrounded by those three, Jay felt completely at ease as he called for the snap.
Chris took the ball, charging up the middle as JJ and Cam led the way. Lachlan braced himself, but was more like a deer in headlights than an immovable block of iron… and then Adam jammed the hole beside him, offering him support and securing his foundations.
The middle was blocked, and Chris had nowhere to run. He stopped, eyes darting about. He bounced to the outside, but Pippen cut through, and pounced on him, stopping his run for no gain at all. In fact, the Dons were lucky not to lose any yards on the play.
'Yeah!' Adam shouted. His cry was echoed by his fellow Longhorns, carrying across the field and sidelines, up into the stands.
They rallied around Pippen, who grinned widely, discovering that stopping the run could be just as exhilarating as getting a sack.
The Dons were rattled, but not broken as they regrouped. They'd simply let their hubris take charge. Going up the middle wasn't their best bet, though it had sent a good message previously. But if the Longhorns were shoring up their defence, they'd have to look elsewhere.
So when Chris was handed the ball again, he darted outside, following JJ as they charged away from Pippen. The Longhorns' D-Line shifted fast, but without overextending themselves; they flowed smoothly, pushing Chris wider and wider, even as he edged forward little by little, but he was running out of room to run, and when he tried to cut upfield, his protectors collapsed under the Longhorns' assault, and Adam brought him down after only a gain of 3.
The crowd gasped. Had the Dons' onslaught been stopped? Maybe their previous drive was just a fluke. Either way, no matter how close the Dons had started to the end-zone, they weren't going to bulldoze their way through the Longhorns anymore.
Chris was hoisted back to his feet by JJ, who patted him down on their way back to the huddle. 'I need to be taking this more seriously,' Chris said. 'I'm going down too easy.'
'Don't worry about that,' JJ said, 'just smash right through 'em.'
As they joined the huddle, Chris looked around—third-and-seven wasn't exactly the best time to run the ball. 'Maybe a Counter could work?' he suggested.
Jay looked towards the sidelines, hands covering his helmet's earholes. His mouth twitched, though the tick passed too quickly to see if it was a positive or negative reaction. He glanced at Stephen and said:
'Coach has a better idea. If you're up for it, big man.'
Stephen took a breath, and nodded. It was time to prove why the formation still had him and Cole in it, rather than Benny and another Lineman.
Once the huddle broke apart, Stephen walked out wide and stood before Juan Sprout. What a nuisance he was. It was always the little ones, Stephen found, who were most annoying. Maybe because they were so small they had an easier time needling under your skin. Of course, losing to them when you had as clear an advantage as Stephen did never helped.
It was bad enough constantly losing to Ty in practice, but at least Ty was the best in the country; everybody lost to that pipsqueak. But Juan? That was too far. Stephen needed to pull his head out of his ass, and soon.
His team needed him. Beyond that his family was watching. They'd never let him hear the end of it if he failed here against someone like Juan… but more than any of that, it was the self-righteous look of arrogance in Juan's eyes, so alike the look Stephen saw most practices. That look fired up Stephen the most.
The ball was snapped, and Stephen slipped outside. Juan was more than happy to let Stephen take the outside lane, so he could block off the middle, or if it was another run, so he was closer to help. Either way he was backing up and keeping his distance.
Jay turned towards Chris, faking the hand-off. It was enough to make the defence—already drawn up by the repeated runs—hesitate before they had to scramble after the now three extra Receivers spilling out of the backfield.
Juan turned to Stephen, keeping his focus strictly on him. The others could deal with the stragglers, his job was simple… but Stephen wasn't going to make it easy. He rushed forward, sticking as close to Juan's lane as he could, almost running directly underneath him as the Longhorn kept backing up.
They raced into the red-zone and didn't slow. Stephen kept his eyes forward, focused on Juan. With the Play-Action fake, no Safeties were close enough to help. It was a one-on-one, just how Stephen needed it.
When they neared the 10-yard line Stephen flashed his hand up, signalling towards the corner of the end-zone. Jay obliged, and lobbed the ball over.
Stephen didn't diverge from his path yet. He had to hold it until the last moment, knowing Juan liked that running leap to make up for the height difference. When Juan realised Stephen's intentions, he kicked off his back foot hard, scrambling to get a better angle to shift around the big man. That's when Stephen turned, locating the ball.
He drifted towards it, angling his body to keep himself between Juan's path. He could hear the hurried footsteps of the defender closing down on him, but Stephen put it out of mind, put everything else out of mind as he reached for the ball, keeping his feet planted just within the end-zone. He tilted and stretched until he began tipping over, extending his toes to keep himself in contact with the ground as the ball finally reached his hands.
Juan slammed into him, chopping at his arms. But he was too late, and could only smack Stephen's shoulders as they tumbled out-of-bounds and Stephen curled around the ball, hugging it tight to his chest. They thudded into the ground, but Stephen didn't let go; he'd never let go.
Officials closed in, and called for the touchdown. Up in the skybox—as those in the stands gave enthusiastic, but short cries and cheers—Stephen's mother was bouncing up and down with joy, squeezing her husband so tight she was almost crushing him.
Juan stormed off the field while the Dons were still celebrating. To think, he could play a perfect game for over half an hour, then one fucking slip up and that giant, talentless prick scored on him.
'You'll get 'em next time,' Coach Bourne said.
'Yeah yeah, sure. Maybe the offence won't shit the bed this time?' Juan said.
'Oh yeah that's why you gave up a touchdown just like that,' Sebastian said. 'Everybody else on the defence did their job but you.'
'I don't need to hear nothing from a number two who ain't even shit.'
'Why are you so fucking mad, short ass?' Stu asked. 'A thirty-point lead isn't big enough for you? Fuck's sake.'
'Guys, chill,' Morrison said, drawing a few glares.
'Everyone be quiet,' Coach Bourne snapped. The arguing ended, though there were still a few glares shared around.
With a successful extra point, the Longhorns' lead was cut down to just 30–14.
After another round of celebrations from the Dons, Sebastian made his way onto the field. He might as well've stayed on the bench, for it ended in a touchback, setting the Longhorns offence to start at the 25 once more.
Kentavious bounced lightly as he led the rest of the offence onto the field. Watching him, whatever worries they might've had—whatever frustrations had been building between them and the defence—faded to the background. They still had Kentavious. Whatever had happened before was an anomaly.
Likewise, the Dons' defence knew only good things awaited if they followed Ty… but Donte didn't want to be a burden. He had overcome Lachlan once before, and he could do so again to bring the Dons another step closer to glory. Winning required a team effort, and he was going to pull his weight.
Ty met Kentavious, a chill exuding from him. The two were far from any others. Isolated in their own stretch of the field, playing their own game away from everyone else, but that was fine with Kentavious. In fact, he smiled at Ty's impassive, abyssal stare. He felt none of the cold in the air, for nothing could overpower a mother's warmth and love, and he needed nothing more than himself and a ball to be content, so it didn't matter how far away his teammates seemed.
A storm swirled as these two opposing forces faced off… then the ball was snapped.
Kentavious stepped inside, then out, almost twisting Ty inside-out with how rapidly he made the movements. Little bursts of warmth fought against the cold.
Each step Kentavious took was light, as if he was running on the clouds, and those clouds propelled him faster and further than anything else; he was flying, and his feet hadn't even left the ground yet.
Even Ty was swept up in the ferocious wind whipping about them, tugging on his jersey. Kentavious darted outside, and Ty flowed with him, pulled along in part by the wind as they both ran along the fluffy white sea of clouds.
But it was just a feint. Kentavious rushed inside, and it was like pushing into the wind to give chase. Ty felt the heat then, breaking through his isolated coldness, burning away the dark as a big, bright sun lay before him, and Kentavious's second feint had him scrambling.
After the one-two step outside-inside, mirroring his release, Kentavious burst upwards again. Ty planted, but found the clouds under him were no longer solid, and he fell right through, legs coming apart in a split as he hit the ground.
Ty was beaten, and Kentavious was wide open, racing down the sideline. He looked back, calling for the ball… However, Kentavious wasn't the only one making such game-breaking moves.
Donte had burst outside, taking a bull rush at an angle, getting his hands to Lachlan's outer shoulder, trying to push through him like a turnstile. Of course, the Iron Block had only hardened at the impact. The wall was immovable and impassable. Which was exactly what Donte wanted.
He spun inside, slipping through the slim gap between Tackle and Guard, breaking through before the Iron Block could shift back and harden again. He was free, with Stu starting out wide as a Receiver there was no-one between him and Morrison. Now was the hard part. His focus heightened. He couldn't half-ass it again; his team needed him. Donte locked onto the ball in Morrison's hands and lunged forward.
Morrison's eyes were downfield. Kentavious was amazing, awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping. There weren't enough descriptors for a guy like him… and to think he was only a freshman.
Morrison was ready to pass—ready to cash in an easy, long-bomb touchdown—when in the corner of his eye he spotted Donte barrelling towards him. Morrison clutched the ball to his chest, trying to curl around it as Donte speared into him.
In the brief moment Morrison's feet were off the ground, flying through the air, then falling towards the earth, he and Donte wrenched at one another's arms, trying to rip the ball free. But with a stronger base, and a greater urgency, Donte won the struggle, even as both fell in the process.
They tumbled over one another, still fighting for the ball once they rolled to a stop, with Morrison clawing at Donte.
Officials hurried in, separating them quickly. There wasn't much deliberation needed; it was clear Donte had recovered for the Dons.
The crowd was losing their collective minds, as the Dons' comeback continued on its war path, full steam ahead like an out of control freight train.