Noah

The late summer sun beat down on Schneider’s Field, making the turf shimmer like a black skillet. Sweat ran down my spine beneath my pads as the team lined up again, helmets clashing, voices shouting, the sound of the game echoing in the humid air.

Normally, this was my place.

The field was where everything made sense — where the world narrowed down to clean plays, fast routes, and bone-crunching hits.

But today, my focus kept slipping.

No matter how many times I told ...