Mo was supposed to go deep on this route, Trevor running the interior curl to try to draw the deeper safety off him. Hoping to get Mo a much-needed one-on-one matchup so he could make some of his magic happen.
The safety didn’t go quite deep enough, so Trevor improvised, sliding three yards further, then another two yards, hoping to pull him up.
He’d never have taken the risk in a regular game. Would’ve stuck to the game plan; they’d made it for a reason, hadn’t they? Drawn up the play because they thought it was going to work.
But it hadn’t. Hadn’t really been working all game. The deeper safety had clearly had his assignment drilled in over and over, until he refused to leave Mo alone with just a corner for coverage.
This time, though, his head whipped in Trevor’s direction. Trevor didn’t quite pump fake—he didn’t have the ball, so he couldn’t fake it—but he went another yard, then two, pushing his tired muscles until they screamed, hoping to fool the guy into thinking the plan was for Aidan to actually throw him the ball.
Thenfinallyhe bit on it, pushing right into Trevor’s space. A moment later, a roar went up in the stadium, and Trevor didn’t have to look to know that Mo had caught it.
“That’s the fucking way!” Mo yelled when they got back to the huddle.
Trevor hadn’t seen his end of the play develop, but he’d rewatched it on the jumbotron, and sure enough, Mo had owned the corner’s ass one-on-one, and he’d taken that pass for a good forty-yard chunk.
Exactly the kind of downfield action the Thunder desperately needed, to spread out the Patriots’ defense. To make them not worry just about the short shit, but thedeepshit, too.
The next play, Zane called for a handoff to Jaden, who, with the defenders now playing back a bit, rocking on their heels, took it for almost seven yards.
They were nearly across the fifty-yard line and the whole offensive was fired up, ready to keep going.
Trevor glanced up at the clock. They were nearly to the two-minute warning.
“Come on,” Aidan exhorted everyone. “Let’s keep it moving.”
Next play, he hit Lane in stride, who took it ten yards and that also took the Thunder under two minutes.
They had time to regroup and re-collect as the timeout ticked down.
“Zane wants to move Trevor to blocking, move Carl to his spot,” Aidan said in the huddle. “He’s better at blocking. Wants that extra bit of protection, since he thinks the Pats are gonna come in with a vengeance.”
Trevor began to nod, because that made sense.
The defense, about to give up enough plays to put the Thunder in game-winning field-goal range, had to smell the blood in the water.
“No,” Lane interrupted, instead. “Trev’s a better receiver than Carl. Better hands. I’d trust him any day.”
“Yeah,” Mo said, “youwouldthink that.”
Lane smacked Mo on the side of the helmet. “Don’t make me kick your ass.”
“Like you could,” Mo muttered.
“Kids,” Aidan warned.
“I’m just saying, what we’re doing isworking. Let’s not change it up,” Lane argued.
“Lane—” Trevor tried to insert.
“No, you’re so fucking good,” Lane retorted.
“Okay,” Aidan said. “Let’s do this double–tight end formation, then.”
He detailed the play, which if all things went well, would put them within striking distance for a touchdown. Maybe even on the edge of the red zone, if every single detail went perfectly.
“You got this,” Lane told Trevor under his breath, as they lined up. “You catch that ball and take it in, okay?”
“But—” Trevor broke off, because the play wasn’t even for a touchdown. Wasn’t even designed for that. It was supposed to be a bridge. Especially with how the Patriots defense had been playing? It seemed impossible he could make that happen.
