Neyland Stadium

Knoxville, Tennessee

We were up by fifteen and the Vols fans in the stadium were booing in their droves. I turned to the home stand, a sea of orange and white, and smiled. Then turning my back, I showed them my crimson number eighty-three with my two thumbs.

Eat that, Tennessee, I thought smugly.

“You suck, Carillo! Defense, defense, defense,” was all I could hear in response to my taunt. Glancing to the sideline, I spotted Pix crisscrossing her legs in routine and shaking her pompoms, she was laughing at me. I flashed her a covert wink and her mouth dropped in shock.

The referee’s whistle sounded, and it was time for the offense to take the field. Rome immediately called us into the huddle. “Carillo, you wanna have some fun?” he said with a huge smile.

Punching my fist in my hand, I replied, “Fuckin’ A!”

“Then let’s get it done,” Rome shouted and called a, “Denny Eighty-Three, on red. One, two—”

“Why the f**k’s Carillo getting a chance at another TD? Give it to me. He’s already got two in the can. And we’re only on the thirty-yard line. Play it safe. We already got the W,” Chris Porter, the other wide receiver, whined like a little prissy bitch.

I f**kin’ hated this cunt. He’d been trying to undercut me as top wide receiver since freshman year. Hated that Rome and I had played together our whole life and had that rare QB-wide receiver bond. And Porter hated the fact that I was a better player than him.

Period.

Rome fixed his eyes on him and gritted his teeth. “Shut the f**k up, Porter. I call the shots, and Carillo’s doing it, you f**kin’ get me? Plus, you’re too slow for this type of play. Me and Carillo’ve got it down pat.”

Porter instantly shut up and Rome gave me a knowing look. Cream the bastard. Get the TD. Shove it up his jealous ass. I knew what Rome was thinking, because I was thinking it too.

I nodded my head slowly, and Rome began to smirk. I’d leave Porter in my dust.

“Denny Eighty-Three, on red. One, two, red!” Rome called again.

The eleven of us took up our formation for what was a timing play. This was what Rome and I were famous for, the type of play made legendary by Montana and Rice with the 49ers. The play that only came off when you could read each other’s mind. Rome and I rarely failed with this play. The fans loved it, breathed for this moment. And we weren’t gonna disappoint them now.

Hearing my breathing echo loudly within my helmet, I took to the left of the field. Glancing to my right, I confirmed Rome was set in position, and then I heard, “Denny Eighty-Three, Denny Eighty-Three, hut, hut, hut.”

As soon as the final hut was voiced, I took off to sprint. Porter left his right field position and lined up alongside me to misdirect the corner back and the free safety. Porter pumped his legs, and I knew he was trying to prove he could keep up with me, but I could run the forty in four-point-two seconds flat. The dumb f**k had no chance against my speed.

Porter began to wave his hands, drawing the attention of the corner back, creating separation for me to get in the clear. Rome dropped back into the pocket and pump faked once to hold the free safety.

As I worked my legs harder, Rome let loose a perfectly spiraled forty-yard pass… straight into my waiting hands. I ran it downfield free and clear, then spiked the ball in the end zone for my third touchdown of the night.

The Tide fans went wild, and I screamed in exhilaration, fists clenched and head thrown back. Someone gripped the mask of my helmet, spinning me around, and I came face to face with Rome, who pulled me to his chest. “One step closer, Carillo. One step f**kin’ closer to the draft!” he whispered in my ear.

At his words, I thought of Mamma, thought of Axel, thought of Levi, and my heart swelled with pride. One step closer to the draft. The Carillo boys getting shit done.

Following the successful point after the touchdown, the game-ending whistle blew. The Tide had won, keeping up our perfect season.

Jimmy-Don, Rome, Reece, and I fell in step and made our way to the away fans stand. As we approached, Rome took off at a sprint, dropping his helmet on the field, and headed toward a smiling Molly, who practically jumped into his arms. They were all over each other in a second, off in their own little world. Cass and Ally slowly walked toward us, Cass smacking a big kiss on Jimmy-Don’s flushed face.

“Hell of a game, darlin’!” she shouted and punched him on his arm. JD slapped her ass in return.

Ally came over and gave each of us a hug. Ally was stunning but kind of like a sister to me. Reece, however, seemed to hug her just a bit too long, Ally giggling at his playfulness, earning them a long look from Rome, who’d still not let Molly go.

“Here she is!” Cass shouted, and I turned to see Lexi running toward us. She looked good in her tiny crimson uniform, bright-red lips, and 1920’s curled hair.

“Hey, guys!” she said cheerily, and I frowned. I’d never seen her this peppy, this… fake. It was like looking at a completely different person.

Cass went to move in for a hug, but Lexi held out her hand. “I wouldn’t, Cass. I’m all sweaty from jumping around.”

Cass backed off and her naturally smiley face darkened. “Lexi, I swear you’re getting real weird about getting hugs. What’s up with that, girl?”

Lexi batted her hand in dismissal, but I noticed her nervous swallow and the flash of panic in her eyes. “Oh, hush, Cass!” she joked as Molly and Rome joined our makeshift circle.