Page 101 of The Late Hit
Ten.
Five.
TOUCHDOWN!
Running all the way down, I join in on the celebration. Our trick play was textbook. Grant is hitting the Griddy before he turns, finding me. Jogging toward me, he motions up with his finger, and we both jump up, sides hitting each other.
“Fuck yeah!” I shout.
“Fuckin’ perfect throw!” he says, both of us jogging off to the sideline as we wait for the extra point kick.
Energy radiates off us, especially when the defense makes another epic stop to keep Lafayette from scoring. Five minutes flash on the scoreboard, and we are still down by a touchdown. I can’t stand still, bouncing from foot to foot on the sideline, my nerves frayed.
The punter for the Gators kicks the ball high in the air. All of us are standing still on the sidelines, silence among us as we hold our breath, waiting for Xavier to catch the ball.
Catching it with ease, he takes off in a sprint, following the blockers in front of him. A hole appears out of nowhere, and Xavier blasts through it. He hits the twenty-five, thirty, and thirty-five before being tackled at the thirty-eight-yard line. Another great return.
Xav is having a hell of a game, and my chest booms with pride.
I make my way onto the field with the rest of the offense. The stadium is loud, man, it is loud. It makes hearing Harris difficult, but we make it work. Grabbing the snap, he steps back and finds Riggsby, our tight end, open for a short pass. Riggsby digs in and makes it another five yards before being taken down.
On second down, Harris finds Grant down the field for another big play. Grant picks us up another twenty yards, putting us inside the fifty-yard line with a fresh set of downs.
Lining up behind Harris, I wait for the snap. It comes, and Harris turns immediately, handing the ball off to me. A quick jab to the left, and my legs explode to the right. Dicing and cutting, sliding past the defensive line, I power my legs forward, getting another ten-yard run in.
The clock is winding down, and we up the tempo even more, going no-huddle. Everyone gets set, and a quick snap has Harris finding Riggsby near the sideline. He runs for a couple of yards before stepping out of bounds to stop the clock.
Three minutes and ten seconds remain, and we still need twenty yards. Once again, I line up in the backfield, only this time, I’m to the left of Harris. Snap, catch, step back, pitch, and I’m exploding forward. Finding a hole, I kick it into another gear, diving toward the goal line.
Slam!
A brick wall slams into me, my vision blurs, and my body goes limp.
Holy fuck!
I’vebeenontheedge of my damn seat this entire time. The beer guy has been staying close to us, he knows where the money is. Drinking has been the only thing to calm my nerves during this game. I’ve really just needed something to keep my hands busy, but the alcohol does help too.
The Lafayette Gators came to play, just like we all knew they would. This kind of rivalry is what football is all about. Both teamshateeach other. There’s absolutely no love lost between the two teams. And if you don’t win the big game, be prepared to hear about it for the next three-hundred sixty-five days.
Central Texas has won the last eleven meetings. And I have been sending all the good vibes to whoever is listening to give us this win. Honestly, I don’t care about the win for the team, I just want it so bad for Quinton. I’d give anything to see him finish his season with a Natty.
Glancing over, I watch as Chloe is on her feet, screaming away too. The two of us spent the morning hopping from tailgate to tailgate, drinking more beers and shots than I can count. I was smart enough to remember to hydrate in between. There was no way I was blacking out before this game. Uh-huh, I was staying conscious.
The energy is palpable. Everyone is on their feet as we watch the minutes tick down and pray for a miracle.
I have faith in our boys. They’ve been working so hard all season. I watch as Tyler hands the ball off to Quinton, fisting my hands, I bring them up under my chin, holding them there as nerves rake through me.
But there's a gap. Holy shit there’s a gap. I see it. And oh my god, Q sees it too. He jukes out the last defender before he’s heading downfield.
“Go! Go! Go!” I’m screaming, jumping up and down as I watch Quinton slice and dice through the field.
As he dives toward the end zone, my arms fly up in the air, but then I see a safety for Lafayette coming out of nowhere. The safety drops down and dives toward Quinton.
Crack!
The nastiest sound is heard throughout the stadium. Quinton drops to the ground, body across the goal line, hand outstretched, still gripping the ball. The referees must signal a touchdown, but my eyes won’t peel away from Quinton. He’s just lying there. Not moving.
“Get up,” I whisper to myself, arms going out to grasp onto something, anything. I think they find Chloe and Cody’s arms. “Get up. Get up.”
