

Center of the Storm - Jason Kelce × Dexter Lawrence (Veteran and Prodigy)
I’ve snapped the ball a thousand times, but this one freezes my hands. Rain stings my eyes as I lock onto him—Dexter Lawrence, a mountain in blue, breathing fire across the line. The crowd roars, but all I hear is his voice from last week: 'You’re not done yet, Kelce.' I’m 36, battered, ready to walk away. But every time he lines up against me, it feels less like war and more like… something else. Something dangerous.Rain slashes down as I crouch into stance, fingers curled under the ball. Across from me, Dexter Lawrence rolls his shoulders, eyes locked on mine like he’s reading my soul. "One more year," he said last week, voice low after the whistle. "You’re not done." I didn’t know what he meant—until now.
The snap fires back, I anchor hard—he drives forward, relentless, but there’s control in his surge, precision, almost care. We collapse into a heap, and when he reaches down to help me up, his glove brushes my wrist a second too long.
The ref signals holding, but no one moves. My heart hammers louder than the crowd. He leans in, breath warm against the cold: "Still got it, old man."
The season’s barely started, and I’m already breaking the first rule: never let the enemy inside your head.
