Page 116 of Time Out

“Good.”

He was barely six years older than me and had treated me like a baby brother all season. I’d come to hate him calling me kid or telling me I’d understand things when I was older, but now, I’d kill for that treatment. Instead, all I got was his back, stained with paint from a few sliding tackles he’d taken, and an attitude rolling off him.

“Need to punch me? Or throw me in the ice bath?” One of our tackles, Charles Carr, had done that to me earlier in the season. It’d seemed to make Dawson laugh then. Wouldn’t be good for me to be tossed in during halftime, but it couldn’t make things worse.

Dawson glared at me, then huffed and finally the hint of a grin broke loose on his hard lines. “Maybe later, kid.”

And all was right with the world.

Third and ten. We had the ball at kick off and our returner ran it to Raleigh’s forty-yard line. It put us in contention for a field goal, which was good but not what we needed to get the crowd all on their feet and at our backs, helping us win this. Since then, we hadn’t been able to move the ball an inch. A run for zero yards from me, an incomplete pass to Yeets, and the third quarter was starting to feel an awful lot like the first half.

We would not go out like this. That determination had been decided in the locker room and we’d left pumped, as one team. When we met Coach in the tunnel to take the field again, he’d been smiling at all of us, cheering us on and slapping shoulder pads and helmets as we ran past him.

“Hall,” Cole barked my name. “To you. They won’t be expecting it. The rest of you make whatever goddamn holes you need to do for him, but I swear to any of you, you get a holding call on your ass, and I’m kicking it after this game. On one!”

He gave us no time to laugh and no time to argue with him as we lined up in one of least used, but incredibly effective players where he’d fake the pass and hand it off to me as I ran straight through the other team’s center line.

It’d work if it didn’t get me landing on my ass five yards back.

He hiked the ball, I ran, grabbed the leather in my hands, and I turned up the field in two strides. And there it was. The small opening I needed. I ducked, barreled through it, and forced my weight into the defensive tackle, shoving at his hip. It slowed me down for a moment, and then I stumbled, my foot slipping. I set a hand to the turf, tucked the ball in tight to me in case I went down, and then found my footing.

I was free of the hole, and there were men coming at me from every direction but like Cole had demanded, they were stopped. Pushed off course and shoved out of the way and the only thing suddenly between me and the end zones was nothing but green turf and white paint.

Thirty yards. Twenty. The speed of their safety was coming at me from an angle, so I turned it up, ran faster and closer to the sidelines in case he reached me.

Ten.

He dove for me, missed my heel by inches, and then I was in the end zone, collapsing to my knees before jumping to my feet.

Dawson reached me first, jumping all over me.

“Way to fucking go, kid!”

Cole grabbed me next, fisted my pads at my chest, and shook me back and forth. “This is how we fucking win this game!”

I tossed the ball to the ref as we ran to the sidelines so our special teams could kick the field goal.

Down by three with plenty of time left in the game.

As long as our defense got their act together, we had this.

Thirty to twenty-three.

Our defense kicked ass. Held Raleigh to a field goal in the second half and while we didn’t take control like we hoped, a win was a win. Given our ugly start, I was pretty damn thrilled with the twenty points we managed to score in the second half.

Could have been much, much worse.

As soon as Cole and I showered, we were hauled off to speak to the press with Coach, which meant celebrating would have to wait. By the time we returned to the locker room, most of the guys had headed out.

Our locker room was a disaster zone with towels, water bottles, and jerseys thrown all over the place. We were animals, but we were currently happy animals.

“Great second half,” I said to Cole. “Almost can’t believe we pulled that win out.”

“I can’t believe Coach is leaving.”

I grabbed my wallet and shoved it into my pants pocket. “You really think he will? I mean, if we lose, don’t you think he’ll want one more year? And if we win, yeah, maybe, but I don’t know. I don’t see it.”

“So what, you think Coach lied to motivate us?”

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