Page 3 of Scored

“All we have to do is run down the clock. I can still throw. It’s my left shoulder.”

Coach Pratt stared at me, pressing his lips together. “You’re injured.”

I reached for my helmet. “You’re taking Dennison out so he doesn’t get hurt. Good. I’m already hurt. I won’t lose this game.” I looked at Josh Jackson. “Sorry, but you’re not ready for this.” I turned back to Pratt. “I can do it.”

“Go,” Pratt said, his tone begrudging. “No heroics from you either. Got it, Graham?”

“Got it.”

Holding my left arm against my torso, I walked onto the field. While each step sent jarring pain from my left shoulder, the closer I came to my teammates, the less I thought about the injury.

“Dennison’s slide freaked out the coaches,” I said in the huddle.

“Can you play?” Spencer asked.

“Under center. My right hand and arm are good. We need one successful play. Then I’ll take a knee.” Ten sets of eyes stared at me.

Dijon Ortiz was the first to agree with a grunt and a cheer. Soon the offense was huddling closer as I repeated the call from my helmet.

We lined up with me under center—right behind Spencer. The defense was close—a blitz was on the way. They were running prevent defense. They only had one cornerback in the backfield.

I stared one way down the offensive line and then the other. We could win as long as we got a first down. Or we could win with a decisive victory that would tell the rest of the NFL world that the Coopers were contenders for the Super Bowl.

I changed the play, calling an RPO—run pass option—and set the cadence. “Set hut!”

Spencer tucked the ball into my right hand.

Patel ran wide left. Lewis ran wide right.

The offensive line held against the defenders.

JD ran a post route.

I faked a pass to Ortiz. The lone cornerback ran in his direction. I stepped back.

JD was wide open.

Without thought of pain or injury, I reared my right arm back and sent a spiral over the heads of the defense. I stepped back before the tackle reached me and watched as JD caught the ball and ran into the end zone.

“Coopers touchdown,” came from the speakers.

All around NGR Stadium, the Texans’ fans were making their way out of their seats and to the exits.

We had time for the extra point.

The Texans got the ball back with thirty-seven seconds on the clock. Our lead was eight points. Back on the sideline, I collapsed onto the bench, my arm suddenly remembering to hurt.

“What part of no heroics can’t you or Dennison understand?” Pratt asked, taking the seat to my side. “How are you doing?”

Dennison was now at my other side. “Good job reading the defense,” Troy said.

Coach Pratt stared from one of us to the other. “You two will be the death of me.” He zeroed his gaze at me, scanning my useless left arm. “Talk to me.”

“I need this shoulder popped back into place and then I’ll let you know.”

“Go into the locker room.”

My gaze found Vee on the sidelines. She was concentrating on the playing field and clenching her notebook to her chest. Under the bright lights, tears glistened on her cheeks.