Page 139 of Perfect Storm
Levi couldn’t look at Aidan while he was talking. If he did, he was afraid he’d fucking chicken out. Not go where heknewhe wanted to go.
But now he glanced over at him, among the catcalls after Levi had sat, and Aidan’s cheekbones were flushed pink.
He looked embarrassed and totally fucking pleased.
Good.
Levi raised his chin as they stared at each other, daring Aidan to argue with anything he’d just said, but Aidan only finally smiled back.
That’s right, baby, I got your back. Forever.
That had never felt like more than the truth than when the game finally started.
The Condors had a tough defensive line—aggressive and strong, but also surprisingly fast, and Levi was glad he’d gotten his feet under him during the last game, because he felt like he was fighting every single play.
It wasn’t just the linebacker corps that was making their jobs tough, though. Beckett West and Micah Rose were in the backfield, shadowing Mo and even Lane and Trevor. Making it hard for them to get open.
Every time Aidan dropped back, he was holding the ball a second longer than he normally did, trying to wait out the coverage, hoping someone might break away so he could hit them.
Two times on the first two offensive drives Aidan had ended up scrambling, trying to avoid a sack and not quite getting there both times.
“We’ve got to get something going,” Lane complained on the sideline after the second drive went nowhere.
At least the Condors were also struggling with getting their offense down the field—they’d only scored three points.
“We’re gonna find a way,” Aidan said, picking up a tablet, flicking through the last drive. He glanced over at Levi. “Can’t keep expecting you guys to keep the pocket clean that long.”
Levi wanted to tell him that they could, but he wasn’t naive enough to think he could keep that promise. He had his hands full, and so did Acker, on the other side.
On the last play of the last drive, Griff had been straight up driven back, practically into Aidan.
“Put Trevor on the line,” Lane suggested.
Trevor was an inch taller than his brother and slightly bigger, but despite that, Lane was a better blocker than his younger stepbrother.
“Zane says no,” Aidan relayed, listening to their offensive coordinator’s instructions in the headset. “We’re going to try some more running plays. Try to find a rhythm on the next drive.
It sort of worked.
They made it to the thirty-five-yard line and ultimately stalled out.
Dawson came out and tied the game, kicking the ball right between the uprights, like he’d never had a reason to miss last year.
Aidan should’ve been happy about that, but Levi could see the remnants of frustration on his face.
The Thunder and the Condors traded punts back and forth, but late in the second quarter, the Condors found the rhythm that the Thunder seemingly couldn’t and pushed deep into the red zone.
And on fourth down, instead of going with the safemove of kicking the field goal, Riley took the snap and, after pump faking to the right, ended up dodging through traffic to run the ball in himself for a touchdown.
In the locker room, Aidan leaned in and said to Levi, “I fucking want to win this game. I’m tired of losing.”
He didn’t have to say why. Once had been fine. Twice had sucked. Three times was pretty terrible.
Four would be catastrophic, and Aidan was going to do whatever it took to change the narrative.
Zane had come down from the upper booth and he and Aidan huddled around with Mo, Lane, Trevor, and the rest of the offensive line, working on some more plays that might give them a drive or two.
The defense held the Condors to a punt on their opening drive, and then it was Aidan’s turn.
