Page 219 of Tangled with the Tight End

He steps away and Coach Clay addresses the room. “We’re already in the playoffs. Is that what you men are thinking? This is a gimme? Because from where I’m standing, we want a bye week. They don’t hand out the number one seed based on good looks and personality.”

Harris shouts, “Too bad! We’d win that contest for sure.”

Coach Clay shoots Harris a warning glance.

“Sorry, Coach,” Harris says. And then he glances at all of us. “Are we here to play or are we here to win?”

The whole team shouts, “To win!”

“What did you say?!” Harris shouts.

“To win!”

Harris jumps up onto a bench and pumps his fist in the air. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Then he looks at Coach, gives a salute, and jumps down from the bench. “Floor’s yours, Coach Clay.”

Coach shakes his head. He smiles at Treyvon and then he drops the hand holding his clipboard to his side. His voice isn’t loud or domineering, but he commands our attention. The locker room goes silent.

“Defense, you've done your job. Keep doing it.” He makes eye contact with a few key defensive players. Then he addresses us. “Offense, you’ve been trying to force big plays instead of taking what's there. We need to play a first-down game. Keep the drive alive. That’s all I want from this offense in this second half. Move the chains.”

Trying to force big plays.

Is that what I’m doing with Winona?

Was I so determined to protect us from every hit that I walked off the field altogether?

I shove thoughts about Winona out of my mind and focus on the game at hand.

We've worked too hard this season to let this slip away. I need to step up and help secure this bye week.

I can figure out my relationship later.

The second half of the game we run the ball, gaining first down after first down. Late in the fourth quarter, on third-and-six, Delaney hits me over the middle. I make the catch, lower my shoulder, fight through one tackle, and get the first down.

A few plays later, Parker Rhodes makes the winning catch on a throw Delaney lined up just for him. We come back from behind and win the game twenty-seven to twenty-one.

When Rhodes crosses the line, he holds his arms out and looks up into the sky, palming the ball and walking in a slow circle. The offensive players rush around him, doing chest bumps and slapping one another’s shoulders and helmets.

Somebody grabs me from behind and nearly lifts me off the ground. I turn to see Brady smiling the smile of a champion. Trey is already halfway down the sideline, pointing toward the Thunder fans who made the trip north, pumping both fists overhead like he personally won the game.

The scoreboard glows: Thunder 27, Vikings 21.

I glance into the cheering crowd, scanning it for her face even though I know she’s not here.

Coach Bennett catches my eye from a distance. He doesn't smile. He just gives one satisfied nod.

He knows. I got my head back in the game.

Delaney wraps an arm around my shoulders as we make our way toward the tunnel.

"There he is,” he says. “That’s the O’Connell I know.”

“We did it.” Adrenaline courses through me, but I don’t shout like I would have any other game.

Someone yells, “Number one seed!”

A chorus of cheers follows.

Trey is a few steps ahead of me. He stops and turns around so he’s walking backwards. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts. “Coach! You taking us all to dinner?”