Noah

The final whistle blew and everything exploded.

The scoreboard still glowed over the field—Ridgeville 21, Clearwater 14—but the numbers barely registered because my ears were full of shouting, my chest was full of fire, and my legs were shaking in that good, earned way.

We’d done it.

We beat them.

And somehow, against every ounce of pressure and noise and chaos, we’d played better without him.

I ripped my helmet off as guys piled into each other, Reyes nearly ...