Page 157 of The Play

Then, nearly again, on the last drive. But this time, he’d at least only batted down one of the most important third downs of the game, when Riley had thrown to Carter, trying to convert and take the Condors deeper into the red zone.

But instead, they’d settled for a field goal—and right now, the score was tied, with the Piranhas getting the ball, after the Condors kicked off.

“Hey, we got this,” Nate told him. He glanced over at Deacon. “Yeah, boss? We got this, right?”

Deacon took a deep breath. Holding back the Piranhas’ offense was like trying to hold back the tide, but if they didn’t, then the game would be over, and they wouldn’t leave Miami with a win like they’d wanted.

“We got this,” Deacon said firmly. Raised his voice so everyone could hear. So everyone could believe.

“One more drive,” he continued, as the defense gathered around him on the sideline. “You’ve got one more drive in you. If you do, then we get another game. And then maybe another one. At the very least, we can prove to everyone who told us that we were shit that we’re not shit.”

“Hell no, we’re not,” Beck echoed him.

“And we’re gonna prove it,” Micah chimed in. His face had gone hard, behind his face mask, and Deacon didn’t know the kind of toll this game was taking on him—but he was holding up his side of the backfield. Tristan had been held to only a few catches, and even those had been highly contested.

Some media pundits had claimed this would be a high-scoring game, but Deacon had known better. He’d known both the Condors and the Piranhas would be fighting for every inch of turf.

It made sense to him that the game would come down to the final drive.

This was it.

The Piranhas were less invested than they were—even though Deacon could tell they wanted to win—because no matter what, they were headed to the playoffs. But the Condors were not only playing for that playoff spot, but for pride.

To redeem themselves, finally, in the eyes of the world.

As he jogged onto the field, he saw Coach Dawson on the other sideline, chin raised, eyes serious, and Scott Callaway, his husband and the Piranhas’ defensive coordinator, standing next to him.

Maybe another coach would have benched his star players—players he’d need to be healthy for the playoff run they’d be making after this—but the fact they were all taking the field meant something.

Deacon could feel Coach’s respect for their team and how far they’d come.

“We doing this?” Nate asked, and Deacon nodded, bumping helmets as they got set on the line.

Not surprisingly, the Piranhas were leaning on their new running back—a rookie they’d just drafted to replace Kenyon Ellis, who’d retired at the end of the last season. If the Piranhas wanted to run clock, it was a great move.

But Deacon had warned his guys they were going to run, and even though the Piranhas’ offensive line was excellent, it was tough to run when that was exactly what the defense was expecting.

“Third down and long,” Beck reminded him, breath coming in short pants as he returned to the line.

“Watch out for Wade. Pax likes to throw short to him—they’re just gonna want to get the first down. Burn clock and hit a field goal with the time expiring,” Deacon reminded him.

Beck nodded. “I got him.”

“They might be crazy enough to go deep. I’m not going to give Nicholson much lead on me,” Micah promised.

“See that you don’t,” Deacon said. “And Nate?”

“Yeah, Deac?”

“Let’s sack the quarterback.”

Nate nodded.

Paxton Kelly had been elusive the whole game, but Deacon didn’t believe in giving up, even when they’d been unsuccessful so many times. Eventually their pressure would get to him, even if he was so good at evading the pocket collapsing around him.

“Three minutes left,” Deacon noted.

He wasn’t saying it but he knew they all understood that if they wanted to win this game, they needed to get the ball back.

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