TWO

The Dons picked themselves up slowly. JJ, though he started near the bottom of the pile, was the one pulling his brothers up and setting them right.

'Hey, there's still time. It's still our game. We can still win this!' he told them.

Deshaun grit his teeth and walked over, helping the last few back to their feet. The game was slipping away from them, and it seemed the harder he clung onto it, the faster it went.

Ty looked to the scoreboard: 13–20. His heart pounded so hard it was beating on his skull. There WAS time, it WAS only one score … but they'd have to reverse their fate, going from getting scored on, to returning an interception or a fumble for a touchdown of their own.

"Then what? It's going to be a tie and we have to do it again or hope our offence can score one more time?"

The Dons were about to leave the field when shouting voices broke through their melancholy.

'TWO! TWO! TWO!'

The shouts came from both benches. The Vikings hadn't moved; their kicking team remained on the bench, and their offence remained on the field. They were going for the two point conversion.

The Dons rushed back into place as the Vikings lined up.

Instead of settling for the extra point—which was almost guaranteed to give them an 8 point lead, which would require the Dons to get a touchdown and a 2 point conversion of their own—they were risking it to go for a two possession lead.

Deshaun settled back into place in front of Isiah, and the rest of the Dons crowded the middle of the field, three of them almost nose-to-nose with Mike. They wouldn't allow another sneak or dive up the middle.

The outsides of the field were empty save for the pairs of Deshaun and Isiah on one side, and Marshall and Ty on the other. Marshall looked across, and it felt like a galaxy lay between him and his teammates.

Ty stood across from him. They were a planet and a moon in an empty solar system. Not even the star remained. The lights shone only on them, the rest of the field faded, yet it was so cold. Marshall's breath came in short, rapid intervals, and he swore he saw it fogging up before him.

Ty stood motionless, straight and as tall as he could be, long arms hanging by his sides. His dark eyes watched Marshall, stared at him, stared THROUGH him.

The ball was snapped.

Nathan faked a hand-off.

Deshaun jammed up against Isiah, and Isiah tried to push through to the outside, aiming for the back corner of the end-zone. Deshaun was right with him.

Marshall had the same idea. Ty kept him at arm's length as they faded towards the corner.

Nathan cocked his arm back, ready to throw, and Marshall broke towards the middle.

Ty planted his foot and pushed off. Marshall was already diving. The ball came in low, everyone was in the middle of the field, there was no one else to throw over or worry about at the sidelines. Ty dove as well.

Marshall watched the ball. It was a wobbly pass, but that helped him see. Everything was still so dark. It was like the ball was wobbling through water—he was sinking deeper too—a slow shadow that eventually grew bigger and clearer as it approached.

Then Ty's hand faded into his vision. A great looming shadow coming across his face. But it was fine. He could still see the ball; he'd still reach it first.

He stretched out as far as he could. But that shadow just kept coming. The ball approached faster, but only grew darker as the shadow across his face blocked all light from the world.

Ty's hand eclipsed his own and smashed the ball aside before it could reach him.

Time sped up, like a whiplash effect, as everything zoomed by in a blur to make up for the last few seconds taking an eternity.

Marshall crashed to the ground, crunching against the turf, and Ty tumbled over him.

The crowd's noise was an incomprehensible mess of cheers and cries. The Dons' roars of triumph washed all other noise away.

Marshall stared up at a world that was suddenly all too bright, as the Dons swarmed around Ty and hoisted him to his feet. Deshaun cut through the pack and slammed a fist on Ty's chest.

'That's what I'm fuckin' talkin' 'bout, Freshy!'

Ty stared down at Marshall. Even amid his teammates' celebration, as they all revolved around him, he never took his eyes off Marshall.

Marshall stared back. Ty seemed like a different person. His eyes were empty, thoughtless, but it felt like he was omnipresent.

Marshall still couldn't understand what had happened, but it wasn't for him to comprehend, he would never understand.

In moments like these, those who were special rose to the top.

The Vikings still led, but now only by 7 points, and somehow, the tides had turned.

Chris's kickoff return took the ball to the 31-yard line, where the Dons would start their drive to win back the game.

It would be a slow and steady comeback, but one that felt inevitable. Cole was rejuvenated, but not only that, every Don felt fired up from Ty's stand and what that meant. A 9-point difference would've been unreachable in such a tight, hard-fought, and low-scoring game. But 7 points? All they needed was one touchdown.

Chris was fearless. They couldn't work the middle of the field, but he still attacked the outside, slashing ahead for 3 or 4 yards a carry. Nothing amazing, but it was enough to get the ball rolling and keep up their momentum.

Benny, too, could squeeze in a short catch here and there for 5 more yards when they needed it. Cole wasn't the only one who could penetrate this defence.

Even Stephen was getting back into the swing of things, not as regularly as the others. Isiah was still close, still aggressive without usually extending into the territory of a foul. But occasionally, his focus would slip. His ire would move from Stephen and towards his fellow defenders, or even towards Marshall on the bench, who he saw as the cause for this struggle continuing.

Then Stephen would bounce and reel in a catch for 10 plus yards at a time.

With this group effort, the Dons marched downfield, drawing more time out of the clock as their touchdown seemed inevitable.

Whilst Isiah's frustration and anger only grew, Myles was euphoric. He was glad the game wasn't over; the Dons weren't hopeless yet. It meant he could be the one to end their hope.

But they'd been resilient, annoying little cockroaches today. He hadn't worked this hard to break someone before. Maybe Chris couldn't be broken a second time, but it felt like Stephen had been replaced by a monk since last time.

It'd be a boring end if he couldn't spark a little excitement. His purple, hungry eyes fell on Cole. The engine that had been driving the Dons' offence in the second half. He'd found his new target, and not a moment too soon as the Dons pushed into the red zone.

A shiver ran down Cole's spine, but he chalked it up to the intensity of the moment, unaware such predatory eyes had him in their sights. The Dons' season hinged on this drive, and they were drawing ever closer to glory. They couldn't stop now.

The ball was snapped, and he jumped forward. A step outside gave him the best platform to jump back into the middle with a sharp Slant. He was open, and Jay found him.

Jay was reliable like that. You just had to get open for him and he'd find you more often than not. Cole caught the pass and turned upfield, but before he could take another step, he was blindsided by what felt like a truck.

As Myles smashed Cole into the turf, two things popped into the air. One of them was Cole's helmet, the other—more concerningly—was the ball.

The ball fell to the ground, and the Vikings dove on it as officials rushed in, whistles blowing. Benny tried to dig through the pile and extract the ball but it was hopeless.

Myles popped up, laughing and grinning. Cole struggled over to his hands and knees, panting hard. Myles thought he looked like a dog. He also thought such an appearance fit Cole and the Dons perfectly.

The officials signalled it was the Vikings ball. Cole tried to wave them off. He wanted to argue that it was just an incompletion, that he hadn't had time to secure the catch before Myles hit him. But he couldn't find his voice. None of the officials paid him any mind.

The Vikings had control of the ball AND the game.

The Dons helped Cole from the field. Cole hung his head low. Over and over he muttered: 'I fucked up,' and 'I'm sorry.'

JJ met him at the sideline. Cole looked up when he felt the hand on his shoulder. JJ grinned at him. 'It's okay. We haven't lost yet.'

They hadn't, not yet. And that simple reminder kept the embers of the Dons' hope alight.

Deshaun looked at Ty as they both got off the bench. Ty wasn't upset or angry. He was surprisingly calm. But why wouldn't he be? The game was still in his hands.

The Dons' defence took the field, their backs against the wall, but their confidence burned brighter by the second.

The Vikings offence stepped onto the turf, knowing they had a chance to finish the game. With under five minutes to go, they could run out the clock and never let the Dons have the ball again if they played their cards right.

But the Dons weren't about to roll over and die.

With this idea of running out the clock, the Vikings started with a hand-off. But their ever reliable wall, Polar Bear Mike Ironbark, crumbled, and the Dons swarmed into the backfield like the first soldiers swarming over a castle's walls, and crunched the RB for a loss of 2 yards.

Suddenly, the Dons weren't the ones with their backs against the wall, but the Vikings instead.

Just like usual, when they were backed into a corner, they went to the air.

Marshall still felt alone, isolated almost a world away from the rest of his team. The feeling wasn't as intense this time, but still Ty was draped all over him, no matter which way he shook or cut.

Nathan held the ball back, the memory of his and Marshall's last attempt at their diving connection flashing through his head. Ty was looming, waiting on the pass again. Instead, Nathan looked towards Isiah.

Deshaun was still guarding him closely, jamming him up. Isiah burst by, the two running alongside each other at great speed. Then Isiah stopped, and turned back, giving Deshaun a helpful little push in the back—discreet and uncalled.

Nathan whipped the ball across, and Isiah got his hands to it. So did Deshaun. He'd dived straight back after the shove, and turned mid-flight. He and Isiah struggled for the ball, but it popped free from both their grasps just before they tumbled to the ground.

It was only an incompletion, but Deshaun had been THAT close to winning the ball back and giving the Dons another chance.

Isiah stormed back to the Vikings' huddle. 'What the fuck was that? Throw the ball on time!'

Marshall pushed him aside, not even looking at him. He stared down Nathan. 'Throw the ball properly this time.'

Nathan stared up at him, speechless. Isiah wasn't a fan of being pushed around, but to him, it sounded like Marshall was championing his cause. Nathan knew he wasn't, Nathan knew he was talking about himself.

The huddles broke apart, and Marshall took his spot on the island so far away from everyone else, where only he and Ty existed.

Ty hadn't said anything since the two point conversion. He stood perfectly still, more calm and composed than ever. Marshall wanted to say something, but didn't know if anything he said could pierce the void between them.

Again, the world darkened. Marshall thought the lights were faulty at this shitty field. Why couldn't they be playing on the Vikings' home turf?

Again his breath fogged up in front of his face, coming in shallow, wheezing gasps. It was strange. Sometimes, even Ty felt miles away. A heartbeat later, he felt so close he was choking Marshall.

He tried to push these thoughts and feelings out of his mind, tried to push them under the rising water and drown them, but he couldn't, because he was already drowning.

The snap snapped Marshall out of his dream. He rushed forward. Ty thrust his hand out. It felt like a battering ram crashed into Marshall's chest, further suffocating him. He pushed through.

Ty favoured the inside, and Marshall drifted into him until he reached the first down marker. He cut outside and dove, looking back for the ball. Again, it was drifting so slowly. Not underwater this time, but like it was floating through space. He was too; gravity didn't exist anymore.

Everything was dark, all except the ball. It was his one beacon of light. It was coming straight towards his hand. Slowly, inevitably, like an asteroid coming straight for Earth.

Then Ty blocked out Marshall's light. Again, Ty's hand eclipsed him. Marshall's teeth dug into his mouth guard as he tried to stretch further. His light came back, he saw the ball. He saw it diverge.

Marshall stretched further than Ty. The ball should've been his. But that's not what happened. It was like magic. Unbelievable. A trick of the eyes, surely. Marshall had to have just misjudged the flight path, but if you asked him, he'd have told you it MOVED.

Ty didn't reach as far as Marshall, but he didn't need to. The ball came to him, as if he had a magnet in his hand. His hand sucked it in, and as soon as it touched his fingers, just like Marshall had done, his hand clamped around it and snapped it into the crook of his arm, then his chest.

Gravity kicked back in tenfold, and the two slammed into the ground.

Ty curled around the ball, then stood as the whistles blew. They were the only sound that pierced the night sky as the crowd stood in silence, shocked at the display they'd just seen.

Time stood still for a lifetime as Ty stood over Marshall, ball in his hands. Marshall hadn't understood previously, but now he had an inkling of knowledge. Some voice deep down inside, he didn't want to listen to, told him he was staring at something unreachable, something special.

Then the world erupted. It was a cacophony of noise, as even the Vikings' side of the stands couldn't help but cry out in amazement.

Again the Dons swarmed Ty, jumping over him, pushing him around. Staring at him with sparkling eyes as if he'd just won. And he had. He'd beaten Marshall.

Marshall shot up to his feet, breaking through the Dons' pack to get in Ty's face. 'You haven't won s-shit!' he screamed, his voice shaky. He pointed to the scoreboard, trembling. 'You haven't won shit.'

Ty's eyes flashed. They probably just caught the light weird for a moment, but Marshall saw something more sinister within them. He backed off, though Ty hadn't uttered a word.

And Ty didn't, not to Marshall at least. He turned away, barely even acknowledging his defeated foe. He carried the ball over to Jay, who stood in bewilderment on the sideline.

He slammed the ball into Jay's gut and stared up at him. He stared a long while before his eyes turned to take in the entire offence. Then he said one word:

'WIN.'

Jay took the ball and nodded. The offence marched onto the field, Ty's message held in their hearts.

Stephen shook his head, smirking. 'Arrogant pipsqueak, ain't he?'

The Dons smiled, but no one laughed. The air was still too heavy for that.

Isiah struggled to contain himself as he lined up against Stephen. How dare that fucker Marshall talk so much shit, hold himself so fucking high, and always look down on everyone when he couldn't beat one tiny little freak?

He had all that attitude, just to dump his responsibilities onto Isiah and hide on the bench instead of playing defence as well. It was bullshit, unfair bullshit, and Isiah wouldn't stand for it!

The Dons snapped the ball while Isiah was still raging against Marshall. He was a step behind right away and clung to Stephen as he rushed by.

Stephen slapped Isiah's hands away, ignoring the flag that came after them. He sprinted ahead, keeping Isiah behind, attacking before the help could arrive.

He cut to the outside, and Isiah went sprawling forward, falling over as Stephen planted his feet at the sideline, and caught the pass falling out right at the 3-yard line.

Isiah popped up quickly, like it'd make people forget he fell in the first place. He glared all around the crowd, picking out the phones and cameras. His heart raced. It was BULLSHIT! He didn't fall; he was tripped! That freak's legs had tripped him.

Stephen laughed, drawing Isiah's attention. 'Why you look like you just got dropped … nigga?'

Isiah's entire body tensed like a string just before it snapped. Before he snapped, Mike dragged him away. A grim expression replaced Mike's usual cheery grin. 'Do you need to sit on the bench?'

'I! …' Isiah couldn't speak. His world was falling to pieces, and his rage went with it. Despair filled in the cracks left behind. He shambled back to his position and Mike let him go.

The Dons declined the holding penalty in favour of the results of Stephen's reception. They lined up at the goal-line, bringing JJ and Cole back in. Their formation screamed "run", and the Vikings second-guessed themselves, barricading the middle with more bodies as they readied to support Mike in the trench war.

Jay took the snap. However, he never even looked to hand the ball off. His eyes flicked to Benny, who slipped away from his opponent without blocking, and immediately turned back to the ball. He caught the simple flip pass and backed towards the end-zone.

He backed right into Myles. Benny planted his feet, Myles drove him forward, away from the end-zone. They both pushed against one another in a stalemate. JJ broke it.

He rammed into Benny, hugging him and the ball, and the three of them toppled into the end-zone for the touchdown.

Myles was buried under the pile as more Dons dove on top, celebrating the touchdown. They'd done it! They were just an extra point away from tying the game.

As Coach Long was calling for the kicking team to go get that extra point, Coach Hoang stopped him, grabbing his arm.

'Coach. We should go for two,' Coach Hoang said.

Coach Long stared down at him, frowning. The game was yet to go into the two-minute warning, even if the Dons took the lead now, they weren't guaranteed to hold onto it until the end. The extra point was safer, he told Coach Hoang as much and added: 'don't you trust our defence to hold the draw?'

Coach Hoang smiled. 'It's BECAUSE I trust our defence that we should go for the win now. We might not get another chance, and anything can happen in overtime. But I know that our defence won't let them score another point before that clock runs out.'

Coach long's frown remained. Going for two wasn't the Don way.

Coach Hoang saw he was unconvinced. 'If you don't want to believe in me, believe in your boys. They won't fail. Look at Chris.'

Coach Long turned his attention to Chris, who sat on the edge of his seat, staring at the field. His fists were clenched hard over his legs. He was shaking, not with fear or anxiety, but with excitement.

'Coach Hoang might be speaking out of his station, being the DEFENSIVE coordinator after all,' Coach Norman said, 'but I've gotta say I agree with him on this, as impractical as it might seem. It just … feels right.'

Coach Long smiled. 'Alright. Chris?'

Chris looked up like he'd only just heard the conversation. He hurried over to Coach Long. 'Yeah, Coach?'

'We're going for two. So I need you to go out there and take us home. Can you do that for me?'

Chris took a deep breath. As he stared at Coach Long's eyes, they turned purple. He saw Marshall staring back. Without blinking, he nodded. 'I will.'

'Atta boy.'

Chris marched out with his orders, replacing Cole. The two passed one another and bumped fists on the way. Chris told the others what was happening.

The Vikings looked shocked, appalled, and insulted by the Dons' decision to go for two. It was a slap in the face, like the Dons were trying to show them how it's supposed to be done.

Chris stared down Myles the whole time he was relaying Coach Long's orders. Myles grinned. This game was turning out to be the best yet, and he had the perfect way to end it.

The teams lined up, a mountain of tension between them, though the Linemen were barely inches apart. Still, Myles and Chris stared at one another.

The ball was snapped. Jay turned instantly, extending towards Chris as JJ sprinted past like he was shot out of a gun.

Mike barrelled through the Dons' O-Line, roaring. JJ slammed right into the Polar Bear, fearless. He smashed open a hole, and Chris took the ball, aiming right for it.

Myles filled the gap first. Chris didn't hesitate, he didn't swerve around him or juke him. Their eyes remained locked, even as Chris lowered his shoulder.

Myles's eyes widened, his grin split his face. He welcomed the challenge and lowered into it happily.

Chris and Myles slammed into one another with a thunderclap. Their bodies were lost in the mess of the trenches made by the Linemen. They surged against one another.

When the dust settled, Myles was on his ass, and Chris lay past him, the ball stretched out in one hand, extended past the threshold of the end-zone.

The two-point conversion was good. The Dons had taken the lead 21–20.