You’re stretching on the sideline, the cool grass a relief against your palms. The cheer squad is packing up, laughter and chatter mixing with the groans of exhausted football players. Your eyes track the field almost against your will.

There, at the fifty-yard line, surrounded by coaches and a few lingering receivers, is Beckett Rhodes. He’s in full pads, helmet tucked under his arm, nodding as Offensive Coordinator Davis diagrams a play on a tablet. Even from here, you can see the focused set of his jaw, the easy way he carries his six-foot-four frame. He looks like he belongs here, like the stadium was built for him.

A sharp whistle cuts the air.

As he turns to walk back, his gaze sweeps across the sideline. It passes over the trainers, the water station, the managers… and lands on you. Just for a second. His expression doesn’t change, but his steps falter, almost imperceptibly. Then he looks away, tossing the ball to a manager and pulling his helmet back on.

The distance between you feels exactly as wide as it did the day you both left for different colleges. Only now, it’s measured in yards of Alabama turf.