“Right. That’s no big deal. I’m looking at a residency at hospitals over an hour out. We know it’ll be tough, but Dean and I are going to make it work.”
Ramsey said it before he could realize how stupidhe was.“That’s because you two are disgustingly, incurably in love.”
Brody poked him with his elbow and shot him a brilliant smile. “And you’re not?”
Chapter 17
Natehadknownthisgame would be tough. The team had all mentally circled it on the schedule from the preseason. Before the preseason, even.
The Riptide were historically a tough opponent and a great time. Even flying across the country and the inherent difficulties of that didn’t mean they wouldn’t bring a knock-down, brutal, semi-dirty fight.
Nate hadn’t been wrong.
Both offenses had been locked down by the opposing defenses for much of the game. Dean and the Riptide defensive line had terrorized Aidan all game long. He’d barely had a second to throw before his linemen were being overwhelmed.
But Aidan was gritty and tough, and Nate had watched from the sideline, deep into the fourth quarter, the score still so close at six to three, as Aidan led the Thunder down the field and with a beautiful quick little slant to Trevor had put the Thunder up three, with four minutes left.
“Sorry I couldn’t drag out the clock any more,” Aidan said to him, as they’d watched Dawson and the kicking team run out to make it four.
“You did your best. Eight-minute drive and you got the TD,” Nate said, slapping Aidan on the back. “You did your job. Let us do ours.”
Sterling had the defense huddle up and made it clear nobody was getting behind anybody. Theironejob was to make sure they took away any ability to get a long play, and to make that happen, the Thunder defense couldn’t take a risk. Couldn’t play as instinctually as they normally would. They were running this drive totally by the book. The Riptide had a great quarterback too and an even better receiver and a coach who was willing to go for it on fourth down.
When Sterling was done issuing instructions, Nate turned to Jordan. “You good, man?” he asked.
Jordan wouldn’t be directly responsible for covering the biggest threat—wide receiver and insane playmaker Chase Riley. He might be a year or two past his prime, but he was as wily as ever, with a still-dangerous burst of speed. But even though Jordan wasn’t a cornerback or a safety, he’d be covering the middle of the field. If someone was going to slip containment, it was going to be Jordan’s responsibility to track them down. Stop them. By any means necessary.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Jordan retorted, tone edgy like he thought Nate was questioning his readiness. Nate wasn’t, but he needed to make sure Jordan understood.
In a lot of ways, Nate had tried to be a shield over Jordan. Protecting him from the way the team and the media and the fans could come down on new guys—guys still trying to find their way in the challenging and unsettling landscape of the NFL—but if he fucked this drive up, fucked thisgameup, Nate wouldn’t be able to. Not anymore.
Wouldn’t even be sure he wanted to.
“You’re sure?”
“You questioning me, Big Dog?” Jordan demanded.
But Nate wouldn’t be swayed. He had to make sure. Maybe they had a winning record. Maybe they’d only lost three games so far this season, but this was a good team. A team that was practically guaranteed to be in the playoffs. A team they’d need to be able to beat if they had any chance of going all the way, the way Nate so desperately wanted to.
“No, but I’m making sure you know your place,” Nate said.
The moment he said it, he knew it was wrong.
Knew instinctively, even before Jordan flinched, that he’d phrased it wrong. He wanted to take it back, to explain better what he’d meant—that it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jordan, but that it was part of hisjobto make sure that Jordan knew to do his.
But before he could explain and make it right, Sterling was gesturing their group onto the field. It was time.
Usually, it was easier for Nate to empty petty frustrations and distractions from his mind. Easy to lock in and focus on the next play. But he felt a little slip of unease wiggle through him, no matter how he tried to clear it. Taking his position, he leaned over and listened carefully for the snap count.
When Phillips, the Riptide center, snapped the ball, Nate pushed off and immediately saw the quarterback—Sam Crawford, 2x Super Bowl champ and 3x league MVP—drop back and wind his arm up for the throw.
Nate collided with the right tackle, bouncing off him in a calculated move, and then spun around his bigger body, evading his attempts to grab him for a second time.
The tight end came in, trying to get him, and he wasn’t a match for Nate, not with a full head of steam and all his strength behindhim, but it didn’t matter, because he provided just enough time for Crawford to throw the pass.
Nate’s head whipped around, eyes tracking the ball as it spiraled through the air, and for a single, heart-stopping second, he thought the tight end, sliding out of his position right in the middle of the field, whereJordan was supposed to fucking be, was going to catch it. But at the last moment, Jordan appeared, leaping up and batting it away.
The stadium erupted, and the corner of Nate’s mind that had been buzzing with the anxiety that Jordan might fuck this up, relaxed.
