The entire UW football team took a two and a half hour flight from SeaTac to Vegas, where I sat with one hand tightly clenched on the hand rest and the other nearly crushed under Darrius' death grip. By now, our flight routine drew no attention from the team and if my hand calmed down my friend's nerves, I happily helped as long as he hadn't broken any of my fingers.

Some time between our first flight next to each other and this one, Darrius changed from just my teammate and Ellie's friend to my friend too. Beneath his gigantic, gruff exterior, Darrius was a very mellow, even hilarious, guy. He was really good at impressions, from Coach Peterson, celebrities, comedians, to Monique, even Ellie.

The big guy's heart was bigger than the rest of him. The only child of a single Mom, Darrius went back home during breaks and helped out his Mom's restaurant in Louisiana, although Monique teased that he ate more than he helped.

My eyes slid closed under the pressurized cabin as Ellie floated into my thoughts. I wasn't away from her much, only away games and even though I knew I'd see her in a few hours, I felt like a part of me was missing.

Feels like I chopped my arm off or something.

Which is crazy since we just spent four days together... Well, before keeping Jake and Harper from killing each other.

Selfishly, I'd gotten what I wanted out of the trip, enough of Jake's permission for when I proposed to Ellie. While I loved Ellie more than anyone, just the idea that I asked her to marry me fired up nerves inside me until I practically squeezed Darrius' hand back. My skin prickled and fingers twitched, so I took a slow, deep breath to calm them down.

Fuck, I don't even have a ring.

Or know where to buy one on a student budget.

While I knew Ellie probably loved a rubber band if I proposed with one, she deserved the best representation of how I felt about her. She probably thought otherwise but she was one of the strongest people I knew, so I pulled out my phone with my free hand and searched with that idea in mind.

"Listen up, Dawgs!!" Coach Peterson's voice echoed off the locker room walls at Allegiant Stadium.

From a player's perspective, the multi-billion dollar, state-of-the-NFL-art football stadium was beyond impressive, from the black, retractable walls and massive video boards viewable from every one of the sixty-five thousand seats down to the all-black lockers, black, white, and silver zebra-patterned carpet, and black locker room benches we currently sat on. The collective silence from the team reflected our shared combination of nerves, anticipation, and subdued excitement.

"Before we get to the exciting part, I'd like to say a few words," Coach cleared his throat and silenced the room with one cough. "I'm damn proud of you boys this season, you've fought hard when pushed down or fell behind, worked your asses off in practices and games, and represented your university and the good people in Husky Nation all season."

Coach's words prompted a few head nods, although the number of fists tightly clenched around collars and at guys' sides were definitely more than usual before a regular season game.

"But the past is in the past, what matters now is the next sixty minutes," Coach's voice hardened with the look he gave as he scanned around the pindrop-silent room. "You're hurt, I get it. You're tired, I get it. Your season is over."

With a few paced steps, Coach stopped and pointed one finger out the locker room's exit doors. "But your postseason starts right now! For the next sixty minutes, all that matters this season happens out on that field! Stay tough, linemen dig in the trenches, receivers and backs run your asses off, corners, LBs, and safeties watch your targets, and LT..."

"Logan," Coach Peterson's eyes met mine and threw me his silent challenge. "Light 'em up."

A rumbled, "Yes Sir," rang out from the locker room, along with a few nodded heads.

"Emmitt." Coach Peterson nodded at Emmitt, who pushed off the wall he leaned against and walked into the center of the room.

Right as Emmitt launched into his warchant-like spiel, my attention turned inwards for my own game prep routine. I strapped on my gloves and squeezed my fists. I tightened my helmet strap, my chest guards, and my knee pads. I joined in the final 'Dawgs' chant, clapped my palms onto my receivers' shoulders, and took my place in line near the door.

I'm ready.

From the first step I took out onto the field, our normal warmups blurred into the pregame events. My weight shifted from one foot to the other while I pressed my palm tightly into my chest, and mouthed the national anthem. After the roar of the flyover jets, the massive NFL stadium setting blurred around me. The seats blurred as my eyes shifted around for one in particular.

Once I focused my eyes on one particular section, the east corner, third row, center seats, I found my small group of purple and gold-dressed supporters. Among the black blur of seats, she was my focus. Her dark hair was pulled up high in a ponytail, her beautiful face bare of makeup except for a black number ten outlined in white on her right cheek, and the brightest smile dimmed only by the sparkle in each of her dark brown eyes.

There's my girl.

The same tightness that pulled inside my chest every time I saw her after a separation returned as I pointed one finger at Ellie. She cupped her hands into a heart shape in the center of her chest, right between the 'one' and 'zero' on her jersey, palmed her heart, and pointed right back at me.

Okay, that one might be a little too girly.

No hearts, Ellie, even though you have mine.

With one look at my girl, my game simplified. The crowd noise evaporated inside my ear drums, the national coverage's fanfare disappeared, and my focus turned inward. I saw only my ten offensive teammates, the turf dug under my cleats, the ball clutched by the head referee, and the trust I held in my skill set.

A coarse breath rushed out my lungs, I slipped out my mouth guard, and set my line. My cleats gripped tightly into the turf, my brain took a quick mental scan of the setup ahead of me, and my brain clicked into autopilot.

Left guard wants me to eat turf. Let him catch me.

Right linebacker thinks he'll sack me on the inside.

Left nickelback underestimates Wes's short-distance speed bursts.

"Let's go!" I roared out in a deep, nearly unfamiliar voice and extended both hands down and forwards. "Red-ninety-three! Red ninety-three! Hut hut hut, hike!!"

As soon as the ball snapped into my grasp, I staggered a few steps back and drew Wes all the time he needed. With one pitch, one catch, the purple minority within the stadium erupted and let all their voices be heard with each yard Wes burned up the field.

In that moment, adrenalin surged through my body, a roar of celebration left my mouth, and I pumped one tight fist up into the air. "Fuck yeah!!!"

A louder crowd-sourced roar broke out with Wes's stutter step around the deep nickelback, his last obstacle. My fist pumped up in the air while I watched what he did, the Dawgs' fans erupted with cheers like a single person screamed in a packed auditorium of silence, as the USC fans sat on their hands and gritted their teeth, and probably wrote my and Wes' death threats on the team's online live game feed.

On the opening score, my eyes wandered over aimlessly and they locked in on Mom's beaming face first. Her bright blue eyes glistened with proud tears. She blew me a kiss, which I gave her a lopsided grin she definitely couldn't have seen, and a small wave. My pointed finger went straight to Ellie, who already met me with the usual hand gesture and my grin widened so much I was surprised it hadn't split my face open when I returned it.

While we started the game with a high, unfortunately it only derailed as the game progressed. Our normally tight defensive side stuttered and Jake capitalized on every misstep. While our second offensive attempt ended in a field goal, USC marched ninety yards for a touchdown score. The rest of the game, we scored, they scored... Then they scored again and never looked back.

Personally, I played decently enough but by the end of the final seconds off the game clock, we were sorely disappointed and USC wildly celebrated their earned victory. I crouched over, my elbows on my knees and chin to chest, for a few slow, deep breaths and silent curses over the inches I could've scrapped together better, the downs I could've forced, the opportunities that slipped away -

"I'm so sorry, LT..." Coach Donovan slapped one hand onto the top of my helmet. "Helluva game, son. Did your best."

Did I? Then why do I feel like shit?

I wasn't immune to losing but sure hated when it happened. My heart swelled in sympathy for the disappointment on the Husky fans' faces, the slumped shoulders, even tears. Our defeat stung just as much for them as it did the team.

They traveled all this way and we let them down.

At this moment, the previous wins vanished like they'd never existed. USC were the winners, we were the losers, and that royally sucked.

My ears barely registered the 'Good game,' muttered over and over during the post-game handshake line. I twitched my lips and pushed out the sportmanslike words although none of me felt them. Out of fear of disappointment from my teammates, I kept my eyes down, tracked the number eleven on the back of Wes' cleat heels ahead of me, one step at a time until a solid hand shoved into my chest.

"Good game," Jake grunted out. I lifted my eyes and found the exact opposite emotions I felt inside reflected in his eyes - elation, relief, pure and raw happiness - and flinched like I'd been stung.

"You too," I pushed out in a hollow, empty voice.

"I mean it." He thumped my chest again, then rushed out to the center of the field, where burgundy and gold confetti rained down, the Trojans roared to their victory, and camera crews and fans intermixed with the players.

"LT?" A hand gently tapped on my upper arm, attached to Mike Sorrell, the Seattle sports reporter who'd graciously followed us since preseason. "Really tough one today."

"Really tough, going to take a long time to get over this one and won't forget it, Mike," I admitted and ripped my chin strap open. "We brought our game today but it just... wasn't enough. USC played a helluva game, near perfect really. We're disappointed for sure, definitely a bitter one to swallow, and not the way we wanted to end the season for the team, fans, and our school."

"There's rumored talk about a tertiary-level bowl game, which you'd never played in," Mike continued. "Fiesta Bowl, Cotton bowl, et cetera. Any thoughts?"

"Talk is talk," I barked out bitterly and put both hands on my hips. "I'll show up and fight for any win where they put us on the field, the Husky fans have shown up all season and that's what they deserve. But until I hear otherwise, I just want to take this time to thank the fans for their amazing support, they've been great all season."

"You've been great all season, there's also talk about the Heis-" I cut Mike off with a quick wave of my hand, then shook his roughly.

"Need to absorb the loss, sorry," I muttered and yanked off my helmet. The sting of tears bit into the corners of my eyes as I thanked him in a strained voice, then slowly walked off the field with my head hung low and helmet carried tightly in my grasp.

The post-game locker room reminded me more of a tomb than a group of college guys. Disappointment hung heavy and thick in the air, worse than our BO to be honest. A few tears even showed up, heads hung low, and not even a 'we gave it our best, you should be proud'-type speech from Coach Peterson dented the vibe.

I rushed through my post-game shower, dressed in record time, and exited the locker room with just my girlfriend and family in mind. Mom texted me and asked that I met them near Section 101's exit on the concourse, so I shook my fingers through my damp hair while I hurried up there. Part of me dreaded seeing how I'd let them down and the other selfish part of me needed their presence so I felt better.

Entire season propped on my shoulders and... I fell short.

"Oh Logan," Mom gasped out and flung her tall, thin frame into me, then pressed a kiss into my cheek. "I'm so sorry, honey."

"Yep," I gritted out in a tight voice and patted my palms onto her back. A quick look over her shoulder showed just Brody stood next to her. "Where's Ellie?"

"Ellie was... steps ahead of us on the way out here." Mom's head flipped around, but all I saw was Brody's sympathetic face. "Brody, is she with you?"

"She exited a few steps before us, until that old lady with a walker stepped in front of Harper," he replied, turned around, and scanned over the concourse area in the direction behind me.

"Maybe she's with Jake and her Mom?" Tension squeezed my eyebrows together while my eyes tracked over the concourse level's other direction. A sea of fans weaved around us like a continuous current, but I saw no signs of my short, dark brown-haired girlfriend among them.

"No." Mom's head shook and a frown came over her face. "Gianna and David went to congratulate him but Ellie was adamant that she saw you, Logan..."

Then where the hell is she?

An unsettled sensation rose up inside me at Mom's words, which I pushed down since there were many reasonable explanations where Ellie went.

"So she's with Harper?" My frown deepened the more I searched for Ellie and found no signs of her in the expansive, glass-enclosed, black-walled, and cement floored concourse.

She's probably just in the bathroom.

As if cued, Harper rounded the corner and walked towards us... Ellie-less.

"No, she was supposed to be here with us like I texted you..." Mom's voice trailed off and her blue eyes grayed with concern. "Let's backtrack our steps and give her a call. We'll find her, she couldn't have gone far."

Not like Ellie to randomly go anywhere.

At this point, my phone was already up to my ear and I called Ellie once, twice, thrice. My frown deepened the more times my call went right to voicemail and my texts went unread.

me: Baby, you okay? Trying to find you.
me: Call when you see these messages, trying to track you down.

Uneasiness churned inside me and fueled my steps faster, my strides longer. Over the next ten minutes, I weaved through the crowded areas, and my heart thumped stronger, my breaths drew shorter the more steps I took until Mom, Brody, and I stood right outside the entrance for their corner section 108.

"Where is she?" I half-muttered, half-groaned and raked both hands through my air. At this point, I'd blown up her phone like an ex-boyfriend who couldn't take a hint, my heart felt ripped out of my chest, and my throat had compressed in on itself.

"Oh my stars," Mom wrung one hand's fingers in the other hand and she shifted her weight between each side. "I've called Gianna, David, even Harper, but no sign of Ellie."

Brody decided now was a good time for lame suggestions, since he offered, "Maybe she stepped out for fresh air?"

"Where the smokers go?" I deadpanned and glared at him, which only earned me a shoulder shrug.

"Lost and found?" Mom's wide eyes looked up at me. "Security?"

"She's not a kid," I muttered when a hard hand grabbed onto my shoulder from behind.

My body jolted at the contact and I whirled around quickly. Emmitt's brown eyes looked up at me, tired and heavy with an unspoken weight that he carried. His mouth parted slightly and he took a few deep breaths, then uttered words I'd never have expected from him.

"I did steroids in high school."

"Huh?" I blinked blankly at him because I had no idea why he told me this information at this particular moment, when I'd lost my girlfriend in a stadium of sixty-five thousand attendees, her phone went straight to voicemail, and texts went unread. "What does -"

"I played quarterback at Central Catholic, one of the best schools in Oregon," he started a story and spoke so slowly and my jaw ticked because I got an odd sense that he stalled here.

"Get to the point, Verns," I urged him with a dismissive hand wave and another call straight to Ellie's voicemail. "I'm trying to find Ellie."

"You know how I'm a step slower than you? Always been like that. I knew that back then and made a mistake, to get ahead... A guy approached me at a party with an offer I couldn't refuse..." Emmitt ran one hand over his short brown hair, then grabbed my phone stuck on my ear and lowered it down to my side.

With a guilt-soaked voice that matched the look in his eyes, he continued, "I'm not proud of my past but I own up to it. I got caught on a positive test my junior year, expelled from school the rest of the year, and kicked off the team. After a judge overturned my case, I got probation my senior year and played decent enough that Coach Peterson threw me a second chance, although they still do daily testing on me."

"I'm very happy for you," I snapped at him. "The hell does this have to do with anything right now?"

"My parents got the help of some hotshot defense lawyers from California." Emmitt's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed tightly, his eyes lowered, and refused to meet mine. "They bailed me out, proved to the high school principal that it wasn't my fault..."

"Your body, your fault," I groaned out the words as annoyance flared up inside me. "Get to the fucking point Emmitt, or I swear -"

"I owed them a favor," he mumbled and hung his head low. "When you did that interview with Ellie and her brother on ESPN, they... called it in."

"Emmitt." My fists clenched tight at my sides, my nostrils flared with each sharp, hot breath, and red flashed dotted over my vision as I took slow, deliberate steps forwards until I smashed him against a wall. "What the hell did you do!?"