The field dissolved into motion the second the whistle blew.
Players swarmed Cade from every direction, helmets bumping, hands grabbing his shoulders, his jersey, his back. Someone screamed his name. Someone else nearly knocked him over. Ward yanked him into a hug so hard Cade’s feet left the ground.
“You did it,” Ward said, breathless and laughing. “You actually did it.”
Cade laughed too, the sound tearing out of him before he could stop it. Then his eyes lifted, searching past the noise, past the bodies.
Pierce.
He spotted him near the sideline, still in the chair, impossibly still against the chaos. Cade started toward him without thinking, his heart pounding harder than it had all game. Pierce’s father, John, stepped forward. Not aggressive. Just firm. A quiet, immovable barrier.
