I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 53: The Right Moment
The hallway buzzed with post-final-bell energy—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, conversations rising in a dozen directions at once. Jon leaned casually against his locker, arms folded, his eyes trained on the scene a few feet away: Terry talking to Suki.
The grin on Suki's face said it all. Whatever Terry had just said had landed with precision. She laughed, not the polite kind, but the genuine kind—head tilted slightly, hand instinctively touching her cheek, eyes gleaming. Jon smiled to himself.
"This is it," Jon whispered. "Now's the moment, man. Take the shot."
But as if cued by cosmic irony, Terry hesitated. He scratched the back of his neck, offered Suki a sheepish smile, then gave a half-hearted wave and walked away. Jon raised an eyebrow.
Terry reached him with a look that could only be described as "mild existential crisis."
"What happened, man?" Jon asked. "She laughed! You had her."
"I don't know," Terry muttered, clearly annoyed with himself. "Everything was going great, and then I just... choked."
"You choked?" Jon repeated, incredulous. "Dude, I've seen you blitz on fourth and inches, crowd screaming, center trying to pancake you, and you still nailed the quarterback like he owed you money. And now you choke?"
Terry looked down, embarrassed. "Football is easier than girls."
Jon laughed, clapped a hand on his shoulder. "That's probably true. But hey, it's not over. You've still got plenty of chances to get the girl. This was just the warm-up."
Terry gave a reluctant nod.
"Now let's move, Coach's gonna turn redder than his whistle if we're late."
They headed down the hall toward the locker room, the hallway noise fading behind them like the prelude to something sharper, faster, and louder.
The field was alive with motion, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over cleats tearing into turf. The rhythmic sound of pads colliding, whistles blowing, and the quarterback barking signals made Jon feel like he was right where he belonged.
Coach was more intense than usual—Friday's game was against their biggest rivals, and the pressure was on.
"Alright!" Coach barked. "Line up! Let's run it again—defense, focus up! Jon, you're on slot—read the linebacker!"
Jon wiped the sweat from his brow and jogged back into position. The world sharpened, his hearing narrowing down to just the quarterback's cadence and the subtle shifting of the defensive line. He read the coverage instantly—linebacker leaning too far inside, corner biting on the outside route.
Snap.
Jon exploded off the line, cutting sharp to the middle. The QB released the ball in perfect timing, and Jon twisted mid-air to snatch it just before it could graze the turf.
One foot down, then two. Still upright. He pivoted on a dime, juked the safety out of his cleats, and sprinted toward the endzone like gravity didn't apply to him.
Touchdown.
Cheers erupted from the sideline, and Coach blew his whistle with a rare note of satisfaction. "That's what I'm talkin' about! Hustle back, water break!"
Jon jogged to the sidelines, grabbing a bottle and tipping his head back to drink. The water was ice cold—blissful against the heat in his chest and the sweat dripping down his spine.
He instinctively glanced toward the bleachers.
Empty.
Just rows of metal seats baking in the sun, with a couple stray bags left by teammates who hadn't claimed them yet.
Weird.
Not bad. Not heartbreaking. Just… off.
Sam always watched practice, even if only from a distance. She'd read her book, or scroll on her phone, or sneak in those subtle thumbs-ups whenever Jon made a big play. But now, even after such a rush of adrenaline and a highlight-reel moment, the absence hit like a void.
Jon looked away. He wasn't going to dwell. He had made peace with the space Sam needed. He understood. Sort of. Still, knowing she wasn't there didn't hurt—it just echoed.
"Let's go, Pritchett!" Coach yelled. "Water break ain't a vacation!"
Jon snapped the cap back on the bottle, jogged back toward the team, his mind clearing like the field before a snap.
No distractions. No excuses. Just the game in front of him. For now, that was enough.