First Down (Beyond the Play, #1)(65)

After a minute or so, Coach clears his throat, and I open my eyes.

“I’m proud of you all,” he says, making eye contact with us one by one. His gaze lingers on me, his lips quirking up in a half-smile. I know I’ve exceeded his expectations this season. He took a chance, taking me on after everything that went down at LSU, and it paid off for him and for me. “And I’ll be proud of you win or lose, don’t get me wrong. You’ve played a hell of a season, undefeated, and no one can take that away from you. No matter the outcome of this game, no matter what you do in the future—you did this. You dug deep and played your hearts out. You’ve made my job damn easy, gentlemen.”

We all laugh a bit. I can sense the energy in the room, the nervous anticipation, the excitement. We’ve played on a big stage all season, but even the other postseason games can’t hold a candle to this.

“Let’s go out there and get one last win,” he says. “We know our game; we know our opponent—we have a plan and we’re going to stick to it. Callahan?”

I step forward.

“Fucking Heisman champ!” Demarius says as Fletch whistles.

“That’s our guy,” someone in the back calls out.

I grin, shaking my head. “Men. Let’s fucking do this.”

The team explodes into cheers. Coach shakes my shoulder, starting a chant that quickly grows to echo throughout the room. It’s so loud you’d think we won already; I can barely hear Coach when he shouts that it’s time to get into our gear.

I stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle to shut everyone up.

“Coach said to suit up!” I shout. “Let’s rock and roll!”

“Like you’re not about to blast Lady Gaga,” says Bo, earning him a hearty laugh from the guys. I flip him the bird as I walk over to my locker. Someone does turn on the team mix, which includes a healthy mix of pop, rap, and hip hop, and we’re laughing, shouting across the room over the music, as we get ready to go.

I take off my watch and store it in my locker, then pick up my helmet. Tap twice against the locker door, the same way I’ve done since I was in ninth grade.

I’m ready.

Only thing left to do is play a good game.





38





JAMES





I bark out orders as we line up again, glancing at the clock. Less than a minute left before halftime. We’ve been clawing our way through long drives all game, grinding out first downs, and we’ve been rewarded with several touchdowns and a field goal. Alabama isn’t far behind, however, and another score here would mean it’s a two-score game heading into the second half. Alabama will have the ball first when the third quarter opens, so scoring here is essential.

We’re on third down, however, and need to make a first to keep the chance of a touchdown on this drive going.

I scan the field, adjusting a couple of my men quickly, then get into position for the snap. I make it seem like we we’re going for a rush up the middle, but that leaves a lane open for me to the right. I fake passing the ball off, then tuck it under my arm and take off running into the first down.

I swipe my tongue over my lip as I watch Coach give me the signal for the next play. With a fresh set of downs, we have more options.

Next, a rush up the middle. Then a short pass that nets a couple yards. We try for the end zone, but it goes wide. I glance at the clock again; see Coach telling me to go for it. We have time for one more passing attempt before we need to drop down to the field goal.

I see Darryl fan out in the end zone, shaking the man-to-man coverage, and throw to him. It’s a little high; he leaps and catches it one-handed, hauling it down to his chest before tumbling to the ground.

“Fuck yes!” I shout, pumping my fist as I jog over to him. Now I can breathe easier heading into halftime. He comes up grinning, mobbed by a couple of the guys, and does a little endzone dance. I reach out and pull him into a one-armed hug, slapping his back.

There’s only a couple of seconds before halftime, so Alabama chooses to let the clock run down, counting, I’m sure, on that first possession next half. But I’m not worried. I trust my defense.

I haven’t looked for Bex on the sideline, wanting to avoid the distraction during the game, but now I see her waving to me. I wave back, grinning. I’m sure she’s gotten some amazing shots of the game so far, but really, all I hope is that she’s loved doing it. If this helps her realize that this is a future she can have, that she deserves to pursue photography seriously, I’ll be thrilled.

Darryl leans in as we jog to the tunnel that leads to the locker room. “Throwing a little high, C.”

“That was a great catch,” I say, totally sincere. It was. “You came up big.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure Bex loved it.”

I almost stumble. What the hell is he doing, talking about my girl again? First the press pass and now this. Bex hasn’t brought him up in ages, so I’ve followed her lead, not wanting to bring up bad memories. Darryl and I have been mostly good—or at least I thought that, up until two seconds ago. Even though I’m soaked in sweat, the back of my neck prickles like I’m cold.

“Hey,” I say, pulling him away from the crowd before he goes into the locker room. “You trying to say something to me?”