Chapter 1

The halogen lights hummed with a low, electric vibration that felt like it was buzzing inside Elias’s skull. It was 12:14 AM. The air was a thick, humid curtain that clung to his jersey, smelling of cut grass and impending rain. Most of the town was asleep, dreaming of the glory Elias was expected to deliver in less than twenty hours, but Elias couldn’t sleep. Sleep was for those who weren’t responsible for the dreams of fifty other boys.

* Thwack.*

Another spiral hissed through the air, hitting the practice net with a violent snap. Elias winced as a hot needle of pain shot from his right labrum down to his elbow. He ignored it. He’d been ignoring it since the third quarter of the semi-finals. As the leader, he didn’t have the luxury of an injury. If he sat, the "lead" they had built all season would vanish. The Rangers weren't just a team; they were his burden to carry.

"You’re going to tear it out of the socket before kickoff, El."

The voice came from the shadows of the home-side bleachers. Jax stepped into the light, his hands buried in the pockets of his varsity jacket. He looked tired, his eyes reflecting the harsh white glare of the overheads.

"Go home, Jax," Elias said, his voice rasping. He reached into the bucket for another ball. "I need to hit the back-shoulder fade ten more times. The timing was off in walkthroughs."

"The timing was fine. You’re spiraling." Jax walked onto the turf, his sneakers squeaking against the synthetic blades. "We’ve been playing together since we were six. I know your 'focused' look, and I know your 'insane' look. This is the second one."

Elias gripped the football so hard his knuckles turned white. "The scouts are coming, Jax. This is your shot at a D1 scholarship. This is the team’s shot at history. I’m the captain. If I don’t deliver the ball exactly where it needs to be, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed everyone."

"You think I care about a scholarship more than I care about you being able to lift your arm in ten years?" Jax reached for the ball in Elias's hand, but Elias pulled away, his eyes flashing with a jagged, defensive light.

"That’s why you’re not the one with the 'C' on your chest," Elias snapped. The words were acidic, meant to wound. "You’re soft, Jax. You’re happy just being here. I’m the one who has to make sure we actually win. I’m the leader. The lead stays with me."

The hurt on Jax’s face was instantaneous, a flicker of betrayal that made the midnight air feel even colder. He stepped back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine. Lead us, then. Show me how it's done."

Elias turned away, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He needed to prove it. He needed one perfect throw to silence the doubt, the pain, and the terrifying silence of the empty stadium. He dropped back three steps, his eyes fixed on an imaginary point forty yards downfield. He visualized the post route. He visualized the win.

He planted his foot and whipped his arm forward with every ounce of desperation he possessed.

There was no hiss of a spiral this time. Instead, an audible, sickening *pop* echoed through the hollow stadium, followed by a sensation like a white-hot iron being driven through his shoulder joint. The ball fluttered limbly, falling ten yards short and bouncing pathetically into the dirt.

Elias hit the turf before the ball did. A jagged scream caught in his throat, replaced by a rhythmic, sobbing gasp. He clutched his right arm to his chest, but the limb felt detached, a useless weight of meat and ruined tendons.

Jax was over him in seconds, his anger vanished, replaced by sheer terror. "El? Elias! Don't move, man. Don't move."

Elias looked up at his friend, the person he had just insulted, the person whose future he had just jeopardized. He tried to speak, but the realization was a physical blow harder than the injury itself. The qualifiers were tomorrow. There was no backup quarterback who could win that game. By trying to be the perfect leader, he had ensured they would lose.

Above them, the stadium’s automated timer reached its limit. With a heavy, industrial *clunk*, the great floodlights began to shut off, row by row.

"I'm sorry," Elias whispered, the darkness swallowing his feet, then his waist.

Jax didn't answer. He just held Elias’s good shoulder as the final light flickered out, leaving them both sitting in the pitch-black center of a field they would never play on again.