I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until Luca caught the ball.
One second, he was just another blur on the field—helmet low, eyes locked in—but the moment the pass left the quarterback’s hands, everything slowed. The ball spun through the air like something sacred. Luca ran like hell.
The crowd surged to its feet before he even caught it. Voices rose, shoes pounded on the bleachers, and somewhere behind me, a girl shrieked like we were in a horror movie. But I couldn’t hear any of it. Just the pounding of my heart as Luca sprinted down the line.
Thirty yards. Twenty. Ten.
A defender lunged, but Luca twisted away, cleats kicking up turf. I nearly climbed over the railing. My throat was dry. My palms were slick. I don’t even like football, but in that moment, I was fully converted—because Luca was about to make magic.
He dove.
Landed across the line.
And the ref threw both arms in the air.
Touchdown.
The stadium exploded. Screams. Chants. Drums. It was chaos and confetti and pure, electric disbelief. I barely registered the people around me jumping up and down or the entire cheer squad losing their minds near the end zone. My eyes were on Luca—flat on his back, arms raised, helmet rolling beside him.
“Holy crap,” someone gasped behind me. “He won the game.”
I didn’t even smile at first. Just stared at him, stunned. The same guy who’d been scared to hold my hand last month was now the reason the whole school was screaming.
Luca stood slowly, brushing dirt from his jersey, chest heaving. His teammates tackled him in a pile of helmets and pads, shouting his name like it was the only word that mattered. I couldn’t help it—I laughed. It came out breathless, shocked, a little cracked around the edges.
He found me in the stands like he had a sixth sense for it. Our eyes locked, and suddenly I was moving again. Down the stairs. Onto the field. Into the chaos.
Luca broke away from the dogpile and sprinted toward me. He didn’t care about the coaches or the press or the fact that half the school was watching. His eyes were all on me.
When he reached me, he didn’t stop. Just grabbed my face and kissed me like it was the only thing he’d been playing for all night.
The crowd lost it.
A few gasps. A lot of cheers. One dramatic “OH MY GOD” from someone definitely filming on TikTok. But Luca kissed me like it was normal, like it was permanent, like he finally understood exactly who he wanted to win for.
When we broke apart, my face was hot and my hands were shaking.
“Still scared?” I whispered.
“Terrified,” he said, grinning. “But I’d rather be scared with you than brave and empty.”
“I swear, if you ever ghost me again after a win like that—”
“Not happening.”
“I mean it,” I warned, trying to sound tough even though I was pretty sure my legs were jelly. “Next time you run, I’m tackling you right here.”
“I’ll take it,” he said, forehead pressed to mine.
The stadium noise rolled around us like thunder, but we were in our own bubble. For the first time, there wasn’t any hiding. No half-truths. No almosts. Just us, front and center, like a literal highlight reel of high school rebellion.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught it—Jace.
He stood near the bench, arms crossed, jaw tight, expression sour enough to curdle milk. He hadn’t joined the celebration.
Luca saw him too. His smile faded, just a flicker.
I stepped back, my body instinctively going tense. Luca’s arm tightened around me.
“What is he doing?” I asked, barely audible over the cheers.
“Judging,” Luca muttered.
“Too late for regrets,” I said.
His mouth pressed into a grim line. “I’m not regretting you.”
“Then don’t look at him like you owe him anything.”
“I don’t,” Luca said. “But he’s still part of the team.”
“Teams change,” I said. “So do captains.”