Catch

Chapter One—Win the Game, Lose the Girl
 Past
 Clear your mind, Sutton.
 I had thirteen seconds to get us close enough for Joey Ritchie to kick the tying field goal or find somebody open to run it in for a touchdown to win the game. It sounded so easy. We were down fourteen to seventeen and the winner went to state. Sure, a win and a trip to state would be nice, but my bruised ego and shredded heart wanted Grayson Moats and the Hilltop Hawkeyes to lose. Not because they were a great team and always went to state, but because Grayson Moats took something from me and I wanted him to pay. This was the only thing I could take from him that might hurt.
 “As soon as you catch the ball and you see defenders, you drop to your knees and call time out. We’re twenty-five yards from the end zone and we need to get to the eighteen-yard line so Joey has a good shot.” I grabbed Max’s helmet to ensure he was listening. “No showboating. We need these points. If it’s not a clear shot to the end zone, drop. Do you understand me?” He nodded and shook loose. We were all on edge. Scouts were everywhere and some of my teammates were looking to get last-minute football scholarships. I wouldn’t be given the same football opportunities after high school, so this was my last shot at anything great.
 “Just throw me the ball. I’ll get it in,” Max said.
 I couldn’t tell if he was being confident or cocky. His eyes narrowed with determination as he wiped the sweat from his brow. It was forty-two degrees out, but we were all sweaty, dirty, and had hit new levels of stress. 
 The importance of this moment took my breath away. My lungs refused to fill. I was sucking in tiny gasps of air and fighting the anxiety that bubbled up in my throat. This was our moment. In the huddle, I was the boss. I’d spent three years winning this team over after the starting quarterback broke his leg at the start of our sophomore year. I made the team because of my talent, but most people thought it was because my father was the assistant principal. That is, until they saw me throw the ball. 
 I looked at the determined faces staring back at me and felt proud. Proud of them for sticking with me even though my linemen were beat up. Beckett had a trail of blood that had dripped from his nose down the front of his silver and blue uniform and our center, Justin, had been pushed to the ground so many times protecting me, his uniform was almost green. I was proud of myself for getting us here. Proud of keeping my focus after such a shitty start to my senior year. 
 “This is it. This is our time to shine.” They were exhausted, bloodied, but determined to win this game. “Stay focused and give Max the room he needs.” 
 He locked eyes with me and nodded solemnly. “Let’s get this done, Pumas,” he said.
 I barely heard the roaring crowd that filled both stands. Two towns had showed up to this game and the seats filled up quickly. Their screams and fist pumps meant nothing to me. I heard the excitement in the announcers’ voices, but I couldn’t make out their words. My heartbeat was so loud that my ears were throbbing. We lined up in formation.
 “We’re coming for you, girl!” a tackle yelled, emphasis on the word girl.
 A few more unsavory things were said before I got into position. “Blue thirty-two. Blue thirty-two.” I looked to my right as the wide receiver lined up and then to my left as Max ran by. “Arizona.” The defense pointed at Max and two defenders slid over to cover him. Fuck. It was going to be impossible for him to make anything happen. One Mississippi. “Arizona.” Two Mississippi. Justin snapped the ball and pushed at the line fighting to get to me. I fell back into the pocket and waited for Max to set up. He twisted and turned to get away from the two defenders. Nobody was open. When he slipped and fell, instinct took over. I tucked the ball under my arm and ran. Everything seemed to be in slow motion except the clock. The seconds slid off faster than I could run. It was too late to drop and call time out. It was all or nothing.
 “Unhitch that trailer, Sutton!” my dad shouted from the sideline.
 If it wasn’t for the snarling, huffing defensive backs hot on my trail, I would’ve laughed at his solid advice to run faster, but I was too focused on not getting clobbered. Fifteen-yard line. I opened myself up to get severely hurt every time I ran with the ball. The football world hated female players. I was the first in my state. There were rumors that opposing players were paid by their coaches to knock me down, personal foul or not, but I was fast and my players protected me. In track, I won state two years in a row. Running was in my blood. It was time to add football to my résumé of state wins. Ten-yard line.
 “Go, go, go!” Wyatt, my wide receiver, picked off one of the defensive linemen who had been his shadow since the ball was snapped. The other one crashed into them. I leaped over the pile and pushed forward. 
 I was at the five-yard line when I felt hands brush the back of my jersey. I twisted loose and tucked the ball tight against my body, knowing I was going down any second. Three-yard line. I dug deep and pushed myself even harder. When I hit the turf and the air left my lungs, I wasn’t sure if I made it or not. I was on