Page 187 of Just One More Thing

“… YOUR TAMPA BAY BUCCANEERS.”

The team starts running onto the field. Ryan claps my shoulder pad as he goes. Wayne punches my chest plate twice and points at me.

“Bring us home, eleven.”

Then they’re gone. Swallowed by the light and the sound.

I take one more breath. Then I run.

The noise hits me like a wall. Sixty-five thousand people on their feet. Hands reaching over the rail. Phones up. The team gathered at the fifty, waiting for me.

When I reach them, hands slap my helmet, my back, my shoulder pads, my ass. Somebody grabs my facemask and shakes it.

I’m surrounded.

Yet some part of me still feels alone.

My first throw sails high, and Ryan has to leave the turf to bring it down. The second one is behind Wayne by half a step. The third never leaves my hand because the pocket collapses before I finish my drop.

I jog off the field, and nobody says anything.

They don’t have to.

Rust.

I sit on the bench and watch the defense hold.

Then I go back out.

Second drive, I find Warrick on a slant for twelve yards. Then Wayne in the flat for eight more. The chains move. The crowd noise starts to build.

Then I stare down my receiver like a damn rookie, and the safety reads it.

Picks it off at the thirty-five.

I slam my helmet against my thigh, walking toward the sideline.

Ryan falls in beside me. “Shake it off.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re pissed.”

“That too.”

Wayne jogs backward in front of us. “On the bright side, your spiral looked sexy as hell before the betrayal.”

“Thanks, Wayne.”

“You’re welcome.”

By halftime, the Panthers are up 13-7. Our touchdown came off a short pass to Wayne that he turned into a forty-yard sprintbecause Wayne doesn’t believe in getting tackled by one person when three are available.

The locker room is tense and quiet. Guys bend forward with hands on knees. Coaches talk. Markers squeak against the whiteboard.

I don’t say much. I sit there with sweat cooling under my pads, forearms braced on my thighs, looking at the board until the plays stop being diagrams and start turning into movement.

The second half opens, and something clicks.