Page 123 of Red Zone
By the second quarter, we’re up by a touchdown.
But they’re tough.
They come back swinging, hitting a big run right up the middle that ties it up with three minutes left before halftime.
We regroup on the sideline, and I pace like a caged animal while the defense does their job.
When the ball’s back in my hands, I call the guys into the huddle.
“This is ours,” I bark, my voice cutting through the noise of the stadium. “No panic. No stupid shit. Just do your jobs.”
They nod, and I can feel the energy shift.
Snap. Drop back. Hit Jaxon on a corner route that gets us twenty.
Snap. Fake handoff. Roll right. Thread the needle to Beck between two defenders.
The clock’s running down, but I don’t care—I’m locked in.
Thirty seconds left, we’re on the eight-yard line.
I call the play at the line, nod to my center, and take the snap.
The pocket collapses, and I can feel a linebacker right at my back, but I spin, keep my eyes downfield, and see Jaxon just as he breaks free toward the corner of the end zone.
I let it fly.
Perfect spiral.
He hauls it in, drags his toes inside the line.
Touchdown.
The crowd explodes, and my guys mob me as we jog off the field.
Halftime. Up by seven.
In the locker room, everyone’s loud, pumped, but I sit on the bench and grab some water, my mind already on the next two quarters.
And—if I’m honest—on her.
Her face keeps flashing through my head. The way she looked last night, lying beneath me, whispering my name like she actually meant it.
I shake it off because I have a job to do.
We come out after halftime, and it’s a slugfest.
They push back hard in the third quarter, hitting a deep ball that ties it up.
Then we answer with a long drive, Jaxon pulling down two impossible catches to put us in field goal range.
We go up by three.
They come back with a field goal of their own.
Fourth quarter. Tied.
This is where we find out what we’re made of.
