Page 88 of Hard Count
“I don’t think anyone is that stupid,” I remark.
My dad gives Nash a final talk before he runs onto the field. We only have about sixty seconds to make something happen. Dad paces the sideline, his eyes meeting mine briefly. He smiles and nods before turning his attention back to the game. “I wish I knew what their plan was,” I murmur.
“Didn’t you help make the plan?” Frankie asks.
“I did but the plan needs to change when the other team is also in on the plan.” I stare at the jumbotron and watch the defense as they move around on the field. Every play it’s like a game of musical chairs trying to confuse Nash. It’s almost comical.
After the second failed run play, there's only enough time on the clock for one play. He has no other choice but to throw it to the end zone. The Texas defense plays their little game of moving around. Once the ball is snapped, our offensive line allows Nash enough time to get the ball thrown but there isn’t anyone open. He needs to run it himself. There’s not enough time to wait for someone down field.
“Come on, Nash. Move. Make the play.” He dodges a sack and runs down the right sideline. I grab Frankie’s arm when he reaches their twenty yard line.
“Oh my god. Oh my god!” she screams. I don’t know if she’s yelling at Nash running or at me for squeezing her so tight.
I hold my breath as he makes it to the fifteen yard line and then the ten. He’s close but so is one of their defensive tackles. He’s going to have to make a choice to go for it and risk getting hit or let them chase him out of bounds.
He keeps running with the enemy at his heels. “Damn it,” I curse, when Nash gets pushed out of bounds at the five yard line. There’s nothing we can do now but regroup during halftime. Nash’s face is blank as he trails behind his team to the locker room. He’s taking that last play personally.
“I’m going to go see him,” I say, to Frankie. “Are you coming with me or staying?”
“Can we go back there? Don’t we need a backstage pass or something?” She trails behind me as I descend the stairs to the field.
“Probably but I’m also a Prescott and this is an emergency.”
I’m not sure where to go but I figure the tunnel blocked off by several security guards is the best place to start. “Let me do the talking,” I whisper to Frankie. These guards are chomping at the bit to send us on our way. I’m sure we’re not the only set of pretty girls trying to make their way to the locker room.
“Can we help you?” the guard on the right asks.
Frankie loops her arm in mine. “We’re with the band.”
“Frankie.” I shake my arm free and glare at her.
“Sorry. I always wanted to say that.”
“I’m Drew Prescott. I need to see my dad, Coach Prescott of Newhouse University. It’s an emergency.”
Frankie sways toward me and whispers, “oh, yes, that’s much better.”
The guards barely acknowledge me or my request. One of them gets on their radio they have attached to their bulletproof vest. I would ask Frankie how I should act to fake an emergency but I’m afraid she’ll suddenly pretend to have a broken leg or something.
“Roger that,” the second guard says. “Third door on the right.” He steps to the side and allows us through.
“Thank you.” I grab Frankie’s arm. “Come on. We don’t have a lot of time left.” My heart is beating hard against my chest with a need to see Nash. I don’t even bother knocking on the door. I whip it open and charge through like a bull.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say. Now that I’m here I don’t know what I’m going to do. Nash peeks his head around a wall of wooden locker cubbies as if my voice is a siren calling to him.
My dad places a hand on his shoulder when he walks toward me. “Five minutes,” he says. Nash nods in agreement and silently escorts me down a hallway.
“Are you here for moral support or does she belong to one of you?” my dad asks, his voice echoing down the hall.
“She’s mine,” I hear Eli say before Nash pulls me into a private room.
He removes his jersey and pads and then scoops me into his arms. His head drops to the crook of my neck and he takes a few calming breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says against my skin.
I pull back and grab his face in my hands. “Yes, you do. This isn’t the first time the team’s had to make a comeback. You know what needs to be done. It’s already inside of you.”
He leans his head against mine and his hands move up and down my sides. “Not this time. They’re moving around too much. They know what I’m going to do as soon as we get set.”
I shuffle backwards, putting a small amount of space between us. “You need to catch them off guard. Put the play in motion before they’re ready and pull them offsides. Make your move when they’re least expecting it. A hard count is the only option.”
