Page 144 of The Play

Carter grinned. “Guilty as charged. You guys see that fucking dart Riley threw me on that last drive? What a gorgeous ball. It was pure pleasure to catch it.”

“Yeah, and then you got tackled right after,” Beck said, elbowing him in the side. “So how good was it really?”

It had been really fucking good, actually.

Riley had put the ball where only Carter could grab it, and Carter had done one of those insanely acrobatic toe-touches on the very edge of the sideline before tumbling out of bounds. That move had stopped the clock, giving the Condors enough time to get their field goal unit onto the field.

“It was a thing of beauty,” Deacon said.

“Here’s a man who knows his shit,” Carter insisted.

“Hey,” Nate said, sliding next to Deacon as Carter and Beck’s argument continued.

“What’s up?” Deacon asked, shoving his sweat-slicked hair back.

“I was thinking—that running back, he’s got kinda a loose hold on the ball. I’ve almost caught him a couple of times. I bet that you could punch it out, if you went for it. You’re insanely fucking strong, Deac. If anyone can do it, it’s gonna be you.”

“Going for the ball instead of going for the tackle is always a risk,” Deacon cautioned. He’d seen too many defenders play that game and lose. He also hated how Nate’s comment—even though he hadn’t been here last year—sounded far too similar to how the old coaches had wanted the Condors to play.

As dirty as fucking possible.

“Yeah, but we’re up three scores,” Nate pointed out.

Deacon gave him a hard look.

“Just saying,” Nate said, putting his hands up in surrender.

“I’ll think about it,” Deacon said slowly. Still unsure how he felt about it. He knew that lots of teams coached punching the ball out. But after what had happened last year, with how dirty the coaches had wanted them to play, he still felt unsure about it. “If the situation presents itself . . .”

“Right.” Nate grinned.

“Thanks for the tip, though, I don’t know if I’d noticed that.” And he should have, Deacon knew. If he needed more evidence that he was a step slower and less sharp than was the ideal, here it was.

Would it kill him to not play next year? A little, yeah. But it would kill him more to suit up and not be at the height of his skill and power.

To watch those slowly disintegrate until he was no longer the force he’d once been.

That would be the equivalent of torture, and then ultimately, death.

Deacon couldn’t—and wouldn’t—put himself into that position.

“Hey, if you hadn’t taught me that spin move, I’d never have gotten to Love on that first play,” Nate said loyally.

“Yeah, you asshole. Robbed me of a sack,” Deacon teased, putting a hand on Nate’s shoulder and rubbing it. “But you’re playing so solid, man. Proud of you.”

Nate beamed.

“But let’s not take the foot off the gas,” Deacon said.

“I got you,” Nate said.

And he did.

In the next two quarters, Nate got another sack—and a half a sack, which he shared with Deacon.

The Condors offense continued to roll, racking up another touchdown and a field goal, and even though the Packers did eventually put a touchdown drive together, it was only because, as Micah claimed after, on the sideline, he was “so fucking bored in the backfield, you don’t even know.”

In reality, they’d all been playing back, just trying to prevent the deep pass.

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