Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The Rush’s offensive line took their places again. The cadence was called, and shortly after the snap, New Orleans collapsed the pocket, forcing Ramsey to make a quick decision. He sent the ball hurtling toward Ward, but it sailed just out of his reach, incomplete. Fuck.
The third down was critical, and I was back to gripping the railing as I scanned the defensive line when they took a blitz formation. This was how they’d sacked Ramsey in the second quarter, so I knew Tucker would be extra alert.
The moment the ball left Tucker’s hands, the Rush offense surged forward. Tucker slammed into a linebacker who was trying to blitz the A gap, holding the guy at bay long enough for Ramsey to read the field and send the ball to Ward, who’d manage to evade New Orleans’ defense long enough to catch the ball before he was taken down in the red zone.
Cheers erupted in the stadium, but I hardly heard them. I was focused on Tucker as he loped back into position. The Rush called another time-out, thank fuck, giving them precious minutes to regroup before the next play.
The stadium seemed eerily silent as the teams took the field again. Kayla’s cool fingers slid over mine once more. This time, they didn’t let go, and when she squeezed, I squeezed back.
“You’ve got this, baby,” I whispered as Tucker positioned himself over the massive nose tackle. I knew his heart must be pounding with adrenaline, the pressure on him enormous. I felt it like I was on the field next to him, a unique sensation of edginess and drive.
“Set! Hut!”
The ball rocketed into Ramsey’s hands, and he minced backward, giving himself space while the offensive line anchored their positions, determined to hold the pocket under the relentless pressure of the linebackers’ pass rush.
Time slowed to a syrupy crawl as Ramsey made his read and let the ball fly toward the end zone. The Rush’s receivers were covered up, but Garrett broke free suddenly, cutting a hard right line and leaping in the air just as New Orleans’ safety dove toward him.
“Jesus fuck,” I whispered. The words were barely out of my mouth before Garrett went down, a slew of guys piling on top of him.
But I’d seen the ball in his hands before he’d disappeared.
All eyes swiveled to the ref as he threw up his arms, signaling the touchdown, and then the stadium erupted in a deafening roar, the collective energy of the fans shaking the stands. I was right there with them, whooping when Garrett reappeared from the fray and pumped a triumphant fist in the air as Tucker and Ramsey tackled him.
With five seconds left on the clock, the teams set up for the extra point. The Rush drove hard into the offensive line as soon as the ball was snapped, fending them off long enough for their kicker to kick the ball at the literal last second. The ball sailed through the goalposts right after the buzzer sounded on the clock.
Chaos exploded on the field as confetti rained down. The Rush had finally gotten their Super Bowl win.
“Oh my god, oh my god!” Savanna yelled.
Tucker’s mom and I turned toward each other at the same time, the sheer joy in her expression amplifying my own. We threw our arms around each other, jumping up and down and screaming like a bunch of fools. There were tears in her eyes that she swiped at when we finally let go of each other, and then she leveled me with a stern look and said, “What the hell are you still doing up here?”
“Didn’t want to leave y’all hanging.”
“We’ll catch up. Go on.” She shoved my shoulder gently. “Go get your man.”
I didn’t need any more encouragement than that. I raced toward the field, my heart pounding, flashing my pass to the security guard as I ran. I’d barely touched the turf when Tucker glanced over his shoulder and spotted me. Breaking away from his teammates, he took off running toward me, bits of confetti flying from his shoulders and hair.
When we were within five feet of each other, Tucker leapt, tackling me to the ground. Air rushed from my lungs in a whoosh, and we both cracked up as we landed in a messy sprawl, the entirety of Tucker’s weight on top of me.
“Shit, that was too hard. I was excited,” he said, pulling back. His brow knit with concern. “You okay?”
“What the fuck?” I cracked up again. “You just won the fucking Super Bowl. I’m more than okay.”
“I meant did I land on you too hard? Hurt your hip?”
I grabbed his face and forced him to meet my eyes. “Fuck my hip. I’m good. Everything’s good. Everything’s fucking perfect.” Then I pulled his mouth to mine and kissed him until we were both gasping for breath.