Page 119 of The Play

Some of Riley’s throws were too high. He didn’t have enough time to make others. He took a bad sack. There was a penalty. Then on the fourth drive of the first half, he rolled out to the right and instead of tossing a five-yard pass to Landry and getting some of the distance to the next down, he threw downfield to Carter, and the wind picked up the ball, and it floated right to a Ravens’ safety, who took it all the way back to the opposing end zone.

Scoring another goddamned touchdown.

“Shit,” Deacon muttered. This was the last thing they needed right now. He was still short of breath from the last Ravens’ drive, where they’d managed to score a field goal.

In fact, because the offense couldn’t seem to find a rhythm and move the ball, the Condors’ defense, which usually could hold their heads high, was struggling. It was just too much time, too many drives, and not enough rest in between.

Eventually, they’d find a way through, and they had.

In fact, even before that pick-six, the Ravens had been up thirteen to zero. But now the score was twenty to zero, and from Riley’s face when he marched over to the sideline, Deacon didn’t think anything was going to get better.

“Shit,” Riley exclaimed.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Landry said, catching up to him. “We can get it back together. Score this drive, and then it’s only a two score game after that.”

Deacon sure hoped they’d get it together, because he needed more time to gather his poor, exhausted defense together so they could make another stand.

“How you doing?” he asked, approaching Beck and Micah after Riley and Landry and the offense went back on the field after the kickoff.

“Could be better,” Beck said wryly.

Micah nodded.

“We gotta stop the run,” Deacon said. “Did you hear Coach Rufus talk about you moving up, Beck?”

“You want me to?” Beck said.

“I’ve got Flowers,” Micah said, referring to the Ravens’ dynamite receiver, and how before this point, Beck had been giving him a much-needed assist in the coverage.

“I know you do,” Beck said, turning to him. “But I want to—”

“You heard Deac,” Micah said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We have to stop the run. You can do that. I got this.”

Beck wouldn’t ever be stupid enough to question Micah’s confidence—or his capabilities—in the middle of a game. Or probably after a game, even. Not if he didn’t want to spend a few nights on the couch.

But Deacon had known Beckett for almost two years at this point, and he knew he wasn’t convinced. Not necessarily because he didn’t believe Micah could stop Flowers, the Ravens’ deep threat receiver, but because the game, already going badly, could go so much worse if Flowers got a step ahead of Micah or took a slightly better angle.

It would only take the tiniest, most miniscule mistake for things to get ugly.

Okay, Deacon conceded, uglier than they already were.

“We on the same page?” Deacon questioned, meeting every one of his players’ eyes. He didn’t have to say, it’s on us now, because they all understood.

If they had a hope of winning this game, they had to keep the score close enough that the offense could close the gap.

“Same page,” Micah said, and Beck nodded next to him.

With how the offense hadn’t been moving the ball, Deacon had expected they’d get the kickoff, and the defense would be back out there almost immediately. He’d been prepared for it.

But instead, Deacon watched as Riley dug down and found a new well of determination to drink from. There was a reason Grant had been one hundred percent sure Riley Flynn was their guy, and it was right here, in this gritty performance as he practically put the whole Condors offense on his back and dragged them down the field. Anytime his receivers were covered—which felt like it happened nearly every down—Riley took off himself, carrying the ball and taking the beating that resulted.

Slowly but surely, they worked their way down the field until Riley rolled out and tossed a gorgeous little arc of a pass to Carter, who’d broken free of his defender, and he brought it down for a touchdown.

It wasn’t enough—not nearly enough—but not only did it give the defense a bit of a lift as they headed out onto the field, it had given them the break they sorely needed.

Deacon nearly ran into Riley as he picked his helmet up, readying to hit the field again. He had at least half a dozen green turf stains smeared across his jersey and sweat shone on his brow, but he was smiling grimly. “Great drive,” Deacon said, grabbing his gloved hand and pulling him into a quick embrace. “You got it done.”

“Better if I hadn’t started it by throwing that interception,” Riley said self-deprecatingly.

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