Troy was still down.
“Troy, get up,” I whispered as I turned my attentionto the replay on the jumbotron. It showed what we’d all witnessed; Troy ran and slid. The linebacker came flying, hitting Troy with a forearm to the head and neck, their helmets colliding as Troy’s neck snapped forward, before snapping back and landing hard on the turf.
The Coopers’ players on the sideline were furious. The coaching team and assistants worked to keep the enraged teammates from entering the field.
Tilson and Drew ran with the medical team to Troy.
Troy was still down.
CHAPTER 17
Fin
The entire sidelines stood, everyone, ready to take the field. We couldn’t look away from Troy Dennison. “Move,” I said under my breath. “Damn it, move,” I screamed louder.
My yells were part of a chorus as the entire team’s screams turned to silence.
The medical personnel as well as Coach Tilson and Pratt were on the field. The Coopers’ offense was now kneeling in a circle around our star player. Crystal Light Stadium that had seconds ago been roaring was now deadly silent as everyone watched. The cameras were no longer on Dennison. With the wall of players,we couldn’t see a thing. As someone reached for my hand, I turned, looking down field.
The players on the sidelines were now kneeling. I joined them. My gaze went to the woman on the sidelines. Vee stood with her hands clenched to her chest. It was the shattered look of helplessness that stuck like a knife in my chest.
Troy Dennison was the Coopers’ miracle. A first-round draft pick from Alabama, last season he outplayed all the predictions. The kid was only twenty-three years old. I closed my eyes.
The ring of cheers and applause caused me to open my eyes and stand.
Troy was on a long stretcher, his neck and head braced. The camera caught him lifting his hand and waving at the crowd. The relief was overwhelming. I turned once again toward Vee, seeing her wipe her cheeks.
“Fin,” Coach Garcia, the quarterback coach, screamed. “You’re in.”
Teammates slapped my shoulder pads. “Fuck them.”
“Make them pay.”
“You’ve got this.”
Their words were the sparks igniting a fire within me. I’d wanted a few more years. Taking the job with the Coopers was supposed to be my firsthand view tobudding greatness. That was my opinion of Dennison. The kid had the potential of a Hall-of-Famer written all over him.
Over the last few weeks, he and I had worked out after practice because Garcia wanted us to. Tuesday mornings, we worked out together because we wanted to. I might be the veteran, but during those moments with only the two of us in the workout room, we both shared our knowledge, our advice, and our secrets to success.
The ruling on the field had been roughing the passer. Pickard, the Titan linebacker, was ejected with possible suspensions. Unnecessary roughness resulted in a fifteen-yard penalty and an automatic first down. That put our line of scrimmage on the Titans’ thirty-yard line.
Drew spoke, facing me, his lips hidden from cameras. Holding on to my shoulder pads, he screamed, “We’re within field-goal range. Holt can make a forty-seven-yard attempt.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to play prevent here.” His smile grew. “Show the world what Griffin Graham can do. Show LA they were wrong to keep you on the bench. Go.”
The offense ran onto the field.
We huddled.
I gave the call. Instead of break, I yelled, “For Dennison.”
We lined up in split-back formation. The Titans’ defense shifted, preparing for the run play. I called out the play again, with a slight change, running an RPO—run pass option. The sons-of-bitches were expecting us to run. They thought by bringing down Dennison, they brought down the Coopers’ passing game.
I set the cadence. “Set, hut!”
The ball was snapped from center. I stepped back, reading my progressions. Our offensive guards and tackles were giving me time. I fake passed to Morgan, our full back. He took off. The defense took the bait. I looked down field. JD was wide open. My arm went back.
The grasp and throw were second nature. I let it rip.
As soon as the ball left my hand, I was tackled.
