The stadium buzzed with anticipation.
Lincoln High and Ridgeway High—two schools divided by colors, pride, and decades of rivalry—stood shoulder to shoulder in the packed bleachers. The field lights cast a harsh white glow over everything, making the air feel electric.
Athena sat near the top of the Lincoln stands, her hoodie pulled up, hands stuffed into her pockets. She hadn't worn the school colors. She wasn't here to cheer tonight.
She was here for Mason.
Her eyes scanned the field until she found him—#11—his figure strong, confident… but not the same Mason she used to glare at from across the field. This one carried something more than pressure. He carried dreams.
And secrets.
---
Down on the field, Mason adjusted his helmet and rolled his shoulders. The scouts were in the front row, clipboards ready, eyes sharp. Coach gave a nod, and Mason jogged into position.
He'd played in dozens of games. But none had ever felt like this.
Because tonight, his world was watching.
And somewhere in the crowd… so was Athena.
---
The game was brutal.
Lincoln's defense was tight. Ridgeway's offense was fast. The scoreboard flashed back and forth—tie after tie. Tension climbed with every passing quarter.
Mason took hit after hit. His arm burned. His legs ached.
But he kept going.
Then, with only two minutes left on the clock, Ridgeway was down by four.
They needed a touchdown.
Coach pulled Mason aside. "This is it. The scouts are watching. Make it count."
Mason nodded, breathing hard. But inside, something twisted. He glanced at the bleachers again, where Athena's face glowed faintly beneath the lights.
She smiled.
It gave him strength.
---
The play began.
Mason dodged left—right—then sprinted. His receiver was open. The field blurred. A defender slammed into him, but he broke free, stumbling.
He threw.
The ball soared through the air.
Time slowed.
And then—
Touchdown.
The Ridgeway side exploded with cheers. His teammates swarmed him, slapping his helmet, yelling his name.
He did it.
He won the game.
---
But as he stood on the field, sweat soaking his jersey, he realized something:
The scouts were on their feet. His coach was beaming. His team was wild.
But all Mason wanted was her.
---
After the game, he found her just outside the stadium. She was leaning against his truck, arms folded, a soft smile on her face.
"You crushed it," she said.
"Thanks." He walked closer, dropping his gear in the bed of the truck. "But the only thing I really cared about was seeing you after."
She looked up, blinking. "Mason…"
"I mean it." He stepped in front of her, voice low. "That throw, that win—it was great. But I kept thinking… What's the point of going big if I'm going alone?"
She reached out, brushing hair from his forehead.
"Then don't go alone," she whispered.
He kissed her then, slow and certain, under the stadium lights that were beginning to shut down one by one.
---
But neither of them noticed the figure watching from the shadows.
Brooke.
Her arms were crossed, her lips twisted in something bitter.
And in her hand… was a photo. One she had taken earlier that week.
Athena.
At Ridgeway.
In Mason's truck.
Her thumb hovered over the "send" button.