Chapter 173

Chapter 173
Sienna's POV

The second quarter began with a shift in strategy that I recognized immediately from watching film sessions. Instead of trying to beat Steel Citadel's pass rush with protection schemes, the Saints were going to attack it with movement. Hayes lined up in the shotgun, but as soon as the ball was snapped, he was rolling to his right, buying time for his receivers to work open downfield.

The first play was a thing of beauty. Hayes sold the fake handoff so convincingly that even I thought he'd given the ball to the running back. But as the defense bit on the run fake, he was already rolling out, his eyes downfield. Tyler had beaten his man on a comeback route, and Hayes delivered the ball with perfect timing and placement. Tyler caught it in stride and turned upfield, churning out thirty-five yards before being dragged down at Steel Citadel's thirty-yard line.

I was on my feet before I realized it, screaming along with the rest of our section. This was the Hayes I knew—the one who could make magic happen when everything seemed impossible.

The next two plays were methodical, Hayes picking apart the defense with short, precise throws that moved the chains and ate up real estate. When they reached the three-yard line, facing third and goal, I held my breath as Hayes surveyed the defense.

He could have thrown it. Tyler was running a fade route in the corner, and the safety was playing deep. But Hayes had always been at his best when he trusted his instincts, and his instincts told him to take matters into his own hands.

The quarterback sneak was perfectly executed. Hayes took the snap and immediately lowered his shoulder, driving forward behind his center's block. The Steel Citadel defense tried to stuff him at the line, but Hayes's legs—strengthened by months of grueling rehabilitation and supported by boots that understood every nuance of his movement—found the extra push he needed.

Touchdown. Saints 7, Steel Citadel 0.

I was crying and laughing and screaming all at once, Ava and Payton pulling me into a group hug as the stadium erupted around us.

The replay showed it all in slow motion—the perfect footwork, the way his cleats bit into the turf for that extra half-step of leverage, the explosion of power that carried him across the goal line.

But Steel Citadel wasn't going to roll over. The opposing quarterback answered with a methodical drive of his own, using his veteran savvy to pick apart the Saints' defense with surgical precision. Two long completions moved them into the red zone, and on fourth down from the ten-yard line, he found his tight end in the corner of the end zone for the tying score.

7-7.

With ninety seconds left in the half, Hayes got the ball back and immediately went into two-minute drill mode. He was in complete command now, hitting his receivers with pinpoint accuracy and using his timeouts like a conductor directing an orchestra. Three quick completions moved them to midfield, then to Steel Citadel's forty-yard line.

Fifteen seconds left. One more shot.

Hayes took the snap and immediately looked for Tyler on a comeback route near the sideline. The throw was perfect, but the Steel Citadel cornerback had been reading Hayes's eyes the entire time. He jumped the route and picked off the pass, ending the Saints' scoring threat and the first half.

As the teams jogged toward their respective locker rooms, I watched Hayes pull off his helmet, his face a mask of frustration. He was being too hard on himself—I could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he avoided eye contact with his teammates.

Don't blame yourself, Hayes, I thought desperately. You're doing amazing.

"It's okay, Sienna," Payton said, reading my expression. "It's still tied. He'll come back stronger in the second half."

But as I watched my husband disappear into the tunnel, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was building—some kind of pressure that would either forge him into something greater or break him entirely.

---

The halftime show was a welcome distraction from my spiraling anxiety.

Halfway through the performance, my phone buzzed. Hayes's name appeared on the screen, and I nearly dropped the device in my haste to read his messages.

I'm sorry about that interception. I'll make it right in the second half.

I love you. Trust me.

My vision blurred as tears spilled over. I typed back quickly, my fingers trembling:

I trust you. Always. Just be safe.

I love you more than you know.

I put the phone away and took a shuddering breath, feeling something settle in my chest.

---

The third quarter began with Steel Citadel receiving the kickoff, and they immediately went to work with the methodical precision that had made them the number one seed. Their running back found gaps in the Saints' defense that seemed impossibly small, churning out four and five yards at a time until they were knocking on the door of the end zone.

The touchdown felt inevitable. When it came—a perfectly executed play-action pass to their slot receiver—I felt something cold settle in my stomach. 14-7, Steel Citadel.

Hayes brought the Saints back onto the field with fire in his eyes, but the Steel Citadel defense had found their rhythm. The pass rush that had struggled in the second quarter was now getting home with devastating efficiency. Hayes was sacked for an eight-yard loss on first down, barely got a pass away on second down, and managed only a short completion on third that left them well short of the first down marker.

Punt. Again.

Steel Citadel took over and immediately went back to what was working. Their ground game was relentless, pounding the ball between the tackles and wearing down the Saints' defense.

21-7. Two touchdown deficit.

I was trying so hard to stay composed that my whole body was rigid. My breathing had become shallow and quick, and I could feel panic starting to claw at the edges of my consciousness.

"Sienna, breathe," Payton said urgently, gripping my hand. "It's not over. There's still a whole quarter left."

"I know," I managed, but my voice was shaking. "I know. I just... I hate seeing him like this."

Ophelia reached over and took my other hand, her touch gentle and warm. "Dear, I know it's hard to watch. But Hayes has been fighting his whole life—against injuries, against doubters, against his father. He won't give up. And neither will his team. Just... breathe with me, okay?"

I followed her lead, taking slow, deliberate breaths as she counted quietly. The panic receded slightly, but the fear remained. This was supposed to be Hayes's moment of triumph, his vindication after everything he'd been through. Instead, he was losing the biggest game of his life.

With two minutes left in the third quarter, disaster struck. Hayes dropped back to pass and stepped up in the pocket to avoid the rush, but two Steel Citadel defenders converged on him from different angles. The hit was devastating—a sandwich that drove him into the ground with sickening force.

He didn't get up right away.

The stadium fell silent as medical personnel rushed onto the field. Hayes was lying on his back, his right hand pressed against his knee—the same knee that had nearly ended his career. I shot to my feet, my hands pressed against the glass barrier, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst.

Please get up. Please get up. Please get up.