Page 50 of Scored

“Let’s hear it.”

CHAPTER 20

Fin

Wednesday afternoon, Vee was on the sideline during our afternoon practice in the indoor facility. She had her hair pulled back and was wearing the same slacks and blouse she had on this morning. I knew the plays were getting easier for her to understand. Our strip-poker play calling wasn’t a sure thing anymore.

While the rest of the team was in pads, I was in a t-shirt and nylon shorts. I’d spent most of the morning with the trainers working on strengthening my shoulder. The best part about being out with the team now was that I was participating. Coach Pratt had Dennison and Jackson running most of the practice plays, but then after they ran them in full tackle mode, he’d put me in. I’d call the plays coming from my helmet and take the snap.

We lined up in shotgun formation. Being five to seven yards behind the center gave me time to read the defense. Spencer snapped the ball. I caught it with both hands. Stepping back, I watched my O-line, my backs, and receivers. Everything would be as it should until it came time to throw.

Instead of releasing the ball, I’d verbally call out who would have had the ball.

Coach said it was better than standing on the sideline. And it officially had me on our schedule as LP—limited practice. That looked better than DNP—did not participate.

If by Friday the trainers and medical staff okayed me to practice, it would go in the books as FP—full practice. The Bills would know that we had depth.

As for that depth, Coach Pratt had Josh Jackson taking more snaps. I still didn’t want to trust a playoff game to him, but he was catching on better than when we played Houston.

“You’re improving,” I told Jackson as we walked off the field toward the locker room.

“Glad it’s being noticed.”

“It is. Pratt’s putting you out there more.”

Jackson ran his fingers through his damp, sweaty hair. “I know the drill. Coach is resting Dennison. No sense risking an injury during practice. He’s going to get all the playing time on Saturday.”

“He might,” I admitted. “What’s important is that whoever we play knows that no matter which one of us plays, we’re not a weakness. Together, we’re strong.”

“Graham.”

I turned to see Coach Pratt. “Yeah, Coach.”

“Come in my office a minute.”

Carrying my helmet, I followed him.

“Have a seat.”

Taking a deep breath, I lowered myself to one of the metal chairs across from his desk. “Is this about my shoulder?”

“No.” He sat and leaned back in his chair. “It’s about what I heard you and Jackson talking about just now.”

I didn’t reply.

“He was upset when you said he wasn’t ready to go out in the Houston game.”

“He wasn’t.” I stood by my conviction. “He’s improving. There was too fucking much riding on that game.”

Pratt leaned forward, his forearms on his desk. “I don’t know if you know why Royce Beasley, Tilson, and I pulled for your signing over moving Jackson up from the practice squad.”

My lips curled into a grin. “Because I’m damn good.”

“You have experience. You’ve had good years and shitty years. There was chatter that your career was over after what happened in LA. We didn’t believe that. We also knew that Dennison was young. Talented as hell…”

“He is,” I agreed.

“We believed you’d be a good influence on him. A mentor.”