Page 3 of Hard Count
A defensive end slipped past the tackle faster than expected. Piper stepped forward into it, felt fingers brush his jersey, and released the ball before the receiver had finished his break. The pass threaded between two defenders. First down.
He jogged forward, heart rate steady. The structure and the pressure calmed him for some reason which never translated off field.
The game settled back into a good rhythm around him. Three drives later it was second half tempo. Piper released the ball from his hands. Twenty yards, touchdown. Score: L.A. 21, Seattle 14.
Across the field, Noah lined up to answer.
The pocket collapsed almost immediately. A defensive tackle came through untouched. Noah spun away from the first grab and kept moving, one defender coming away with nothing butair. He rolled right. His receivers were covered. He didn’t throw it away. He ran. His tendency to improvise was a strength of his and was noted as one of the best quarterbacks for this style of play.
Noah kept running, ten yards, fifteen. A linebacker closed fast from the edge, and Noah slid late enough that the defender barely managed to pull up to him. Touchdown. Score: Seattle 21, L.A. 21. Seattle’s sideline erupted into a beer-induced moment of excited rage. Seattle fans always traveled, and L.A. was a quick flight for them, the stadium was littered with them.
Tank shook his head.
“You hate that.”
“Sure do.” Piper looked away.
“Let’s turn this fucking throw-a-thon off. Focus, Piper!” Tank shouted.
“Bro, why don’t you go yell at our fucking defense for being unable to stop this dude,” Piper said as he watched Noah laughing with his linemen, already back to the looseness.
Tank shrugged. “You’re the quarterback, you go be the asshole.”
Piper got back on the field, distracted now. The wheels felt like they were slowly coming off.Joan, let’s get it together, stop staring at this dude. He is not your type, nobody is, and he plays like a douche bag. Per usual, Joan did not reply and that was okay with Piper. The day Joan replied was the day he locked his ass up in a psych ward. Maybe the psych ward would be a needed vacation. His mother, Donna Ashton, sure used rehab centers as one … Eighty thousand dollars a month all on Piper’s AMEX.
Piper crashed out with a three and out. Distraction confirmed and successfully fucking up Piper’s play.
Seattle got the ball back quickly. Noah dropped behind center, the pocket held clean this time, and he scanned the field,left, then right, and then, for a fraction of a second, he looked across the field at Piper and gave a smirk that penetrated Piper’s soul with anger but brought his cock to life.
Noah launched the ball deep. The ball sailed over the corner’s outstretched hand. The receiver caught it cleanly and was barely blocked. Touchdown. Score: Seattle 28, L.A. 21.
Noah jogged downfield calm and focused, barely a celebration, like the outcome had already been decided for him. This was his style of play and regardless of what the failed pros on TV thought of him, it worked.
Across the field Piper grabbed his helmet.
“Your turn,” Tank said.
The defense was more physical now, and the windows were tighter. Piper kept the tempo fast, snapping before the defense could breathe, keeping them from getting too comfortable.
The offense moved how Piper preferred, not in a single signature play but in accumulated pressure, each snap tiring the defense, weight distributing wrong, corners playing a half-step deeper, as the secondary was beginning to show its cracks.
Third and four. Snap. Blitz.
A linebacker shot through the gap cleanly and Piper stepped forward into it as he released, and felt the hit arrive after the ball left his hand, shoulder to ribs, air releasing from his lungs as he hit the turf. The pass landed just past the marker. First down.
Tank looked down at him. “Bro, you alive?”
Piper grabbed Tank’s hand as he got pulled up. “Don’t die on me,” Tank said.
“I won’t. I’m made of anxiety and trauma, you won’t lose me that easily,” Piper replied with a laugh. Tank rolled his eyes.
The next series pushed L.A. deep into Seattle’s territory as the defense weakened like rice paper. Second and goal.
Piper read the corner pressing tight, the safety was creeping nearby. He faked the handoff, felt the linebackers bite, androlled right. A defender closed hard from his blind side, close enough that Piper could hear the cleats on turf, and he planted off his back foot, and threw across his body. The ball left his hand in a tight spiral that he knew immediately was going to be under-thrown, but the receiver rushed in and caught the ball in the back of the end zone. Touchdown. Score: Seattle 28, L.A. 28. Fourth quarter, one minute remaining.
Seattle lined up, Noah dropped back, and the throw that came out was one of the few in the game that crashed out. Too flat, too late, and one of L.A.’s defensive ends picked it out of the air at the thirty yard line for an interception.
Piper had his helmet on before the sideline finished erupting into celebration.
