I tried to tell myself it wasn’t my fault and that I hadn’t jinxed us last night. It wasn’t working.
My eyes scanned the field—left, right, the play I’d called not happening, just before I saw Ward, our running back, and handed it off to him. He dived into the center line and managed to get us two yards.
We had five minutes left in the fourth quarter, and we were down one touchdown. I called the guys in for a quick huddle, checking the plays attached to the cuff on my wrist.
“Your call,” Coach said in my earbud, letting me judge what was best instead of calling something himself.
We didn’t quite need a hurry-up offense yet, but if we didn’t get our shit together, we would. Third and five, but we weren’t even within field goal range yet. We just needed five more yards to get the first down.
I looked at Garrett. “You’re faster than these guys, better than them.” He was faster than he was running tonight. He didn’t have his legs beneath him, which I understood. It was his first game, but I wanted this to go well for him for more reasons than just winning. It would inflate his already big ego, but damned if I cared. Nance huffed, but I ignored him. “Get open,” I said, before calling out a play for him. I was hoping this would work. I’d backed off trying to get the ball to Garrett since they’d had their defense on point, but Nance, who clearly had something up his ass, wasn’t on point tonight either.
Garrett didn’t hesitate to nod his agreement.
We broke, everyone heading for their spots on the field. I’d taken a hard hit the last quarter and my side hurt, but I ignored it. The aches and pains never went away; we just learned to live with them on and off the field. “White 80! White 80. Set hut!”
Tucker snapped the ball, and I caught it, keeping my feet moving as I looked toward Nance, and then my eyes sought out Garrett, who wasn’t open. It would be smart to hand off to Ward again, let him push his way through the D, but I really fucking wanted Garrett to have this.
My gaze darted to Nance again, who was covered, before darting back to Garrett. I watched as he faked right, then went left, not completely breaking away from his coverage but giving me what I hoped was enough space. I launched the football in front of him, just where I thought it could meet Garrett’s outstretched arms when he ran. He caught it, pulled it close, and took off, dodging defenders before getting all the way down to the three-yard line.
“Fuck yes!” I shouted, jumping up like he’d fucking scored and won the game for us. I could see the glee in Garrett’s eyes, even from a distance.
He hit his chest a few times with his fist, but didn’t celebrate yet. We were still losing.
“First fucking down, baby!” Simmons yelled.
A few of the guys pushed him, congratulating Garrett briefly in the huddle. All we needed was another dive play or a short pass to the end zone, and we’d tie the game.
After the cadence and snap, Ward was where he needed to be to barrel his way through the defense, but by chance, I saw Garrett zigzag in the end zone—open, totally fucking open. I pulled my arm back, the ball flying toward him. He jumped up and caught it, just as a defender clipped him.
Garrett flipped and landed on his back. “Oh fuck,” I whispered, my heart dropping to my feet, but then he leaped up, dancing. Both relief and pride flooded my chest. He threw the ball to the ground, dropped his head back, and screamed. I swear I felt his fucking happiness, the whole stadium vibrating with energy, all coming from him.
There was a defensive penalty on the play, which we denied, before our kicker came out and nailed the extra point. We were in the lead.
We ran off the field for our D to take over. I was proud of Garrett, but it was too early to celebrate. We had to stop them or get the ball back because time was running out.
Garrett stood next to me, his arm touching mine, my heart thudding as we watched Vegas try to work their way down the field. As soon as they were in field goal range, I worried we were fucked. I held my breath as their kicker ran out. Garrett reached out, hand on my bicep, squeezing, his nerves making his nails bite into my arm, and… “Hell yes!” Wide. The field goal he had no business missing was fucking wide!
Garrett jumped at me, the crazy motherfucker wrapping his legs around my waist, arms around my shoulders. I stumbled backward, almost falling on my ass, but managed to stay on my feet and hold him. He smelled like sweat, his body solid and so fucking hot against me.