Page 153 of Hometown Halftime

Tara perks up. “Megan cried while ordering them—”

“I did not cry.”

Tara nods. “She absolutely cried.”

I laugh helplessly while turning the jersey over in my hands, my throat suddenly tight. Every practice, every late night spent planning drills, every stressful game, and every moment of wondering whether this program would even survive feels worth it now.

Beside me, Riley clears his throat roughly.

Oh no. I’m going to lose it if he gets weepy. I've seen Riley take blindside hits from defensive linemen without blinking. But here, with a group of teenage girls saying thank you, is where he might fall apart.

Tara points at him. “Coach Weston’s about to cry.”

“No, I’m not,” Riley says quickly.

“Your face is red.”

“It’s hot in here.”

Megan snorts. “It’s forty degrees outside.”

The entire room erupts in laughter while Riley drags a hand down his face, shaking his head with a smile. But when I look back at him again, the teasing fades behind the expression in his eyes.

They’re filled with pride.

And God, watching Riley care about them this much makes something inside me ache in the best possible way.

I swallow hard before forcing myself to look back at everyone. “Alright,” I say, laughing shakily. “Group hug before I have a meltdown.”

Ten minutes later we run onto the field surrounded by screaming parents and a cold late November wind.

The second the whistle blows, the nerves disappear beneath pure adrenaline.

The game turns brutal just minutes in. The other team hits hard and fast, their defense aggressive enough to rattle us early and force mistakes we haven’t made in weeks. Every collision sounds heavier tonight, bodies crashing into the cold ground while the crowd roars from the stands. At one point, Megan drives forward and takes a tackle hard enough to make the entire sideline gasp, but she pops right back grinning like a psycho.

“Is that all you've got?” she yells.

She’s an absolute terror and I love her.

The score is tied at halftime. The girls collapse onto the bench, breathing hard while Riley and I pace in front of them, trying to adjust strategy.

“They're overcommitting on the left,” Riley says, pointing at the board. “If we recycle the ball quicker, we'll have space out wide for the wing.”

The girls nod, completely locked in and focused. When I look around the huddle, determination has replaced all earlier nervousness, and emotion rises in my chest. Because they believe they can win this game now, and actually, they should.

“Listen to me,” I say firmly once Riley finishes. “You girls built this program from nothing. Nobody expected Cedar Falls to even survive this season.”

I point toward the field where the other team waits beneath the stadium lights.

“But you belong out there. So stop playing scared and make them work for it.”

The second half turns into a dirty battle. Grass flies everywhere, girls scream calls to each other across the field, and parents lose their minds in the bleachers every time somebody gets near the try line. At one point, Riley nearly gets flattened by a player flying out of bounds, and Knox laughs so hard from the stands he physically chokes on popcorn while Brynn smacks him in the back.

With six minutes left, the score remains tied.

Then Paige wins a turnover near midfield. Everything after that happens so fast it almost blurs together. Contact, a quick recycle, and another pass. The ball moves cleanly through their hands before Megan suddenly breaks free down the wing.

The entire sideline erupts.