Page 21 of Final Down

“Stone!”

My head swivels to the other end of the field where Coach Phillips is feeding balls to Chance.

I bend down, grab my helmet, and put it on as I jog over to him. I’m not sure what I’ll do if he asks me to start throwing recklessly like his golden boy is. I guess I’ll do it to make him happy, though I fundamentally disagree with it. This isn’t how you warm up.

“Yes, Coach.” I glance beyond his shoulder to Coach Elgin, who is standing on his own in the end zone. I think his eyes are on me, and I gulp. I don’t want to disappoint him.

“We’re gonna run a few routes today with the A and B squad. You’re going to be working with B. You good with that?”

Phillips doesn’t look my direction when he asks, instead tossing another ball to Chance, who I notice hasn’t given me a single glance. I’m sure he knows who I am. That’s the arrogance Bryce was talking about, I bet.

“You got it, Coach.” I snag one of the balls from the cart and squeeze it between both palms as I nod toward Chance.

“Maybe we can toss a little? Get the arm warm?” I suggest.

Again, Chance’s neck doesn’t even break to look in my direction.

“He’s warm. Grab one of the B receivers when they come out.” Phillips physically turns his body away from me, leaving me holding a ball with nobody to throw to and a face as hot as a hatch chile.

“Got it,” I say, knowing he’s no longer listening.

Fine. If he thinks Chance is warm and this little showcase they’ve got going is all he needs to perform today, who the hell am I to correct him? I shake my head and laugh silently as I spin around and jog toward the center of the field. I set the ball down along with my helmet and begin my warm-up routine, finishing with a few sprints to get the blood pumping through my entire body. The rest of the team is trickling out when I jog to the sideline and fuel up on some electrolytes, and test the wrap around my wrists.

I recognize the third-string receiver from my late-night study sessions of the roster photos. His name is Jax, and he’s greener than green. He was a late round pick-up from Iowa. I hope he can catch.

“Hey, eighty-six,” I call out, getting his attention. He looks behind him at first, then turns his attention to me, tapping on his chest.

“Yeah, you’re Jax, right?” I’m starting to doubt my memory.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Thank God.

“Cool. I’m Wyatt. I’m throwing to you today. Mind helping me get a few reps in?”

Jax has dark brown skin, and he’s maybe six inches taller than me. When Peyton told her dad Jerry was working with the team, Reed mentioned that the man has a knack for discovering talent. My gut tells me he saw something in Jax that others overlooked. And if Jax can catch on the run, I have a feeling he and I are going to show a few people up today. He seems nervous, though, so I’m going to need to give his confidence a kick in the ass.

He nods to me, and we both make our way to the sideline. The receivers have been running all morning, so I know he’s good and warm. The two of us start off with some light tossing about ten yards apart, and I gradually grow it to twenty until I’m zipping the ball at him with enough force that it will stick whether he wants it to or not. My final toss lands square in his chest, but his hands collapse around the ball, caging it in place, and the grin that pulls up one side of his mouth settles my nerves about him.

“I’m good,” I say, walking toward him. He tosses the ball back to me when I’m a few feet away.

“You know, I watched you play when I was in junior high,” Jax says. His lips pucker as he fights to hold in his laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. Out here, I’m an old man. I get it,” I say, and he finally lets the laugh spill out.

“It’s cool, though. You were the shit for Arizona. When I found out they might pick you up—” He waggles his head andbites the tip of his tongue through his smile. “I got a little excited, I guess. Maybe a little star struck.”

“Ha!” My turn to laugh. “I’ll try not to disappoint you. How are you on the run? Like, if I lead you, make you stretch . . . will you get there?”

His deep inhale is concerning.

“Look, I’m not going to lie to you, Wyatt. I had a shit QB last season, and it damn near ruined my draft. I want to say no problem, but at this point? I have no idea what I can do with a real pass.”

I nod, suddenly getting why his draft pick was so high. I like Jax. Humble guys tend to surprise people. I have a good feeling about today.

“Got it. We’ll start easy, and then maybe see what we can do together.”

“I like the sound of that,” he says through excited laughter. We slap hands and bump fists, then join the rest of the team as everyone circles up to listen to Coach Phillips.

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