The sky above the stadium was a bruised, angry purple, threatening to c***k open at any second. It was the night of the championship game, and the atmosphere was electric despite the impending storm. The stands were a sea of team colors, roaring and stomping their feet in a deafening display of campus pride.
I was sitting right where Hunter had told me to sit: front row, dead center, directly behind the home team's bench. I was drowning in his gray jersey, the number '12' practically vibrating against my chest.
Every time Hunter jogged to the sidelines, his dark eyes instantly locked onto me. It didn't matter that there were thousands of people screaming his name, or that NFL scouts were meticulously recording his every move from the VIP boxes. For those brief seconds, it felt like we we
