Chapter Three: Eighteen Catches and an Invoice from the Future

Lin fell sideways. Before his shoulder hit, he twisted with every muscle in his abdomen and pulled the toe of his left shoe inward. The cleats brushed a narrow patch of blue turf before sliding across the white. The official raised both arms. Touchdown. 31–30. The Storm bench burst into the end zone like water through a broken dam. But Grant did not choose the extra point that would tie the game. He raised two fingers. Two-point conversion. Win the game. Empire fans filled the dome with boos. Lin had barely been pulled from the pile when the offense was ordered back onto the field. “Throw to him again?” the coordinator asked.