Page 172 of Through the Storm

“You good?” I ask.

She nods. Lies. She’s more nervous than me.

Finally, the screen changes, and the commissioner’s voice fills the room.

“With the first pick…”

My heart lodges in my throat.

“…the New York Giants select…”

The room quiets just enough to hear my own breathing. This is it. Every workout. Every game. Every risk. All of it comes down to a name being called, or not.

My hand tightens around Katy’s.

“Benjamin Davis,” the commissioner announces.

Me.

New York selectsme.

For a second, no one moves.

Then everything explodes.

Ella screams. Ali drops her phone and screams louder. Grandma Patty and my mom start crying immediately. Katy and I just stare at the screen, stunned.

“New York,” I whisper.

Close to home.

So close.

She turns to me, eyes wide. “Ben. You were the first-round pick. Oh my God!”

“And we can stay,” I say, barely getting the words out.

She laughs, crying at the same time. “We don’t have to leave.”

I pull her into my arms, tight and shaking. Mini-Ben appears, probably summoned by the chaos, and gets squished happily between us. He belongs in the middle of every good thing.

He squeals, startled by the noise, then laughs like this was all for him.

“We’re staying,” she murmurs, voice breaking. “We’re staying.”

She presses her face into my shoulder, relief crashing through me.

Home doesn’t move.

We get to do this together.

Around us, the room keeps buzzing. Everyone is either hugging, crying, yelling, already talking about parties and hats and logistics—but inside my arms, everything is suddenly quiet.

And right.

We end up celebrating until way too late. The music got louder, the lights dimmer, our night unraveling the way only good news can.

I’m a little buzzed. Katy definitely is a lot buzzed. We make out like teenagers who forgot we’re surrounded by people, laughing when someone catcalls.