June patted Peyton’s forearm. “You’ve chosen a great game. It’s the last regular season game. Both Sequoia and Heritage are undefeated. The winner will go to the state championship.”
As they waited for the pregame show to begin, Darius and June tried to prepare Peyton for her first football game. They explained the four fifteen-minute quarters, which were made longer by timeouts and fouls; the twenty-two young men on the field for each series, eleven each on offense and defense; the three phases of the game—offense, defense, and special teams; and the referees, whose calls were inevitably bad, unless those calls worked in Sequoia’s favor. Even with her doctorate, Peyton wasn’t convinced she’d be able to follow the game.
The Heritage High School marching band took the field for the pregame show. The skilled musicians performed an exciting medley of Michael Jackson songs, including “Beat It” and “Black or White.” Dressed in their navy-blue-and-white caps and uniforms, the band members marched in time to the music, creating formations such as the Warrior logo.
Peyton couldn’t sit still. Her rocking hips and wriggling shoulders drew Darius’s attention.
“Perhaps you’d like to join the band?” His smile teased her. “I’m sure they could use you in the dance line.”
Peyton gestured toward his tapping foot. “I don’t want to meet the person who can sit still through a Michael Jackson song.”
“Neither do I.” Darius raised his hands in surrender.
When the performance ended, Peyton rose with the rest of the audience for a standing ovation. “They’re exceptional.”
“Yes, they are.” There was pride in Darius’s voice.
June leaned toward her. “If you think the Warriors’ band is good, wait until you hear the Marching Soldiers.”
Darius grunted. “Your football team will give Heritage a battle, but our marching band doesn’t even have to step on the field to outperform yours.”
June gasped. “Now wait—”
Standing between the rivals, Peyton took hold of their upper arms. “Get back to your corners. We’re here to cheer on No
ah. Stay focused.”
She removed her hold from her companions as the band cleared the field. The announcer introduced first the visiting Sequoia Soldiers, then the home team Heritage Warriors.
Peyton craned her head, trying to spot Darius’s brother. It was an impossible task, considering the identity-masking helmets and matching uniforms the forty-eight young athletes wore. “What’s Noah’s number?”
“Eighty-one.” Darius pointed toward the Sequoia sideline. “He’s near the bench.”
Peyton spotted eighty-one standing with a coach and another player. The adult seemed to be giving the young men last-minute instructions or encouragement. She sensed the coach’s intensity and his players’ focus. It was contagious. Anticipation fueled her pulse.
The four quarters were a fierce battle of wills. The longtime rivals clashed in a well-matched competition. Peyton was swept up in the excitement as the stadium rocked with screams, shouts, foot stomps, and cheers.
Darius’s company made the experience even more enjoyable. He stayed close to her, explaining each series—passing plays, running games, the value of a quarterback sneak at fourth and one. He seemed to enjoy introducing her to football, and she enjoyed his introduction. Peyton didn’t feel stupid or annoying as he took his time answering her questions and making sure she understood what was happening and why. Handsome, intelligent, and kind. It wasn’t any wonder Darius Knight was one of the most sought-after bachelors in Trinity Falls.
She also studied Darius’s brother when the Sequoia offense went to the sideline. Noah spent the time urging on his teammates. He displayed passion and camaraderie, patting their helmets and hitting their shoulder pads. Had Darius played with the same drive and commitment? She gave the former high school athlete a sidelong look. She suspected he had.
More than three quarters later, Peyton’s throat was raw from cheering on the Soldiers and blasting the referees. She tracked the Heritage kickoff. The Sequoia returner sprinted, weaved, and battled his way to the twenty-three-yard line. The clock drained to fifty-one seconds.
“We’re down by three points. What do you think we should do?” Her eyes were glued to the Sequoia sidelines as she asked June and Darius for input.
June clenched her fists. “The score’s twenty-three, twenty, Heritage. We need to get into field goal position, tie the game, and force an overtime.”
Peyton shook her head. “Heritage will be expecting that.”
Darius crossed his arms over his chest. “June’s right. We won’t be able to drive seventy-seven yards in fifty-one seconds. We should try for the OT.”
The OT? Overtime. Peyton watched the sideline where Sequoia’s head coach gestured emphatically to his young players. If only she could see his face, read his lips. What was he telling them? What did he think?
It didn’t matter. Peyton’s gut knew what Sequoia needed to do. “I say we go for it.”
Her declaration was greeted with stunned silence.
“It’s too risky.” June’s voice was a squeak of horror.