Play Maker (Bitsberg Knights Duet)

Less than an hour later, we were all back in the locker room, and the noise and buzz came to a sober stop at the news that Tom Brandon had fractured ribs and a nasty sprained ankle. He was out for the rest of the season. Coach spoke to us and then dismissed us to hit the showers and get ready for the post-game rodeo.

I sat on the bench in front of my locker and laced up my boots when Jenkins crashed down beside me, grinning from ear to ear. “Can’t fuckin’ believe it! Damn.”

Jenkins was a rookie. While I didn’t personally care much for him, he’d decided I was his buddy and ended up at my side more often than not.

“Not a bad year to get in on the action, huh?” I asked, flipping open the top of my water bottle. I downed half the contents, my throat scratchy from all the celebrating.

“Nope! Can you imagine if I got a ring my rookie year? Damn!”

I laughed and finished off the bottle.

The cold, hard truth was that our chances looked bleak at best. Our starting quarterback went down hard, and the playoffs were no time to bring in a forty-year-old aging veteran. Peters had been in the league for sixteen seasons. He’d played for three other teams before signing with the Knights at the start of this season. Peters had skills and had one trip to the Super Bowl under his belt, even though he got blown out by the Generals five years ago. Since then, he’d strictly been in a backup role and was brought to the Knights just for that purpose.

A parade of players clustered at the doorway, and Jenkins pushed up to join the team. “You coming, Leverette? Gibson’s buying everyone a round at La Vie.”

“Nah, man. I’m gonna get some dinner and call it a night.”

Jenkins rolled his eyes. I guessed he couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to spend hours in the VIP room of the upscale strip club in the heart of Bitsberg. “All right, man. But you need to get your balls back from whatever bitch has ‘em locked up in her purse.”

A wave of frustration rolled over me, but I managed a tight-lipped smile as he chuckled at his own joke. “See ya, Jenkins.”

The locker room cleared out, and I sat in silence. After a while, the motion sensor decided no one was left behind and all the lights shut off.

“Guess that’s my cue to leave,” I muttered to myself.

I pushed up from the bench, and the lights flickered back to life. I slung my thick coat over my shoulders and grabbed the messenger bag that contained the team’s playbook, my laptop, and the hardcover crime novel I’d been working my way through. The guys ribbed me for constantly having my nose in a book—either fictional or the playbook—but I needed to up my studying even more now that Brandon was out.

When I arrived for practice at the team facility three days before our first playoff game, I noticed something very strange. There were news vans everywhere.

I knew it was playoff time, and news vans weren’t anything to worry about. It was the number of media outlets that was weird—something big had to be going down. I hurried across the parking lot to get inside, and when I approached the front door, a group of reporters rushed me and the questions came so fast I couldn’t think straight.

“Leverette are you ready to take over the offense?” one reporter called out.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Peters just blew out his ankle about an hour ago, and you’re listed as the starting quarterback. How do you feel about that?”

“Can you take this team to the Super Bowl?”

“Have you ever played in a real game?”

My head spun at all the questions flying at me. I stood frozen for a second, took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera and grinned, even though my heart was beating out of control. “I just got here. I was unaware Peters got injured. If I get the call, I promise the folks of Bitsberg I’ll be ready to go. I know the offense inside and out and have a good feel for the plays, and I’m confident I can execute them. Thank you.”

I excused myself before I shit a brick right there in the parking lot on live TV and made my way into the team’s facility. When I pushed through the door, the first thing that hit me was how eerily quiet it was.

The news wasn’t good for Peters and could end his career since he was pushing forty. Tom, our starter, was done for the year, and the fate of the season now rested on my shoulders. Not only was I the guy, but I was the only guy still standing. Sure we would activate a guy or two from the practice squad, but this was all on me now.