“This is a big opener for you today. Are you feeling the pressure of being the new quarterback for the Titans?”
“There’s always pressure, but I’m excited. I’m ready to get out there and play. Give the fans a winning season.”
“You know I gotta ask. You were just with Alie Grant, and I assume her daughter, who hasn’t been in the public eye. Is that why you came to New York?”
I look toward Alie and Sera and watch them as they near the tunnel, Alie straightening Sera’s jersey.
“Not a story I’m going to share with you today, Carissa, but that’s my daughter and the love of my life. They’re my reason for everything.”
She blinks, mouth open.
“Well then, congratulations!”
“Thanks.” I smile proudly and jog off before she can ask anything else.
“Good luck today, Liam,” she shouts after me.
I throw a hand over my shoulder and wave.
The stadium is vibrating with energy.
There’s one minute and twelve seconds left, and we’re down by four with the ball on the twenty-two-yard line. The red zonealways feels smaller than it looks on film. Everything happens faster. Windows shrink. Lanes collapse.
I press my palms over the holes in my helmet so I can hear my coach through the headset over the noise of the crowd.
“Second and seven,” I mutter. We don’t need a field goal. We need a touchdown.
Coach’s voice crackles. “Trips right. Z Dagger Y Cross. On one.”
I jog to my huddle, clapping once to get their attention.
“Gun, gun. Trips right.”
We all clap once, then get into formation. I have one wide receiver alone on the left boundary. Trips bunched to the field—my other wide receiver is wide, the slot stacked just inside, Brody tight to the formation. My back offsets to my left hip.
I see their defense shift with us. Moving their two safeties high, their corner, and my friend Silas Arbuckle, covering my wide receiver playing soft, then their nickel shaded on the inside.
My eyes travel slowly, studying them. The middle linebacker, also known as the Mike, hovers at five yards, feet bouncing. He’s the key.
“Fifty-two’s the mike!” I point, resetting protection.
I step forward, my hands out.
“Blue eight! Blue eighty!”
The safeties don’t roll. Two-high shell.
Cover two? Maybe they rotated late.
I can see my wide receiver. Silas, covering him, is giving a cushion. The twelve-yard comeback is there if I can take it. It’s safe and efficient. But safe doesn’t win games down four.
I clap. “Set! Hut!”
The ball snaps clean into my hands. Three-step from gun. My tailback crosses me, and I scan for pressure.
No blitz.
My eyes snap to the safeties. They widen with my wide receiver’s vertical release. The outside receiver eats up the sideline, forcing Silas to turn and run. The deep half safety opens his hips. Ready.
