Chapter 1 — Under the Lights

Bronx

The roar of the crowd wasn’t just sound—it was a living, breathing force, vibrating through the air and settling in my chest. It wrapped itself around me, amplifying the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Havenwood Stadium pulsed with energy tonight, a sea of green and gold as students, alumni, and locals packed every seat. Their cheers, their expectations, felt like a weight pressing on my shoulders.

But I lived for this.

The football nestled in my hands was more than leather and laces—it was control. It was certainty. My breath came in steady bursts, matching the rhythmic thud of my cleats against the turf as I jogged toward the huddle. My teammates fanned out around me, their faces tense with focus. Chase crouched beside me, his trademark grin a constant, even under the glow of the stadium lights.

“All right, Miller,” he said, flipping his snapback backward—the faded brim frayed from years of wear. “What’s the plan, fearless leader? You gonna keep us waiting all night, or is this the part where you start breaking records?”

I smirked, rolling my shoulders as I scanned the field. “Thought I’d let the other guys feel like they had a chance. Gotta keep it interesting for the fans.”

Chase clapped me on the back, chuckling. “Generous of you. A true man of the people.”

The banter came easily, as natural as breathing. It was part of the game, part of the armor. I called the play, my voice cutting through the electric hum of the crowd, and the huddle broke with a synchronized clap.

As I took my position behind the center, my gaze flicked to the crowd. Somewhere in the mass of faces, a kid wearing my number waved frantically, his jersey practically swallowing him whole. For a split second, I was eight years old again, staring at a football poster in a thrift store window, imagining a version of myself that could be unstoppable.

My fingers brushed the charm of my Lucky Football Necklace tucked beneath my jersey. A quick squeeze, a quiet ritual.

Focus.

Coach was pacing on the sidelines, his shouts barely audible over the noise. The cheerleaders chanted in perfect rhythm, their pom-poms slicing the air. The sharp scent of the freshly cut turf mingled with the faint tang of sweat under the heat of the floodlights.

None of it mattered.

The only thing that mattered was the snap.

The ball hit my hands, and the world disappeared. My feet moved on instinct, carrying me back as my eyes swept the field. The defense surged forward, a wall of bodies hurtling toward me, but my focus was unshakable.

There.

Chase broke free, his arm shooting up as he sprinted for the end zone. I planted my foot, muscles coiling as I launched the ball. It cut a perfect arc through the air, spiraling toward him.

He caught it with ease—like we’d done a thousand times before. The crowd exploded, the roar swelling to a crescendo as Chase crossed the goal line. He spiked the ball, throwing his hands up like he’d just solved world hunger.

“Showoff,” I muttered, though I couldn’t fight the grin pulling at my lips.

The scoreboard lit up, the numbers shifting as we took the lead. My teammates swarmed me as I jogged toward the sidelines, their hands slapping my helmet and shoulders.

“Nice throw, Miller!”

“Hell yeah, man!”

I nodded, the grin staying in place as I grabbed my water bottle. My gaze drifted toward the crowd, almost involuntarily. Thousands of faces blurred together in a wash of green and gold, united in their Havenwood pride. The kid in my jersey had disappeared into the sea of cheering fans.

And yet.

The cheers were deafening, but they felt far away, like I was watching from behind a sheet of glass. The crack in my chest widened—a hollow ache I couldn’t name.

Why did it always feel this way? Like no matter how loud the roar of the crowd got, it couldn’t drown out the silence inside me.

I shook it off, clenching my jaw as I turned back to the field. There wasn’t time for this. Not now.

The next plays came harder. The defense was desperate, their hits sharper, their movements more ruthless. The crowd’s chant throbbed around me, a relentless drumbeat that matched the pounding of my heart.

And then it happened.

A gap in the line.

I saw it too late. The linebacker was a freight train, hurtling toward me with singular focus. I braced, but the impact hit like a hammer to the chest. My back slammed against the turf, the air exploding from my lungs as stars danced in my vision.

The crowd gasped in unison, a sharp intake of breath that rang louder than the hit itself. For a moment, I couldn’t move. The turf was rough beneath my palms, the smell of earth sharp in my nose as I blinked the stars away.

Get up.

I staggered to my feet, shaking off the dizziness. My ribs ached, but I forced my spine straight, refusing to show weakness.

The ref’s whistle cut through the noise, signaling the end of the play. Chase was the first to reach me, his grin replaced by a flicker of concern.

“That linebacker hit you so hard, I think I felt it. You sure you’re still in one piece?” he asked, his voice low enough for just me to hear.

“Yeah,” I said, brushing dirt from my jersey. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Chase didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, slapping my shoulder. “All right. Let’s finish this.”

The game ended in our favor, the scoreboard flashing our victory as the crowd erupted in celebration. My teammates whooped and hollered, the weight of the win lifting the tension from their shoulders.

I went through the motions, high-fiving and clapping backs, but the ache in my chest didn’t fade. It wasn’t from the hit. It was something deeper, something that pulsed beneath the surface, raw and unspoken.

Later, after the field had cleared and the adrenaline had ebbed, I wandered into the locker room alone. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on the tiled floor. My cleats scraped against the ground as I sank onto the bench, head in my hands.

My Lucky Football Necklace dangled from my fingers, the charm cool and familiar against my skin. I traced its worn edges, the pewter tarnished from years of use.

It wasn’t just a necklace. It was a lifeline.

A memory surfaced, sharp and vivid, like a knife slicing through a curtain.

I was eight years old, standing in the doorway of our apartment. The smell of cigarette smoke and mildew clung to the air. My father’s duffle bag was slung over his shoulder, the faded green canvas fraying at the edges. His face was unreadable as he stepped into the hallway.

“Dad, wait—”

He didn’t turn around.

The sound of the door clicking shut was final and deafening in the silence that followed.

I swallowed hard, the memory clawing at my throat. My fingers tightened around the necklace until my knuckles ached.

That was then.

This was now.

I wasn’t my father. I wouldn’t be him.

The sound of the locker room door creaked open, breaking the silence. Chase poked his head in, his grin back in place like the hit had never happened.

“Yo, Miller. You coming or what? Party’s already started, and they’re waiting for the MVP.”

I forced a smirk, tucking the necklace beneath my jersey as I stood. “Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

As I followed Chase out into the night, the roar of the crowd echoed in my ears, fading with every step.

Under the lights, I was unstoppable.

But in the dark?

That was a different story.