Audible

Chapter 1

The bus hummed beneath me as I scrolled through the family group chat. Asher had sent a video of Bear chasing him in circles while he screamed “touchdown” at nobody. Travis followed with a picture in his Navy dress uniform, some ship in the background: Some of us have real jobs, little bro. Try not to screw up this weekend.

Mom’s text sat underneath: Hydrate. Don’t get too big for your britches. Call me when you land.

I locked the screen.

“Yo, Brooks.”

Moose dropped into the seat across the aisle. The frame groaned under his weight.

“What’s got you grinning like an i***t?”

“Nothing.” I pocketed the phone.

“Leave him alone,” Twitch called from behind me, sprawled across two seats. Cole Mathews—wide receiver, all speed and ego. “He’s just checking his fan club notifications.”

“I make you look good and this is the thanks I get,” I said.

Twitch pointed at me. “You throw it. I catch it. Don’t get confused about who’s harder to replace.”

Moose raised a massive hand. “Save the d**k-measuring for Georgia.”

The bus jolted over a bump. Outside, green fields blurred past under a flat gray sky. When we hit that field tonight, we’d be unstoppable.

The lights hit like a thousand suns, bouncing off helmets and jerseys. The crowd noise slammed into my chest before my ears even registered it. This was my stage. No one was taking it from me.

Scoreboard: 24–21. Fourth quarter. Two minutes left. Ball on our forty-five.

I stepped into the huddle and forced calm into my face. Pulse hammering, fingers buzzing, but none of that showed. If I looked steady, the team stayed steady.

“Trips right, 52 Z-post. Moose, lock that wall. Twitch, this is your ball—cut sharp and I’ll put it where only you can get it.”

Twitch nodded, smirk gone. “Don’t fuckin’ miss, QB.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

We broke the huddle. I read the defense—linebackers creeping up, safeties deep, corners pressed tight. They thought they had us.

“Green 80! Green 80! Hut!”

The snap hit my hands. The world exploded.

I dropped back. Moose held the pocket for a beat, but the edge rushers were closing fast. Twitch streaked downfield and cut so sharp his cleat tore a divot from the turf. I pumped once, froze the corner, and saw the window—no bigger than my fist.

Then the blitz came. The pocket collapsed.

I tucked the ball and ran.

Cut left. A linebacker lunged—I juked right and left him grasping air. Another came in low. I slid at the last second, turf scraping my elbow, and popped back up grinning.

First down.

I held the ball high and jogged back to the huddle.

The wrong kind of quiet waited for me.

“What the f**k was that?” Twitch got in my face. “We had the play called. You think this is your solo show?”

“I got the first down.”

“Stick to the plan, Ty,” Moose said, low and flat. “We’re a team.”

I didn’t bother answering. Just clapped the center on the hip and called the next play.

Forty seconds. Ball on their twenty-five.

“Green 80! Green 80! Hut!”

Twitch exploded off the line. The corner stuck to him, but it didn’t matter. He planted hard and broke toward the post. Daylight opened.

I planted my feet and threw.

The spiral cut clean through the night air. Twitch leaped, arms extended. The corner’s fingers grazed the ball and missed.

Touchdown.

The roar from the stands hit like a second wave. I threw my arms wide, letting the noise wash over me. Mine. This win was mine, no matter what Moose or Twitch bitched about later. By the time we hit the locker room, showered, and climbed back on the bus, the high was still buzzing under my skin.

The Stag was packed wall-to-wall after the game. The place smelled like spilled beer, hot grease, and victory. Country-rock blasted from the jukebox that nobody was really listening to.

I leaned against the bar, jacket slung over one shoulder, beer cold in my hand. I wasn’t drinking fast—had to keep the edge—but the bottle felt good.

A waitress passed with a tray of wings. She nodded toward a booth across the room.

“Compliments of the table over there.”

A group of girls. One of them—a blonde in a cropped Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt—gave me a shy wave.

I raised my beer in a lazy toast, then turned back to the waitress. “Must be exhausting, being surrounded by greatness all the time.”

Her smile flickered. She walked off without another word.

“You’re such a d**k sometimes, you know that?”

Sabrina dropped onto the stool beside me. Curly black hair in a messy bun, ripped jeans, oversized flannel. Somehow still the coolest person in the room.

“What’d I do now?” I asked.

“You don’t have to try so hard, Ty. Everyone already knows you’re the star.”

“Is this another moral compass moment?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s reality. You act like the world owes you everything.”

“Relax. I’m just having fun.”

“Your version of fun usually involves stepping on people.”

“Last I checked, I’m the reason everyone’s celebrating tonight.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“Admit it.” I leaned in a little. “You’d miss me if I changed.”

Her lips pressed together. “I’d finally get some peace and quiet.”

Moose’s heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “Quit flirting with your babysitter. We’re playing poker and Twitch is about to lose his ass.”

“Sabrina—” I started.

She was already sliding off the stool, grabbing her coat. “Go play your little games. We were supposed to get burgers tonight, remember? Or did that slip your giant football-filled head?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

“Yeah. Figured.” She gave a half-smile and headed for the door.

I crossed the room and pulled her into a quick hug before she could leave. She stiffened, then exhaled against my shoulder.

“Be careful walking back,” I muttered.

“Always am.” She jabbed a finger into my chest. “Tomorrow. Burgers. Don’t flake.”

“Deal.”

She left. The door swung shut behind her.

Sabrina could be a pain in the ass.

But she was my pain in the ass.

By the time I made it back to the booth, cards were flying. Moose sat stone-faced, thick fingers peeling cards like he was defusing a bomb. Twitch’s leg bounced under the table.

“Read ’em and weep,” Moose said, laying down a full house.

Twitch slammed his cards. “This is rigged.”

“You’re just bad,” I laughed, dropping into the open seat.

The blonde in the Bulldogs sweatshirt appeared before I could settle in. She clutched a pink drink, smiling nervously.

“Hi,” she said.

I glanced at the big red “G” stretched across her chest. “Take that ugly thing off and I might let you enjoy my company.”

Her eyes widened. For half a second she looked ready to walk away. Then she laughed—high and nervous—and pulled the hoodie over her head, revealing a thin tank top with lace straps.

She tossed the hoodie over her arm and raised her chin. “Better?”

I leaned back, arms spread across the booth. “Much better.”

As she slid in beside me, something odd caught my eye near the bar: an older woman in a dark shawl, watching me with flat, intense eyes. Same vibe as that weird one from the TV studio back in Monroe. Louisiana locals and their voodoo bullshit. I blinked and she was gone.

Whatever.