And nobody on the Billswould. Aidan was worshipped for a reason. He wasthatgood. The Thunder had won six in a row, and nobody else was as committed to keeping that streak going more than Aidan Flynn.
On the next play, Nate got a sack. Then on the next, they tackled the Bills’ running back behind the line of scrimmage. It was a long third down.
When Dawson looked up, the Bills’ punting team was heading onto the field.
Okay, they were hoping to pin the Thunder’s offense on one end of the field, with very little time left on the clock—less than a minute—and no timeouts.
Tough, but not impossible.
Now, Dawson couldn’t help but glance over at the field between every kick into his net. Aidan rolling to the right, Levi blocking for him like his life depended on it, Lane detaching from his defender and heading towards the sideline.
Aidan hit him for a twenty-yard gain, and suddenly, everything began to feel very real.
Dawson glanced over at Marty. Marty was already looking in his direction. He gave him a nod.
There was another fifteen-yard gain, and then another ten-yard pass.
And suddenly the offense was in the soft part of the field, right at the edge of Dawson’s range, but still pretty far to throw a Hail Mary.
They could go that direction, and try to win the game. That was riskier. Less chance of it happening. Or Dawson could go over to Marty, to Coach Robertson, and tell him that he could kick it. It was fifty-nine yards. One yard more than his personal best.
Could do itandwanted to do itmerged in Dawson’s mind. He didn’t know where one ended and the other began. But regardless, he found himself walking over to their head coach and meeting Robertson’s eyes.
“I can do it,” he said.
Robertson gave him a brief glance. “Yeah?”
“Let’s go for the tie. Go to OT,” Marty added, joining them.
Nodding, Robertson put a hand on Dawson’s shoulder. “Go for it,” he said.
There wasn’t time to do another practice kick. The clock had stopped, because Aidan’s last pass to Mo, he’d just managed to get out of bounds before he was tackled.
But they didn’t have very long. They needed to get on the field. Get set up.
Marty waved Cam over, and they jogged to where the ball was sitting.
“You ready?” Cam asked, and Dawson nodded.
He didn’t need to tell Cam that his hold needed to be perfect. That he was going to need every bit of time he had to get as much drive on the ball as possible. Fifty-nine yards was really fucking far. He could do it. He’d done it in practice so many times. Before games so many times.
But neverina game.
Dawson took one deep breath, then let it out. And another.
The clock restarted, only to count down to zero right after Joey snapped the ball.
Cam’s hold was flawless, fucking textbook. Dawson even felt like his kick was strong, steady, even.
He nailed the ball, and it soared through the air, the whole stadium holding its breath as it just barely edged to one side of the upright.
The wrong side of the upright.
The hope in Dawson’s chest deflated, like a balloon popping.
He’d missed. He’dmissed.
He could have sent them to overtime. Maybe even given them the game. The seventh win in a row, but he hadn’t gotten it done.
