That was why it made total sense for them to give Bryce, the backup running back, the ball the first play. Get Wes adjusted to the rhythm of play again.
But then Zane, the offensive coordinator, called asecondrunning play, Lane trying not to make a face as he heard the call come through the headset. The first one hadn’t been all that successful—they’d only gotten two yards—and this one wasn’t adjusted enough to think the result would be any different.
As expected, it didn’t even get them close to a first down.
When Zane’s next play call came in, Wes glanced over at the sideline, right at Aidan. It was a real conservative play. An outlet pass to Carl—itcouldget the first down, if everything went right, but it counted on the receiver getting at least a handful of yards after the catch.
If anyone had asked Lane, he’d have sent Trevor to the flat on one of his buttonhook routes, curling right around the first-down marker. If Trevor could get the separation, in the soft part of the zone, and then catch the pass, he’d get the first down.
It was the kind of play that won Patrick Mahomes and the Chiefs all those Super Bowls: using Kelce as a middle-of-the-field safety blanket. They did it because itworked, and even though Trevor wasn’t quite Kelce’s or Lane’s size, he could do it, just as well.
But Aidan shook his head at Wes, just the slightest tilt of his head, and Wes tilted his back, acknowledging the call.
Nate came over right before Griff snapped the ball.
“What’s this conservative bullshit?” he asked under his breath.
Lane shrugged. “Wes hasn’t played much this year.” Maybe a handful of minutes at the end of games they’d won handily and some preseason. That was it. He was probably a bit rusty in a game they didn’t need to win. They didn’t need him to be a hero; just to manage the game. Get some reps in in case he had to take Aidan’s place in any of the playoff games.
“This is still crap,” Nate muttered.
Lane kind of agreed.
Turned out that WesandTrevor both agreed, because right before Griff snapped the ball, Trevor changed sides, moving off blocking, and the moment the play began, he took off the line, running the kind of route that Lane had envisioned would’ve been an easy first down.
Wes dropped back, gaze skipping right over Bryce, the conservative option, and instead threw the ball at Trevor. The pass was a little high and a little fast, Wes’ nerves evident in how the ball sailed, but Trevor leaped up and Lane gritted his teeth together as he barely came down with it. If he hadn’t caught it, if it had slipped off his fingers or through his hands, there was a corner closing the gap right behind him.
It would have been an easy interception. Maybe even a pick six, considering that the Thunder were still on the other side of the field.
But Lane let out the breath when Trevor came down with it. Just over the first-down marker, too.
“That was fucking risky, though,” Nate said. “You gonna—”
“No,” Lane said, cutting him off.
Nate just shrugged and wandered back over to Jordan and the rest of the defensive players on the bench.
There was definitely a part of him that wanted to yell at Trevor about it. Aidan could take Wes apart later, for clearly calling an audible that had Trevor moving to the other side. But Trevor? He’d been the one to actuallydoit.
Lane stewed about it for the next three or four plays. Arguing on whether he should say something or not.
Zane called more running plays. Another pass, that Carl caught, while Trevor blocked. At least Lane couldn’t find anything in his blocking technique to complain about.
Then they were down to third down again, in field-goal range, but clearly hoping for the touchdown, because Zane actually called in two plays this time: the first one, a fairly conservative pass that wouldprobablyget them the first down, and a second, much more aggressive play that would get them the touchdown.
“You okay?”
Lane looked over and realized that Aidan had come over, Mo drifting behind him. “Fine, why?”
Aidan shot him a look. “You hate not playing.”
“Doesanyonelike not playing?” Lane wondered. He considered pointing out how many times Aidan had sulked this week about being benched, even as he acknowledged it was the right move. But if he did, Aidan would only sulk again, and he’d had enough of that. Even Levi had, at one point, told him to cut it out.
Fondly, and ruffled his hair about it, but he’d still said it.
“Nah,” Mo said. “But I’m not mad about a day off.”
Aidan elbowed him in the side. “You’re not helping,” he complained.
