Page 142 of The Play

“And that,” Darcy said, after Grant had thanked all the owners for showing up for him, and they’d signed off, “was one of the most satisfying things we’ve ever done.”

“Teamwork for the win,” Grant said, grinning.

“Why do you think she did that?” Darcy asked, frowning. “Not to us. I know why she’d have it out for us—well, for you, anyway.”

“I think she just liked the power of it,” Grant said, shrugging. “But we’ll never know for sure.”

“I do know one thing for sure.” Darcy grinned. “We’ll never have to deal with her again.”

Chapter 21

“You know what we need to do today,” Deacon said, raising his voice as he watched the defense circle around him. He’d done this for so many games, so many seasons.

It was unbelievable to consider that next year, he’d be watching from a suite, or from the sideline.

But for now, he would immerse himself in every moment, knowing that there were only a finite number left.

“Fly!” Beck cried out. “We’re gonna fucking fly!”

“Damn straight,” Deacon yelled back.

“How many more games?” Micah asked, his expression as hard as Deacon had ever seen it. While he hadn’t necessarily internalized the blame for the touchdown that had lost them last week’s game, Deacon knew it weighed on him—and also that he was approaching this game as a chance to destroy any lingering doubts about what kind of corner he was.

“Two,” Beck said. He leaned in, tapped the facemask of his helmet with his husband’s, and with the intensity in both of their faces, Deacon wouldn’t ever bet against them.

He wouldn’t bet against any of them.

Not today.

“We got this, but you gotta believe. If we don’t believe in ourselves, it’s already over. Is it over?”

“No,” Beck repeated. “Hell no. It’s just beginning.”

As they lined up for the national anthem, Deacon knew part of why he was willing to retire, why he knew it was the right decision for him, was that the leadership of this defense was well in hand.

Would Beck and Micah and Nate step into his place without faltering?

No. But then Deacon hadn’t either. He’d stumbled plenty, but he also knew them, and knew they wouldn’t ever let a few missteps keep them down for long.

These guys—this whole fucking team—was made to fly.

“You good?” Riley asked, walking up to him before the game started.

“Never been better,” Deacon said. “You?”

Riley nodded. He had that same fierce determination in his eyes that Deacon had seen earlier that week, in practice. “I’m ready,” he said.

Which was different than good, and in Deacon’s humble opinion, even better than good.

It had been three days since the interview had come out, and while yes, the interest level in his relationship with Grant had reached a fever pitch, Deacon could already see it making a difference.

The team had relaxed—maybe it was leaning into that pressure of needing to win one, and most likely, both of their remaining two games, but Deacon had a feeling that wasn’t all of it. They weren’t worried any longer that there was some big super-important secret the media kept trying to get out of them.

Darcy had been right; going public had calmed everyone down, and they could focus exclusively on the next two games on their schedule.

Deacon could feel it on the sideline, in the lines of everyone’s bodies as they prepped for kickoff.

This team was ready—and from the first drive, it was clear they weren’t going to go down without a fight.

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