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We’ve thrown to some other receivers, and I’ve taken a few short passes over the middle, but instead of big gains we’re creeping forward inch by inch, and we’re exhausted. So we try to end things with a long bomb down the sideline, only for him to disrupt the play again, putting us in a third and fifteen that could very well be our last play of the game if we don’t convert. Since there’s just enough time on the clock for them to mount a final drive, it’s left us feeling sort of deflated.
“Goddam that fucker,” our quarterback, Scott, grumbles. “Where did he come from? I’ve watched their film and he’s never played like this.”
“He always plays like this,” Bennet disagrees as he pants to catch his breath after a long run.
“He’s always a factor, but he doesn’t shut down other receivers the way he’s shutting down you,” Scott says, totally missing how that makes Bennet wince. But it gives me an idea.
“You’ve played him all your life, right?” I ask Bennet.
“What?”
“You said you’ve been playing against him since you were kids. He’s probably been studying you for years, so he knows exactly what you’re gonna do.”
“Okay, so I’ll throw somewhere else,” Scott says.
“They’ll be expecting that since Bennet’s been shut down all day,” I say.
“Yeah, but even if they don’t expect us to go to Bennet, that guy will be ready,” Scott retorts.
“He will. But he’ll be ready for a long bomb. And that’s what we’re gonna make it look like we’re doing. But if Bennet runs twenty yards down field, then turns back without warning he might have a slight advantage where he can catch the ball right at the first down marker.”
“That would be unexpected,” Bennet agrees warily. “People are used to me trying to outrun the defender, not haul ass back toward the line of scrimmage.”
“Fuck it,” Scott shrugs. “Coach called a downfield pass so we’ll give him one, just not the one he wanted.”
I can still smell the fresh grass on my palms as we all clap hands and break the huddle, then line up and wait for the center to hike the ball. As soon as he does Bennet shoots off the line, running as fast as I’ve ever seen him down the sideline. I lose him while I’m trying to buy time for Scott to make the pass, but when the defender on me breaks away I know the ball is in the air, so I look downfield to see if it worked.
Bennet is coming back to make the catch, Damien hot on his heels but not quite close enough to get in front of him and get a hand on the ball.
As the ball hits his chest Bennet wraps his arms around it and tries to round the corner to take it toward the end zone. He gets one step, two, before he’s tackled from behind, both he and Damien going down in a heap. For a second or two they’re both still, then Damien gets up, hovers over Bennet—offering some choice words no doubt—and jogs away. Then Bennet holds the ball triumphantly overhead.
Fuck yes!
We all rush to Bennet to congratulate him, knowing that since we secured the first down we can run out the clock and take the win.
When I finally get close enough to slap him on the back, I give him a one-armed hug instead. “Nice catch.”
“Nice play calling.”
“What’d he say to you afterward?”
“Thanks for finally giving me a challenge,” Bennet says, his voice grave, which I assume is supposed to mimic Damien’s.
“What a jerk. I’m glad we got a win for you.”
“Me too.” Bennet winks and jogs off with the ball. It wouldn’t surprise me if he intends to keep it as a souvenir.
Later, at the hotel, a few beers are passed around the room, courtesy of some of the guys old enough to drink. They bought Jagger, Cameron, and I a case before going out. But it’s the two-word text from Liam on my mind as we all reminisce about the win.
Good game.
He’s never done that. Not once has he reached out during a road trip much less made a comment about how we played. And that simple text has my stomach fluttering almost as much as it did right after we won.
Chapter sixteen
Liam
It’s silly how much I enjoy something as mundane as the feel of air against my skin, but after existing in this permanent state of sticky, sweaty heat, I don’t want anything covering my arm. Even if it is only twenty degrees out. Besides, the walk across campus isn’t that bad, and I deserve to enjoy being cast-free for the first time in over a month.
