Aidan didn’t usually approach him during games.
But Dawson wasn’t surprised to see him coming over, sweat beaded on his forehead, his hair matted with it, helmet in his hand, blue eyes tired but blazing with determination.
“Hey,” Aidan said.
“Forty-five seconds, that’s plenty of time,” Dawson said before Aidan could ask.
He was already steeling himself for what would be his task. But before he could do his part, Aidan had to dohis: get the Thunder close enough for Dawson to make the kick.
“How much do you need?” Aidan asked.
Dawson almost told him he knew his max. Aidan knew his stats, same as he knew everyone’s on the team, inside and out.
But that wasn’t what Aidan was asking.
“Get me within sixty, and I can do it,” Dawson said.
Aidan raised an eyebrow.
“It’s a dome,” Dawson added. “And I’ve been working hard.”
Aidan didn’t argue. Didn’t question. Just patted him on the shoulder and said, “You got it, bud.”
And just like Dawson trusted Aidan to deliver when the game was on the line, like he’d done so many times before in his long and storied career, Aidan was trusting that Dawson was going to do the same.
Dawson realized it didn’t matter that he’d missed the last fifty-nine-yard attempt he’d tried. Dawson had looked Aidan in the eye and told him he could do it, so Aidan believed him.
He’d known, of course, that the team trusted him. ThatAidantrusted him. Dawson had always had a feeling that the person he was really trying to prove he was back to was actually himself.
But it had never been driven home as much as it was in this moment.
Dawson glanced over to where Cam was standing. He was apart, too. Palms flat against his thigh pads, expression wipedof emotion, as Aidan took the field to get Dawson the yards he needed so he could try the field goal.
Like he’d sensed him looking, Cam glanced over, too. Smiled wide, and it hit Dawson hard and real fast, like Cam had a line straight to Dawson’s heart.
Maybe he did.
It was not easy. The Cowboys were sensing blood in the water. They probably wanted to go to overtime.
But Aidan was not going down without a fight. He hit Mo on a gorgeous slant pattern. After the catch, Mo, not the biggest guy in the universe, made an extraordinary effort and shucked one defender off and then sent another sprawling with an epic stiff-arm, taking the ball twenty-five yards down the field.
Thirty to go.
Aidan’s next pass went to Trevor, Lane giving him just the block he needed to spring him free. Lane got the next, hovering on the sideline, so that he could make sure the clock stopped right after his catch. Five seconds left.
There it was. That was all they had time for. Marty looked over at Dawson and nodded, approval and certainty in his eyes. Dawson took one last practice kick into the net, and headed out to do what he’d been wanting for weeks.
Cam met him on the middle of the field. He didn’t touch him, but he didn’t need to. The look in his eyes was enough.
Aidan had gotten him just enough yards.
Dawson did the calculation in his head and realized it wasn’t sixty yards, but fifty-nine.
For a split second, that threw him.You tried this before and you didn’t pull it off.
Yeah, he had. He’d been married before, too. Been part of a team. Neither of those had worked out but that didn’t mean you didn’t keep trying. That you gave up hope or gave up on yourself.
Especially not when Dawson believed that hecoulddo it.
