Want a sneak peek? Read on for the prologue of Logan's book...
Eighteen Months Earlier
The roar of the crowd is deafening as I step out onto the field. There’s less than a minute left in the game and we’re down by three. We’ve been here before. Nothing we can’t overcome.
Except this time, it’s the Super Bowl.
We’ve clawed our way back to be in this position. To give ourselves the chance to hoist that trophy as confetti rains down on us.
“Winchester. We’re going to you.” Our quarterback, Alex Young, claps me on the shoulder. “Think you can make it three yards?”
“Fuck yeah!” I yell. There’s no way I’m not crossing that line into the endzone. I’ve worked hard to be the starting running back for the Denver Mountain Lions these last few years. I’m not letting my team down now. “I’ve got this, Captain.”
“Good. Rocket twenty on three.”
We break the huddle as I watch everyone get into position. The crowd quiets down as LA starts to shift their defense. No doubt trying to predict what play we’ll run. I listen as Alex calls the play.
The ball is snapped. Faking a pass play, Alex hands the ball off to me and I weave my way through the defense.
Straight into the endzone.
Touchdown Denver.
“Hell yeah!” Colin’s lifting me into air as the team swarms around us. “That was an amazing play!”
Running back to the sidelines, Knox Fisher, our esteemed linebacker, is hyping up the defense. Jackson kicks the point after, giving us a four-point lead.
“Can you believe this?” I swig a sip of water as the ball is kicked off to LA. “It’s so close you can taste it.”
Colin claps me on the shoulder. “We haven’t won yet.”
Nerves and excitement are bubbling inside of me as defense stops LA, not before they get five yards. Another couple stops and we’re World Champions.
The next play happens in slow motion. The ball is hiked as Knox gets around the guard to hit the quarterback. It pops out and there’s a scramble to get the pigskin.
When the refs finally pull players out of the pile, it’s Denver that comes up with the ball.
With one hit, we’re World Champions.
The Denver Mountain Lions are Super Bowl Champions.
Confetti showers the the field in a whirl of black and yellow as families swarm the field. Every bit of it is chaotic. Hugs are given as the trophy presentation starts.
I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life. Until Colin reaches over to hand me the trophy.
Except it goes right through my hands.
What the fuck?
I reach for it again and nothing.
Bright lights shine into my eyes, causing me to flinch.
That’s when it happens. The field clears and I’m staring up at a tiled ceiling. Low humming machines replace the roar of the crowd.
“Logan?”
I try to shift toward the voice, but everything hurts.
“Logan? Are you in any pain?” I don’t recognize the voices around me.
My throat feels like sandpaper as I try to croak out a yes, but it doesn’t happen. I give whoever is talking to me a small nod.
“Can you give him something for the pain?”
That voice I recognize.
Mason. My big brother.
But why is he here? Wherever the hell here is.
The lights in my eyes start to dim, focusing on the room around me. Gramps and my brother are standing at my side. In what I can now see is a hospital room.
I try to move, but can’t. Looking down, one leg is covered while the other is in a metal cage. I groan, trying to fight the swell of nausea that roars up in me. What the hell happened?
“Logan. Do you remember what happened?”
“No,” I sputter out. “Water?”
It feels like I’m in quicksand, trying to find my footing. A straw is brought to my lips as I take a hearty gulp of the refreshing liquid.
“What happened?” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears.
They share a pained look before another voice enters the fray.
“You have a compound fracture in your fibula and tibia in your left leg.” I don’t recognize this person as I follow their voice. A doctor by the look’s of it.
“What?” Everything is fuzzy. My brain isn’t catching on. The last thing I remember is halftime of the Super Bowl. Shit. What day is it?
“Are we in Denver?”
Gramps shakes his hand, squeezing my hand. “You’re in Jackson.”
“Jackson?”
Fuck.
“For a broken leg?”
Mason scrubs a hand down his face, a pained look etched across his features.
“The hospital in Denver discharged you. You were flying back to Dixon when you became septic—”
“Septic?”
The doctor nods. “You picked up an infection and you were brought here for immediate surgery.”
“Surgery?”
“We were lucky to save your leg.”
“But…” I lick my dry lips, “what does that mean for football?”
“Right now, the concern is getting you healthy again,” Gramps answers for him.
“Football isn’t our biggest worry right now,” the doctor clarifies. “You will need a few more surgeries to clear out the scar tissue and repair the leg before you can even think about football.”
“What about the Super Bowl?”
“Denver won, son. Thanks to a great touchdown by you.”
“But how did this happen?” I wave a hand over my leg. “I don’t understand how I got here.”
Gramps drops into the chair next to me, clasping his hand over mine. “You were trying to cut around a defender. Your leg twisted the wrong way when he hit you and it snapped. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Nothing you did wrong,” Mason reiterates. “Nothing you could’ve done differently. Just an unlucky hit.”
An unlucky hit. My leg gives a painful throb, as if reminding me that’s why I’m here and not in Denver celebrating the team win.
I can’t believe we won the Super Bowl and I wasn’t there. Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, I try to stifle the tears that are threatening to spill over.
“Son, you’re lucky to be alive.” Gramps’ voice is watery. “Whatever happens, happens. But we’ll get through this together.”
I was at the top of my game. The star running back for the best team in the NFL. And with one hit, everything was taken away from me.
Without football, who the fuck am I?
The roar of the crowd is deafening as I step out onto the field. There’s less than a minute left in the game and we’re down by three. We’ve been here before. Nothing we can’t overcome.
Except this time, it’s the Super Bowl.
We’ve clawed our way back to be in this position. To give ourselves the chance to hoist that trophy as confetti rains down on us.
“Winchester. We’re going to you.” Our quarterback, Alex Young, claps me on the shoulder. “Think you can make it three yards?”
“Fuck yeah!” I yell. There’s no way I’m not crossing that line into the endzone. I’ve worked hard to be the starting running back for the Denver Mountain Lions these last few years. I’m not letting my team down now. “I’ve got this, Captain.”
“Good. Rocket twenty on three.”
We break the huddle as I watch everyone get into position. The crowd quiets down as LA starts to shift their defense. No doubt trying to predict what play we’ll run. I listen as Alex calls the play.
The ball is snapped. Faking a pass play, Alex hands the ball off to me and I weave my way through the defense.
Straight into the endzone.
Touchdown Denver.
“Hell yeah!” Colin’s lifting me into air as the team swarms around us. “That was an amazing play!”
Running back to the sidelines, Knox Fisher, our esteemed linebacker, is hyping up the defense. Jackson kicks the point after, giving us a four-point lead.
“Can you believe this?” I swig a sip of water as the ball is kicked off to LA. “It’s so close you can taste it.”
Colin claps me on the shoulder. “We haven’t won yet.”
Nerves and excitement are bubbling inside of me as defense stops LA, not before they get five yards. Another couple stops and we’re World Champions.
The next play happens in slow motion. The ball is hiked as Knox gets around the guard to hit the quarterback. It pops out and there’s a scramble to get the pigskin.
When the refs finally pull players out of the pile, it’s Denver that comes up with the ball.
With one hit, we’re World Champions.
The Denver Mountain Lions are Super Bowl Champions.
Confetti showers the the field in a whirl of black and yellow as families swarm the field. Every bit of it is chaotic. Hugs are given as the trophy presentation starts.
I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life. Until Colin reaches over to hand me the trophy.
Except it goes right through my hands.
What the fuck?
I reach for it again and nothing.
Bright lights shine into my eyes, causing me to flinch.
That’s when it happens. The field clears and I’m staring up at a tiled ceiling. Low humming machines replace the roar of the crowd.
“Logan?”
I try to shift toward the voice, but everything hurts.
“Logan? Are you in any pain?” I don’t recognize the voices around me.
My throat feels like sandpaper as I try to croak out a yes, but it doesn’t happen. I give whoever is talking to me a small nod.
“Can you give him something for the pain?”
That voice I recognize.
Mason. My big brother.
But why is he here? Wherever the hell here is.
The lights in my eyes start to dim, focusing on the room around me. Gramps and my brother are standing at my side. In what I can now see is a hospital room.
I try to move, but can’t. Looking down, one leg is covered while the other is in a metal cage. I groan, trying to fight the swell of nausea that roars up in me. What the hell happened?
“Logan. Do you remember what happened?”
“No,” I sputter out. “Water?”
It feels like I’m in quicksand, trying to find my footing. A straw is brought to my lips as I take a hearty gulp of the refreshing liquid.
“What happened?” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears.
They share a pained look before another voice enters the fray.
“You have a compound fracture in your fibula and tibia in your left leg.” I don’t recognize this person as I follow their voice. A doctor by the look’s of it.
“What?” Everything is fuzzy. My brain isn’t catching on. The last thing I remember is halftime of the Super Bowl. Shit. What day is it?
“Are we in Denver?”
Gramps shakes his hand, squeezing my hand. “You’re in Jackson.”
“Jackson?”
Fuck.
“For a broken leg?”
Mason scrubs a hand down his face, a pained look etched across his features.
“The hospital in Denver discharged you. You were flying back to Dixon when you became septic—”
“Septic?”
The doctor nods. “You picked up an infection and you were brought here for immediate surgery.”
“Surgery?”
“We were lucky to save your leg.”
“But…” I lick my dry lips, “what does that mean for football?”
“Right now, the concern is getting you healthy again,” Gramps answers for him.
“Football isn’t our biggest worry right now,” the doctor clarifies. “You will need a few more surgeries to clear out the scar tissue and repair the leg before you can even think about football.”
“What about the Super Bowl?”
“Denver won, son. Thanks to a great touchdown by you.”
“But how did this happen?” I wave a hand over my leg. “I don’t understand how I got here.”
Gramps drops into the chair next to me, clasping his hand over mine. “You were trying to cut around a defender. Your leg twisted the wrong way when he hit you and it snapped. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Nothing you did wrong,” Mason reiterates. “Nothing you could’ve done differently. Just an unlucky hit.”
An unlucky hit. My leg gives a painful throb, as if reminding me that’s why I’m here and not in Denver celebrating the team win.
I can’t believe we won the Super Bowl and I wasn’t there. Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, I try to stifle the tears that are threatening to spill over.
“Son, you’re lucky to be alive.” Gramps’ voice is watery. “Whatever happens, happens. But we’ll get through this together.”
I was at the top of my game. The star running back for the best team in the NFL. And with one hit, everything was taken away from me.
Without football, who the fuck am I?