Page 90 of Wild Card
“You’ll get them. Just wait for Xander and the guys to clear their offense off the field, and then go for it. You’ve got this.”
* * *
By the endof the fourth quarter though, the game is still tied, and it stays that way well into overtime. The exhaustion and frustration is showing on everyone’s face—including mine. Moments like these are the hardest to watch. I want to be suited up and subbed in. Give them a fresh set of legs and perspective on the field when they need it, but I haven’t been cleared to play yet. Another week at most, I hope. But that doesn’t do anything to solve today’s problem.
We sit and watch the offense start to get penetration on our defense, moving downfield more efficiently than they have the last several drives, and I feel the familiar sense of nerves in my stomach. Even Colt’s attention is rapt as he worries at how close they’re getting to field goal territory.
There’s another throw and the wide receiver gets a few yards, but it’s still not quite enough to justify the kicking team coming on yet. I watch their quarterback huddle his guys again, shouting the plan at them. I turn around to the crowd, throwing my arms up and signaling for them to get loud.
Luckily, they see me and react, stomping, jeering, and loud screams echoing off the walls and causing the stadium to be deafening. I grin as I watch the quarterback put his hands over his helmet, desperately trying to hear the calls and failing on the next play. He points wildly and then throws his hands up in frustration.
I throw my hands up again, watching as the scoreboard lights up with “GET LOUD SEATTLE.” This is our biggest advantage in moments like these, the volume of our fans and the acoustics of the stadium making it damn near impossible for visiting teams to hear on the field. It pays off beautifully when there’s a false start on the next play, and the team has to back up yards as a result.
I turn around to the seats again, clapping and throwing my fist in the air to cheer them on. They get loud again as he sets up for the next play. The quarterback trying to scream at his guys over the din in the stadium. They line up this time without a false start though and I frown, watching him drop back in the pocket.
But this time Xander is on it, charging through their offensive line and getting his hand on the ball just as their quarterback throws. It tips the ball, and it tumbles end over end through the air. It feels like we’re all collectively holding our breath until it lands in the hands of a Phantom player—Jones to be exact. He grabs it and falls on it, doing his best just to maintain possession, and I can’t blame him for that.
The crowd erupts now that we’ve managed to take our ball back, and I slap Colt on the back.
“You’re turn my guy. You fucking got this.”
“I got this,” he repeats as he grabs his helmet.
“Any thoughts on how you want to do this?” Ben sidles up beside him.
“You should do a flea flicker. Right off the bat. Just hit them out of nowhere with a special play. Their guys will never see it coming. They’ll assume you want to try the steady march. It’s up to coach, but if he lets you call it—think about it, yeah?” I look at him, and he nods his support for the idea.
The timeit takes them to get back on the field is interminable. The referees checking and rechecking the footage to confirm that overturned ball. I start pacing again while I watch the clock ticking down, and Colton and the rest of our guys get out on the field. This moment right here is one of the most frustrating of my career because all I want to do is be on the field to help make the play happen.
With very little time on the clock, Colton calls the flea flicker play and the ball gets snapped. He launches the ball, and Ben for his part is wide fucking open in the end zone. The touchdown gets called, and the stadium goes fucking wild.
I run onto the field with the rest of the guys to celebrate, slapping Colt on the ass.
“That’s my fucking quarterback!”
“Good call. You got a coaching job in your future.” He laughs, and Ben and I run up and slap each other on the back.
“Fucking amazing play, Lawton.”
“We’re going to the fucking playoffs!”
Fireworks go off on one side of the stadium just as he says it like it was perfectly timed, and the lights flash teal and white. I just wish Scarlett was here to see it in person, but I know she’s just as happy as I am watching it on TV with her dad at the bar. Which is the next place I’m going to celebrate, and hopefully the guys will come too. All of us too fucking excited to have the chance to make our championship run.
FORTY-EIGHT
Scarlett
I’m leaningagainst the bar, watching the screens above it flash with stats about their win tonight. I haven’t gotten a text from him yet, but I know he’s busy with after-game celebrations and interviews. I’m sure that even though he didn’t get to play that he’s insanely happy he was on the sidelines for their win.
Harper and Joss have both texted me copious amounts of photos from the family box to make me feel like I’m there with them while I celebrate my dad’s birthday with family and his friends. I’m still trying to figure out how to explain to him that I’m dating Westfield. I imagine it’s going to give him a heart attack for about five different reasons, and I’m not sure what emotion he’s going to land on when that’s over.
“Fuck, Spitfire. I love seeing my name on your back.” His hand wraps around my waist and he kisses the side of my cheek as he pulls me against him, and it takes me a second to realize I’m not daydreaming.
“Tobias!” I turn around and wrap my arms around him, kissing him for real as he tugs me in closer for a hug. “Congrats on your win. So excited you guys are going to the playoffs!”
“Well, thank you, but I didn’t do much. It’s these guys you want to congratulate.” Tobias nods over his shoulder, and I see Xander and Colt there, standing with Joss and Harper.
“Oh my god,” I mumble. “You guys are gonna cause a scene here. This is a diehard Phantom bar.”
