Page 49 of Hell Bent
“Of course I do,” he said. “My mom and I always cleaned together.”
“Then,” I said, “it’ll be a piece of cake. Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”
20
WIN-WIN
Sebastian
It’s a weird thing, being a kicker. An NFL game is sixty playing minutes stretched over three hours of total time, and you’re on the field for maybe ten minutes of it. Five or six kickoffs and a field goal or three, and otherwise, you’re just trying to stay warm and loose, kicking into the net if it looks like you might be needed soon. The complete opposite of soccer, where I’d been used to running seven or eight fast miles during a game, and being out there doing it for up to ninety minutes straight.
Which meant that these days, I had time to think during a game, except that thinking is the last thing you want to be doing on the sideline. So you do some relaxation exercises, some deep breathing, and plenty of practice kicking. You watch the game, and you keep your focus on it.
Some days were easier than others in that regard. Right now, with Ben having been shut down and sullen right up until I’d left for the hotel and not answering my after-dinner text at all? Or this morning’s, either? I’d been worried that he’d run away, but Solange had texted me that he’d called herlast night and been mad about everything all over again, so he was probably just sulking. I hoped.
And then there was Alix picking him up today for the game and probably being seriously put off. She hadn’t been falling all over herself to spend time with me when I’d been an unencumbered man with everything to offer, so …
No.I took three deep breaths, swung my arms, jumped in place against the chill, and headed over to the practice net. Then reversed course, because the roar of the crowd had increased by a factor of ten, and the Devils had scored, bringing us within six points at the beginning of the third quarter.
Extra point from the 30, drilled right in the center, and then I was jogging back up the field, ready for the kickoff, aware of nothing but my breath going in and out of my lungs, the feel of my feet hitting the turf.
Pure focus now, because kickoffs were trickier to get right under the new rules put in place this season. I was back at the Devils’ 35 as always, but the rest of the special teams group were lined up twenty-five yards down the field on the Chiefs’ 40, only a few yards away from the Chiefs’ own special teams. The rules allowed only one or two players back between the goal line and the 20 to receive my kick, and my job was to kick it where they had the least chance to return it and my teammates had the best chance to tackle them before they carried it far. Sending it into the end zone for a touchback was an iffy option now even against the best kick returners in the league, because if I did that, the Chiefs got to start at the 30, and I didn’t want to give them those ten extra yards. I either wanted the ball bouncing on the field of play and then going through the end zone without them getting their hands on it, or, best of all, making them back up for it enough that my special teams could get to them and take them down well short of that 20. The 20 was my max,the range between the goal line and that line the only acceptable one.
Tricky, but not as tricky for a former defensive midfielder. My life had always been about getting the ball to the exact place I wanted to send it. The ball was a different shape now, that was all.
The referee blew his whistle, and I ran. Three steps, same as always, and I was aiming for the spot farthest from Adair, the Chiefs’ preferred kickoff returner. The 5-yard-line and a ball that would squirt straight through to the back of the end zone, that was the target.
I hit it sweetly, instep first the way I’d been doing all my life, and it went where I’d told it. Adair saw its trajectory, of course, because it’s hard to miss that when the ball’s traveling sixty yards down the field, and was backpedaling fast, unfortunately catching it at that 5-yard line, and running. The extra distance he had to cover should give the Devils time to catch him south of the 20, though.
Except it didn’t. Adair was one hell of a broken-field runner, and he was twisting, turning, spinning, his powerful legs and low center of gravity giving him purchase like he was attached to the field. The Devils players were chasing him, but he was coming on.
And so was I, because as soon as I’d seen my teammates miss, I’d been marking him.
The last Devils player reached out a hand and grabbed for his jersey, then fell flat as Adair sidestepped once more, and he was at the 50 and still coming.
I was approaching from his right, which should mean that he’d veer to his right, against my trajectory, to make me miss, but he was too smart for that. He was going to fake me out and then go left. I could smell it on him. I was ten yards away now, and he was closing fast.
I felt the juke even as he made it, but I was alreadytracking right myself, then launching my body. Aiming for those legs, because you were never going to take Adair down by tackling any higher. I got him around the thighs, wrapped my arms, and held on.
He hit the ground, and a microsecond later, so did I. A jarring thud and my face in the turf, tasting grass and dirt, then I was rolling and seeing a gloved hand reaching down. I grabbed it and hopped up, and more hands slapped my back before somebody actually picked me up and twirled me. Which was weird, but not terrible, and I was laughing, saying, “OK, OK, it was just a tackle.” Then trotting off the field, pulling off my helmet along the way, the adrenaline surging through me like electricity, nothing but jubilation. Our defense running on, and now, somebody else was slapping my shoulder. Somebody was doing his best, in fact, to drive me straight into the turf, and I was laughing.
“Hold up,” I told Owen Johnson. “Hold up, man.”
“Where the fuck did you learn to tackle like that?” Johnson yelled.
“Our boy’s got talent.” That was Kristiansen, grinning his Viking grin. “Olympics for box kicks, my ass.”
So that was nice.
And, yes, it crossed my mind that Alix had seen that. Hey, I’m not the first to notice that men never make it much past thirteen in some ways, and I couldn’t do wheelies past her house on my bike, could I?
Win-win.
Alix
We missed all of the first half and the beginning of the second. I didn’t even get to watch on TV, that was how long it took us just to get to the stadium once Ben’s stomach hadfinally calmed down enough to risk an Uber ride. Sebastian did kick a forty-three-yard field goal at the end to win the game, though, so at least we were there for the important part. Ben jumped up and said,“Yes!”when it happened, too, which was hopeful.
It was a little anticlimactic to go back to Sebastian’s place after only an hour, but what was I going to do, drive all the way back out to my trailer only to turn around and come back for dinner? So when we’d reached the parking lot, I said, “Let’s walk home.”
