The roar of the crowd seeped through the walls of Allegiant Stadium, muffled but unrelenting, like an ocean wave just before it crashed. Royce stared into a mirror in the bathroom, looking at the white jersey he now wore, the purple and gold stripes. It felt heavier than expected—not just the pads, but the legacy. Every seam and stripe seemed to whisper the names of the greats who had worn it before him.
It didn’t help that it wasn’t just any stadium. It was an NFL locker room. Royce’s mind raced, imaging the players that had walked these floors—players like Patrick Mahomes and Davante Adams, their presence somehow etched into the tile.
He flexed his hands, covered with expensive gloves molded specifically for his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists, his palms slick with sweat. The weight of the jersey on his back felt surreal, like he was wearing someone else’s life. The voices of his teammates blurred into a dull hum as he stood at that sink, staring at his face as if it were someone else’s, as if he was watching from outside his own body.
This was it. The beginning. A stage he’d dreamed of since he first touched a football, and yet, the enormity of it all pressed against his chest like a vice. Romeo’s absence was a weight he couldn’t shake.
Greg walked by, clapping him on the shoulder, jolting him back to reality. He nodded, swallowing the lump rising his throat, but the nausea hit him hard and fast. The sound of his heartbeat thundered in his ears, the room spinning slightly. He barely made it to a toilet before he emptied his stomach, the bile burning as it came up.
“You good, bro?” Greg asked.
Royce nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He took a deep breath, straightened his jersey, and walked back into the locker room. There was no more dreaming. It was time to play.
…
Royce stood on the sideline, nervous energy coursing through his veins as if it had replaced the blood in his body. The stadium was deafening, a sea of purple and gold and red and yellow. He’d stood on the sideline for three drives, watching as Garrett led the offense down the field for a touchdown before Miller Moss and USC responded with one of their own.
A field goal gave LSU a 10-7 lead, only serving to increase the buzz both in the stadium and in Royce’s head.
The Trojans’ offense was driving down the field and threatening to retake the lead. Greg gestured to the sideline that he needed to come out.
“Lafitte! You’re in!” the shout came.
It almost didn’t register, Royce hesitating at first, not expecting to actually enter such a high-profile game.
He snapped on his chinstrap and jogged on the field, his heart pounding in his ears. He slapped Greg’s hand as the two of them passed one another. The cleats felt unfamiliar against the turf, his legs both impossibly light and heavy at the same time.
He didn’t hear the crowd anymore. The world narrowed to the huddle forming around him.
…
The Tigers had stopped USC and went on another scoring drive, extending the lead to 10 with the time waning in the second quarter. Royce stood on the field, scanning the offense as Moss lined up in the shotgun, barking signals to his offense.
The stadium’s artificial glow reflected off his visor. Royce’s eyes darted from left to right, his mind running through the possibilities. Trips left, the tight end was motioning into the backfield.
The ball was snapped, and everything exploded into motion. Royce moved on instinct. Moss flipped the ball out to his running back and the back tried to stretch the ball to the sideline.
He broke into a sprint, his legs finally catching up to his brain. Major was the first one to get to the back, wrapping him up. Royce arrived a second later, helping finish the tackle.
With that, he’d gotten his name on the stat sheet for the first time.
…
His first tackle came in the third quarter, USC having tied the game up at 17. The Trojans’ Treyvion O’Neal plunged through the heart of the Tigers’ defense, but Royce was there to make the stop after a gain of just a few yards.
As the game had worn on, Royce had spent more and more time on the field than on the sidelines, being placed at various spots on the field, going in for Greg, Whit, and Harold whenever they needed a breather.
But he could feel the tide turning as USC built momentum.
…
“Fuck!” Royce cursed as the ball sailed over his head and hit the tight end over the middle to set the Trojans up in range to drive the dagger into LSU’s coffin. USC had the ball at LSU’s 27 now, with minutes to go in the game and nursing a slim 20-17 lead.
The Trojans broke the huddle, the offense spreading out in a three-wide set with the tight end hugging the end of the offensive line. Royce shifted over to stand over the tight end, his eyes locked on the quarterback.
Moss barked out the cadence before calling for the ball.
The tight end shot off the line, running up the seam before arcing his run toward the pylon. Royce turned and ran with him, his eyes flicking between the tight end and the quarterback’s dropback.
Moss stepped up and locked onto to his tight end. Royce anticipated it, adjusting his angle and running straight up the field as he saw the quarterback’s shoulder dip.
The spiral cut through the air. Royce jumped, undercutting the route. He felt the ball smack into his hands and he brought it in, turning upfield in one fluid motion. The roar of the crowd hit him all once.
He sprinted up the sideline before being pushed out of bounds by a USC receiver. The adrenaline took over his actions as he kept running down the sideline, spiking the ball a dozen yards from where he went out. He threw up LSU’s “L” as his teammates mobbed him.
…
Royce watched from the sidelines as Garrett fumbled the ball on the very next drive, seeing it returned for a touchdown. He dropped his head in defeat before trudging back onto the field.
With less than two minutes remaining in the game and the Tigers all out of timeouts, he knew that a first down would end the game.
And that’s exactly what happened when O’Neal ran the ball three times right up the middle to get one and give USC the victory to start the season.
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