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A few steps later, Nicole stopped and turned. He was gripping the roof of the car with one hand.

“I’m not your baby.” Her voice wobbled, but she kept her eyes on his. “And I meant what I said at dinner. It’s over. Go home. Please.”

Everything went blurry as she turned away. This time, Cedric didn’t call after her. Without looking back, Nicole walked the rest of the way to the gas station.

Chapter Fifteen

With two minutes and six seconds left, Drayton trailed by four and was backed up on its own twenty-two-yard line. Drew would’ve preferred the lead, but if the game had to come down to one possession, he wanted the ball in his hands.

All week, every newspaper, sports show, and pregame report had sold the matchup as Kiernan versus Brackens—rival quarterbacks leading two of the best teams in the country, chasing the same trophy, and both of them headed for the NFL draft in the spring.

It made for good TV, even if Drew and Tariq Brackens hadn’t actually spent the afternoon playing against each other. Quarterbacks played defenses, and Drew knew that, but every one of Tariq’s touchdowns had still felt like a challenge, and he’d answered each one. Now Tariq had his team ahead 28–24, and Drew had one more chance.

The sun had gone down behind the upper deck sometime in the fourth quarter, and the stadium lights were on now. The crowd rose as he jogged onto the field. Near the hash marks, Dayshawn met him and slapped both hands against his shoulder pads.

“Let’s go win this.”

Drew looked around the huddle. “Two minutes. Plenty of time.”

They went seventy-one yards in under a minute. Drew checked out of the first play at the line and hit Dayshawn for a first down, took off when the pocket opened up, found Kirby over the middle, and then went right back to Dayshawn on the sideline. Their defense came after him on every snap, and one hit caught him square on the ribs he’d bruised at Homecoming. It hurt like hell, but he got up.

The clock kept running, but it had gotten quiet in his head, the way it always did once a drive started clicking. All he had to do was read the coverage, find the matchup, and put the ball where it needed to go.

On third down from the seven, the linebacker leaned toward the running back while the safety shifted closer to Dayshawn. Kirby would be alone near the back of the end zone if they both followed.

Both followed, and Drew put the ball up high, out of reach of the defender closing from the middle. Kirby went up, pulled it in, and came down with one foot inside the painted line.

Touchdown.

The extra point gave Drayton a 31–28 lead with fifty-eight seconds left. For the first time all afternoon, Tariq was the one who had to answer him.

Teammates grabbed at Drew’s jersey on his way off, and the place was losing its mind around them. Coach met him at the bench. “Good drive, son.”

Drew nodded and turned toward the field, where Tariq was already jogging out. Fifty-eight seconds and eighty yards were more than enough for a quarterback like him. Drew had done his part, and now he was stuck watching like everybody else.

Tariq took whatever easy stuff Drayton’s defense gave him and had his team across midfield in no time. When his protection broke down, he got out of trouble and scrambled to the twenty-three. From the sideline, Drew tracked every decision. Tariq never let the clock rush him, and Drew knew better than anybody how hard that was.

A spike stopped the clock, and Tariq threw the next pass away when nobody came open. With fourteen seconds left, he walked up to the line like the whole stadium wasn’t screaming at him.

At the snap, Tariq looked toward the middle, pulling Drayton’s safety with him and leaving the outside receiver alone with the cornerback near the end zone. The coverage stayed tight, but the throw went behind the receiver and away from the defender. The receiver twisted, caught it against his chest, and dragged one foot inside the line before falling out of bounds.

Nobody moved until the official lifted both arms.

Touchdown.

The visiting sideline exploded with eleven seconds to go. Tariq stood with one arm raised as his teammates rushed him from every direction. That throw was the kind Drew would’ve trusted himself to make. He hated it, but he couldn’t pretend Tariq hadn’t earned it.

The extra point made it 35–31, and Drayton’s return left Drew five seconds to answer one last time. He dropped back, waited for his receivers to reach the end zone, and launched the ball as far as he could. It went way up into the lights and came down right into six outstretched hands. For one second, it disappeared.

Then it hit the ground.

Drew stayed where he’d released it, his throwing hand still open at his side while the players untangled in the end zone. Dayshawn pushed himself up from the grass empty-handed. That was when Drew finally looked at the clock.

Zero. They’d lost.

He kept staring like one of those red numbers might come back on. Five seconds had been there, and now there was nothing. No play to call, no defense to read, no ball coming back into his hands. The game was over, and his body hadn’t caught up with it yet.

Drew tore off his helmet and lifted it over his shoulder, ready to send it across the field, when he spotted the red light on a sideline camera. Of course they were watching him. They were always watching him. Instead, he lowered the helmet and locked both hands around the face mask, squeezing until his forearms burned.