Part 32 ( Ellie )

The early morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the bedroom. The city outside is quiet, the world still caught in the hush before the day begins. But inside, in the warmth of Juliet's bed, everything feels still, weightless.

My eyes flutter open, I just breathe, my body heavy with sleep, wrapped in a soft and warm body. I shift slightly, realizing exactly where I am, who I'm tangled up with.

Her bare back is pressed against my chest, her body warm beneath the sheets. One of my arms is draped over her waist, the other tucked under my head, and our legs are a tangled mess beneath the covers.

I don't move. I don't want to.

I just look at her.

Her hair is a little messy, strands falling against the pillow, and her face is relaxed in sleep, soft and peaceful in a way I rarely get to see. The usual sharp edges, the cool confidence, it's all gone, replaced by vulnerability.

God, she's beautiful.

I let my eyes trace over the slope of her nose, the soft part of her lips, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to brush a strand of hair from her face, to trace the curve of her jaw. But I don't.

I just watch her, my heart beating a little slower.

I don't know when I started feeling like this again. Maybe I never stopped.

Because right now, wrapped up in her, with her scent still clinging to my skin and the memory of last night lingering between us, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Like maybe, just maybe, I'm getting her back.

A soft sigh leaves her lips, and she shifts slightly, pressing further into me, like even in sleep, she knows I'm here.

I close my eyes for a second, inhaling slowly, grounding myself in this moment. Because this? This is everything.

And I'd be a damn fool to let it slip away again.

I shift slightly, trying to move without waking her, but the second I do, Juliet makes a small soft noise, she tightens her grip on me, tugging me closer.

I huff a quiet laugh, burying my face into the back of her neck. "Jules."

She hums sleepily but doesn't let go.

I try again. "I gotta get up."

Juliet groans, muffling her face deeper into the pillow. "No, you don't."

I smirk, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. "I really do."

She shakes her head, refusing to loosen her grip. "Mm-mm. Stay."

Tempting. Really tempting.

I tighten my arm around her waist, just for a second, savoring the warmth of her against me, she fits so perfectly here, like she's always meant to be in my arms. My fingers skim lazily over her stomach, feeling the way her skin flutters beneath my touch.

"You're making this very difficult," I murmur.

She smirks, eyes still closed. "Good."

I chuckle, pressing another slow kiss to the back of her neck before sighing against her skin. "As much as I'd love to stay in bed with you all day, I have a game to win."

Juliet finally cracks one eye open, her gaze still heavy with sleep as she looks over her shoulder at me. "Do you, though?"

I raise a brow. "Kinda my job."

She exhales through her nose, still reluctant. "Fine," she mutters, loosening her grip just enough to let me move. But before I can fully pull away, she turns in my arms, pressing her palm flat against my chest to stop me.

Her eyes roam over my face, still hazy with sleep, still warm from last night. And then, in a voice quieter than before, she murmurs, "Be safe," she murmurs, fingers tracing absent patterns against my forearm. "Don't get hurt."

I smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to her nose. "You worried about me?"

She rolls her eyes, but her grip doesn't loosen. "Just... try not to get tackled too hard, alright?"

I chuckle, shifting enough to finally sit up, dragging her hand up to my lips and kissing her knuckles. "For you? I'll make sure I come out of it in one piece."

She lets out a soft breath, watching me for a moment before she finally drops her hand, giving me the permission to get up.

I groan as I pull myself out of bed, already missing the warmth of her. I sit on the edge of the mattress, running a hand down my face before reaching for my clothes.

With one last glance at her, wrapped up in her sheets, I grab my bag and head for the door.

Because I've got a game to win.

-

The moment I step into my house, I drop my bag by the door and head straight for the bathroom. The lingering scent of Juliet still clings to my skin, a mix of her perfume and undeniably her, and as much as I want to stay wrapped in it, I need to wake up, reset, and get my head in the game.

The shower is already running by the time I strip out of my clothes, steam curling around me as I step under the hot spray. A low groan slips from my lips as the warmth soothes the tension in my muscles, last night's exhaustion finally catching up to me. I press my palms against the cool tile, letting the water cascade over my back, washing away the last traces of sleep.

I tilt my head back, closing my eyes as I let the water soak into my hair before reaching for the shampoo.

Stay.

She said it so easily, so naturally, like she was already used to me being there.

I shake my head, exhaling through my nose. Focus, Crawford.

I rinse out the shampoo, running my fingers through my hair before grabbing my toothbrush and scrubbing my teeth.

I step out, towel wrapped around myself, the bathroom mirror is fogged over, the air thick with steam.

I swipe a hand over the glass, staring at my reflection for a second before shaking my head, amused at myself. I need to stop thinking about her and focus on the game.

By the time I'm dressed, I'm back in my usual game-day uniform, hoodie, sweats, sneakers laced up tight. Comfortable, easy, exactly what I need to get my mind right.

I grab my duffel bag from the floor, slinging it over my shoulder before stepping out the door.

-

My teammates are scattered around, some lacing up cleats, others bouncing on their toes, rolling out their shoulders, shaking out the nerves.

I sit on the bench, head down as I tape my wrists, methodical, focused. My jersey is folded beside me, my number bold against the fabric.

Coach stands at the front of the room, his voice cutting through the low murmurs, steady and commanding.

He starts, his gaze sweeping over us. "Alright JETS, We've worked for this. We've bled for this. We've spent hours running drills, studying plays, and pushing past our limits. You know what this game means, not just for the team, but for you. You have a shot tonight to show them exactly who we are."

A few heads nod. I keep wrapping my wrist, letting his words settle in.

"You play as a unit, you move as a unit," he continues, his voice rising just a little. "No half-assing, no second-guessing. We go out there and we take this game. Not wait for it to happen, take it."

A few guys mutter their agreement.

Coach's eyes flick to me. "Crawford."

I look up, meeting his gaze.

"You're leading this team tonight. That means no bullshit. You lock in, you read the field, and you own that damn offense."

I smirk, rolling my shoulders back. "Wouldn't dream of anything less, Coach."

He nods, satisfied, then looks around the room. "You all trust each other?"

A chorus of "Yes, Coach" echoes back.

"Good," he says, pacing a little. "Because once you're on that field, it's not just about you. It's about the guy next to you. It's about the name on the front of that jersey. And tonight? We show them exactly why that name means something."

The tension is electric now, the locker room charged with the weight of the moment.

Coach stops in front of us, hands on his hips. "Get your heads right. We hit the field in ten."

I exhale, shaking out my hands, rolling my neck. My heartbeat kicks up a notch, the familiar pre-game buzz settling into my veins.

-

I stand near the entrance of the locker room, bouncing slightly on my toes, shaking out my hands, letting the anticipation settle into my bones. Next to me, Luke stands with his helmet tucked under his arm, he's excited. I know him well enough to notice.

I nudge his shoulder with mine. "You ready for this?"

He scoffs, stretching out his arms. "Please. I was born ready."

I smirk, glancing at him. "Yeah? Let's see if you can actually keep up today."

Luke chuckles, shaking his head. "Bold talk from someone who relies on me to keep their ass from getting flattened."

I grin. "You're defense, man. That's literally your job."

He tilts his head. "And catching touchdowns is literally yours, but I still remember last week when you let that one slip right through your fingers."

I roll my eyes. "One time."

"Still happened."

I huff a laugh, tilting my head toward him. "If I make a touchdown tonight, you owe me dinner."

Luke raises a brow. "If I make a sack, you owe me drinks."

I smirk, extending a hand. "Deal."

He grips it, shaking once before muttering, "Not that you'll actually score."

I scoff, bumping my shoulder into his. "Watch me."

Before he can reply, the doors swing open, and the tunnel leading to the field is right in front of us. The sound of the crowd surges through the air, a roar of energy waiting for us.

The team moves as one, filing out, helmets in hand, cleats pounding against the concrete floor. The adrenaline spikes in my blood as I step into the tunnel, the bright lights of the stadium flooding into view.

-

A pulsing rhythm of cheers, chants, and the thumping bass of the pre-game hype music blaring through the speakers. I step onto the field, helmet in hand, the artificial turf solid beneath my cleats. My blood hums with adrenaline, my fingers twitching, ready.

I scan the stands for a second, knowing exactly who I'm looking for. It takes me a moment, but then i see her.

Juliet. She's seated in the private box, wearing my jersey, standing out against the sea of fans.

I smile and wave at her.

- First Quarter

The whistle blows, and we win the coin toss, choosing to receive. Our offense takes the field, and I slide my helmet on, locking in. The first play is a simple run, our running back cutting through the defense for a solid gain of five yards. Good start.

On second down, I line up wide, glancing at the defense. The cornerback in front of me is playing tight coverage, aggressive. Good. I like a challenge.

The snap.

I explode off the line, feinting inside before cutting sharply toward the sideline. The cornerback bites, his footing just a little off. That's all I need. I sprint past him, breaking into open space just as our quarterback, Mathews, launches the ball downfield.

I track it easily, the spiral tight, cutting through the stadium lights.

I extend my hands, catch, pulling it in clean. My feet hit the turf, and I'm gone.

The safety charges, but I cut inside, leaving him grasping at air. The end zone is right there—

touchdown.

The stadium erupts, the roar of the crowd a deafening wave as I spike the ball in celebration. My teammates swarm me, slapping my helmet, yelling in excitement.

As I jog back to the sideline, I glance toward the box. Juliet is standing, grinning, watching.

Yeah. That was for her.

- Second Quarter

Luke and the defense hit the field, and the other team isn't backing down. Their quarterback is good, annoyingly good, slinging passes that carve through our secondary, driving them down the field.

On third and goal, they line up in a spread formation. I watch from the sideline as their running back motions out, creating an empty backfield.

Luke adjusts his stance.

The ball is snapped, and the quarterback immediately scans for an open target. But Luke, he sees it coming. He rushes, cutting between two linemen,

A sack.

The quarterback goes down hard, the ball slipping from his grasp. Our defense dives, recovering the fumble.

I grin, shaking my head. Show-off.

Luke jogs to the sideline, pointing at me. "That's drinks, Crawford."

I chuckle, clapping his shoulder. "Game's not over yet."

- Halftime: Adjustments & Hype

The locker room is a mix of intensity and confidence. We're leading, but not by much. Coach lays into us about staying sharp, not letting up.

I grab a Gatorade, downing a few gulps before sitting back. My body is warm, muscles buzzing from the first half.

I pull out my phone, just for a second. One text from Juliet.

Juliet: You're showing off.

I smirk, thumbs tapping a quick reply.

Me: Like what you see?

Her response comes almost immediately.

Juliet: Score again, and maybe I'll admit it.

My grin widens.

Challenge accepted.

- Third Quarter

We hit the field again, but the other team comes out swinging. Their defense tightens up, making it harder for us to move the ball. Drives stall. The momentum shifts.

With three minutes left in the quarter, we're pinned deep in our territory. Third and long.

I line up, scanning the defense. They're playing deep coverage, expecting a pass. Mathews calls out adjustments at the line, and I see it. a hole in their zone.

I push off, sprinting downfield, cutting inside at the last second. Mathews fires the ball over the middle. Tight coverage, but I stretch— catch.

I plant my foot, spin out of the tackle, and take off.

Forty yards. Fifty. Sixty.

I hear the footsteps, feel the defenders closing in—then bam, I take a hit from behind. Hard.

I crash onto the turf, the breath knocked out of me.

The crowd gasps. The sideline tenses.

I roll onto my back, chest rising and falling fast. The stadium lights blur slightly before I blink them back into focus.

I push myself up, shaking my head as my teammates help me to my feet.

I flex my fingers, roll my shoulders, and jog back to the huddle.

I'm fine.

- Fourth Quarter

The scoreboard glows bright against the darkened sky.

Jets - 28 | Rivals - 28

Fourth quarter. One minute left on the clock. Ball on our 45-yard line.

The stadium is vibrating with energy, the crowd on their feet, roaring with anticipation. Every muscle in my body is taut, every nerve is buzzing.

We huddle up. Mathews wipes sweat from his forehead, eyes sharp as he scans the defense. "We need a big play, and we need it now. Crawford, you up?"

I nod, jaw set. "Always."

The play is called—a deep route down the sideline. I just need a clean break, and Mathews will send it my way.

The offensive line digs in, everyone ready. My heart pounds in my chest, but it's steady. Focused.

I shift into position, eyes locked on the cornerback lined up against me. He's been giving me trouble all game, but I've got one last move up my sleeve.

Snap.

I run off the line, pushing hard, my legs burning as I sprint downfield. The defender is on me, step for step, but at the last second—I cut inside, then back out, a sharp double move that sends him stumbling.

I'm open.

Mathews sees it.

The ball is in the air, spiraling toward me, beautiful, perfect. I track it, time slowing as I prepare to make the grab.

But before i can, Someone slams into me mid-air, a brutal, blindside hit that knocks the breath clean out of my lungs.

Everything goes white-hot for a second. I'm weightless, flipping before I hit the ground hard.

Pain explodes up my leg. A crushing weight lands on my ankle.

I don't even scream. Just gasp, the pain so sharp, so searing, it knocks the wind out of me.

A distant whistle blows. The crowd roars and then falls silent as they realize I'm not getting up.

My ears ring. My vision blurs. I try to move, but the pain lances up my leg so viciously that I can't.

Fuck.

The medics are already sprinting onto the field.

I squeeze my eyes shut, sucking in shaky breaths through my teeth. What if I broke it?

I can't break it. Not now. Not like this.

I try to shift, but the second I put the slightest weight on it, white-hot pain shoots up my leg.

Shit, shit, shit.

A medic kneels beside me. "Ellie, don't move. We're going to check your ankle."

My breath stutters. My chest heaves. I don't want to be pulled from this game.

They press along the bone, checking for fractures. I grit my teeth, gripping at the grass beneath me. My teammates hover nearby, worried, waiting.

Finally, one of the medics looks at me, expression firm. "It's not broken, but it's a nasty twist. You're out for the rest of the game."

No.

My stomach drops. "Tape it up. I can—"

"You can't." His tone leaves no room for argument. "You land wrong, you could tear something. You're done for tonight."

Anger floods my veins, burning through the pain. This was supposed to be my game.

The medics lift me onto the stretcher to get me to the sideline, but I shove them off. I refuse to be carried off like I'm some damn rookie.

I force myself up, but the second my foot touches the ground, agony shoots through me, and I almost collapse.

Luke is suddenly there, arms catching me, keeping me upright. "Whoa. Ellie. Chill."

"I'm fine," I grind out.

I'm not fine.

Luke doesn't let go, and neither does Coach, who suddenly appears at my side. His hands land on my shoulders, voice steady. "You played your ass off tonight, Crawford. This isn't on you."

I shake my head, furious. "I should've held onto the damn ball."

Coach grips me tighter. "That hit would've taken out anyone. You did your job."

I exhale sharply, my chest heaving, frustration boiling inside me.

"Ellie!"

I know that voice.

I barely have time to react before Juliet is in front of me.

Her eyes flicker over me, wild with worry, her breathing just as uneven as mine. "Are you okay?"

I don't know what to say. My jaw clenches.

I see it in her eyes, the same frustration, the same helplessness. But beneath it, concern. Real, raw concern.

I swallow hard, my throat tight. "I—I'm fine."

Juliet's eyes narrow at the clear lie.

She doesn't buy it. Not for a second.

Her gaze drops to my ankle, taking in the way I'm barely putting weight on it, the way my entire body is tense with pain and frustration. Then she looks back up at me, eyes sharp. "Ellie."

I shake my head, jaw clenched. "I said I'm fine."

She scoffs, stepping in closer, voice dropping. "You're limping. You're about to keel over. You're not fine."

I exhale harshly. "Well, I don't really have a choice, do I?" My voice comes out rougher than I intend, frustration bubbling over. "They already pulled me. I can't go back in. Game's over for me."

Juliet stares at me for a second. "You're pissed."

"No shit."

She huffs, crossing her arms. "Ellie, you—" She stops herself, exhales, then looks me dead in the eye. "You played your heart out. You got hurt because you were giving everything you had. That's not something to be mad about."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah? Tell that to the scoreboard."

Juliet's expression doesn't change. "I don't care about the scoreboard."

That makes me pause.

Her voice is quieter now, but steady. "I care that you're okay. That you're not pushing yourself too hard and making this worse." Her eyes flicker down to my ankle again, then back up. "Because I know you, Ellie. I know you're probably already thinking about how soon you can get back on the field."

I clench my jaw, shifting slightly, the pain making itself known again. I don't say anything.

Juliet steps even closer, her voice softer now, just for me. "You don't have to prove anything, you know."

I exhale sharply. "That's easy for you to say."

She tilts her head. "Is it?"

I look at her. The way she's standing there, unwavering, grounded in her own confidence. And I know she gets it. The pressure. The expectations. The hunger to be the best.

But right now, I can't even stand properly on my own, and it's fucking killing me.

Juliet must see something in my face because her expression softens just slightly. "Ellie," she murmurs. "Come here."

I don't have a choice, she steps in and wraps her arms around me before I can even think about resisting.

I melt.

Her scent, the familiar warmth of her body against mine, it all crashes over me, cutting through the frustration, the pain, the crushing disappointment of the game slipping through my fingers.

My arms wrap around her automatically, my forehead dropping to her shoulder as I let out a shaky breath.

"I hate this," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nods, her fingers tracing soothing circles against my back. "I know."

I let my eyes close for a second, just breathing her in.

After a moment, she pulls back just enough to look at me. "Come on," she says gently. "Let's get you off your feet before you do something stupid."

I sigh, but let her guide me toward the bench. Coach and Luke exchange a look, but neither of them say anything as Juliet helps me down, her hands lingering on my arms even after I'm seated.

She crouches in front of me, reaching out, fingers ghosting over my knee. "Let me see."

I shake my head. "The medics already—"

"Ellie." Her voice is patient but firm.

I sigh, but let her gently push my sweats up, revealing my already-swelling ankle. She frowns, her fingers grazing lightly over the bruised skin.

Her touch is careful, almost reverent. And it does something to me, how much she cares. How much she's trying not to show just how worried she actually is.

I tilt my head, watching her. "You know you're kinda mother-henning me right now."

She shoots me a look. "Shut up."

I grin despite everything, then wince when I shift my foot the wrong way.

Juliet's head snaps up.

"I'm fine."

She glares. "Say that one more time and I swear I will actually kill you."

I chuckle softly, but there's warmth in my chest now, something that has nothing to do with the game or the injury.

I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You should get back to your seat. Game's still going."

She just looks at me. Then, without a word, she moves to sit next to me instead.

I blink.

"I'm staying here."

I swallow. "You don't have to."

She shrugs. "I want to."

And just like that, the loss, the frustration, the pain, none of it seems to matter as much anymore.

I glance at her again, at the set of her jaw, the way her hand is resting so casually against my thigh.

Yeah.

Maybe tonight wasn't a total loss after all.

-

The final twenty seconds on the clock feel like an eternity.

I sit on the bench, my ankle throbbing, heart hammering against my ribs as I watch the defense take position. The rivals have the ball, too damn close to the end zone for comfort. A field goal would win them the game, but they're going for the touchdown.

Luke is on the field, lined up, his stance rigid, muscles coiled with tension.

Come on.

I grip the edge of the bench, fingers digging into the fabric of my sweats as the play starts.

The quarterback drops back, scanning the field. The defense rushes, trying to close the pocket, but he's quick—too quick. He sidesteps, rolls out, looking for an opening.

Luke pushes through the line, hands up, closing in. Almost there.

But then—

The ball launches.

A clean spiral, cutting through the air.

I hold my breath.

Their receiver is already in motion, breaking away from our last defender.

No.

I shift forward, as if I can physically will the ball to miss its mark, as if I can somehow stop what's about to happen.

The receiver jumps. Hands out.

The ball lands in his grip.

His feet hit the ground.

Touchdown.

The stadium erupts.

Not for us.

For them.

We lost.

My chest tightens as the scoreboard changes, sealing our fate.

Rivals – 34

Jets – 28

Fuck.

I drop my head into my hands, my entire body sinking under the weight of it. I should have held onto that last catch. I should have fought through the hit. I should have—I should have—

A warm hand presses lightly against my back.

Juliet.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice quiet, meant only for me. "Ellie, it's not your fault."

I don't respond. I just breathe, staring at the turf beneath my cleats, forcing air in and out of my lungs.

The energy around me is heavy. Coach is standing stiff, arms crossed, jaw set, the disappointment clear in his expression even though he says nothing. The whole team is silent. Some guys are still on the field, hands on their hips, heads tilted back in frustration. Others are crouched, their hands gripping their helmets.

Luke rips his off and throws it to the ground, jaw clenched so tight I think his teeth might crack.

No one speaks. No one moves.

We fucking lost.

I inhale sharply, exhaling through my nose before pushing myself to stand. The pain in my ankle flares again, but I don't care. I just need to get out of here.

I take a step forward, and Juliet's hand slips from my back.

"Ellie." Her voice is softer now, almost hesitant.

I don't look at her, not yet. I can't.

But as I start walking toward the locker rooms, I hear her again.

"I'll wait for you."

That makes me pause.

I glance back at her. She's watching me, concern written all over her face, but she's giving me space.

I feel bad for not responding earlier. For shutting down on her.

So I just nod.

It's all I can manage right now.

And then I turn and walk toward the tunnel, the weight of the loss pressing heavy on my shoulders.

I don't stop until I'm inside the locker room.

-

The locker room is dead silent.

The only sound is the occasional shuffle of cleats against the floor, the dull thuds of helmets being set down, or tossed a little too hard, into lockers. No one speaks. No one even looks at each other.

I sit on the bench, elbows resting on my knees, my ankle still throbbing, but the pain in my chest is worse. The sting of the loss sits heavy in my gut, thick in the air around us.

Coach stands at the front of the room, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He lets the silence linger for a moment, scanning the room, taking in every slumped shoulder, every clenched jaw, every player lost in their own frustration.

Then he exhales, shaking his head. "Alright," he says, voice steady. "That sucked."

No one reacts.

He nods, as if agreeing with himself. "Yeah. It fucking sucked. You fought. You bled for this game. You gave everything you had out there. And we still came up short."

The words sit like a weight in the air, pressing down on all of us.

Coach's voice softens, but not in a way that makes it any easier to hear. "I know what you're feeling right now. The frustration. The anger. The doubt." His eyes sweep across the room. "But listen to me and I mean really listen."

He takes a step forward. "This? This is one loss. One game. This isn't the end of the season. This isn't the end of us." He lets the words sink in before continuing. "We don't fall apart over one fucking loss. We don't hang our heads and act like we're done. We learn. We adjust. We come back stronger."

A few guys shift, but no one speaks.

Coach exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "I've seen teams break after a loss like this. I've also seen teams come back and rip through the rest of the season because they refused to let one loss define them."

His voice sharpens, cutting through the heavy air. "So tell me right now, are we a team that breaks? Or are we a team that gets back up?"

Silence.

Then, finally, Mathews mutters under his breath, "We get back up."

Coach's gaze snaps to him. "Louder."

"We get back up." A few murmurs ripple through the room, soft but gaining strength.

Coach nods once, satisfied. "Damn right, we do. So take tonight. Feel the loss. Be pissed. Let it burn. And then let it fuel you. Because next week? We don't fucking lose."

The energy shifts, just a little. Not enough to erase the loss, but enough to remind us that this isn't the end.

Coach scans the room once more, meeting my eyes for a second before he nods. "Get cleaned up. I'll see you all at practice."

And with that, he turns and walks out, leaving the locker room heavy with everything we just lost, and everything we still have left to fight for.

•Author's note:

Should i keep the game shorter and simpler next time (if i write another game) ? Cause i feel like it's kind of boring to people who don't get football.

Let me know what you guys want. Or if you don't want me to write a game at all.