Page 115 of Time Out

I dropped my head and shook it. Disappointing him was like disappointing my own father.

“Would the defense like to explain to me how you let their second-string wide receiver score a touchdown on a forty-yard pass?”

Oh, this was bad. The questions he asked forced guilt into our chests and the pain of remembering our mistakes.

“Would the offense like to tell me why you haven’t been able to push Hall through the line for more than two yards at a time and can’t open a hole to save your life?”

Another round of grumbled “no sirs” continued to follow as he questioned each and every one of our mistakes.

“Would someone then, please explain to me, how we can be the best damn team in the league, with the closest teammates, and the love we have for each other and the respect for the game and be out there, playing in one of the biggest games of your lives and acting like it’s your first time ever suiting up in pads?”

Bowles yanked off his hat again and slapped it against his thighs before sending it sailing across the room like a frisbee. “What in the heck is going on with you men? You’re better than this! You’re faster than them. You’re more prepared, I guarantee. You want it more, that I have no doubt. You’re experienced. You’re deadly. You haven’t shown this amount of disarray and lack of focus at any point in time I’ve coached any of you. So what is it? Nerves? The pressure? You caving to that, Dawson?”

Butler practically growled at him. “No, sir.”

“You?” he asked, turning to Yeets and as everyone responded with a required no sir, that he asked a handful of men randomly spaced throughout the room, the tension in the room mounted.

Changed.

Switched to something altogether warmer and more determined.

We weren’t caving to the pressure. We weren’t playing as well as we could. We all knew we could do better, and listening to Bowle’s voice, filled with disappointment, was exactly the motivating factor we needed.

Not a single one of us wanted to disappoint him.

“I have some news to share with you.” At one, the already quiet room turned silent. He took off his ballcap, swiped his forehead and resettled it before he pulled his gaze from his shoes and met ours. “I’ve been debating when to share this information, but I’m hoping now is the right time.”

He swallowed thickly, wiped his hand over his face and then turned to the assistant coaches fanned out around him.

“I’ve spoken with management and while this breaks my heart to tell you, win or lose this game or win or lose the Super Bowl, the last game we play this year will be my last game being the head coach of this team.”

“What?” Dawson all but shouted. “You’re lying.” He wasn’t the only one who was shocked.

My own blood turned cold. I’d wanted to come to this team primarily because of the environment Bowles created. In the last five years, he’d taken a mid-range team to being a Super Bowl contender.

“I’m not, and trust me, I’m as sad and upset as the rest of you, but for me, it’s time. I’ll give you all a few minutes to process this alone, and I won’t answer more questions, but what I’m asking is for you to think of this in the next ten minutes before we get that ball in our possession again. This is not the kind of game I want to go out on. This is not the kind of playing I want as the memory of my final game. I want to go out winners, confetti falling on us and holding a trophy and waving it around at a parade next month. That’s what I want for me, selfishly, but I want it for all of us, together. I have a team of men, of brothers in this room with the talent to get this done. All you have to figure out is if you want that, too.”

He met each of our gazes, nodded, and then turned, taking the coaching staff with him.

“Well, fuck,” Cole said, and like the captain he was, of course he’d step up into the center. “My timing has been slow, and I’ve missed a few bad passes, undershot you, Butler, more than once, and overthrown to Yeets. I don’t know what’s going on with us, but Coach is right. We will not go out like this, at home, with our fans in the stands cheering us on and knowing what we’re capable of. Will we?”

“Hell no!” The shout came from Knox, our defensive end. Big as a bear and built like a steel wall, he might have been the only one doing his job correctly.

“I slipped on my last kick. Made it, but it wasn’t pretty. That won’t happen again.” That was Moore, nodding once to Cole.

“I’ll make my own goddamn holes in the line if I have to,” I promised every single one of them.

The locker room filled with men acknowledging their mistakes in that first half, and their determination to improve.

All but Dawson, who still looked ready to charge after Coach and demand answers.

“Hey.” I nudged him, earning a feral growl for the effort. “Whatever’s going on, you have to kick it to the curb right now.”

It was Crystal. Had to be. His sister’s drama or any mention of his mother could send him into a rage it could take weeks to bring him back from. Usually it was a benefit to us on the field because he’d take it and play like an animal.

Sometimes, like I suspected today, it was having the reverse effect.

His nostrils flared. “I’ll do my part.”

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