CHAPTER 1
~Holden~
Third and fifteen. That holding penalty had royally screwed us, but we had this. This was it. One more play would determine whether we moved on to the divisional playoffs or went home. It would solidify if I would realize my dream of ending my career on a high note in the championship. There was no time for a huddle, and that was fine. We ran our hurry-up offense more than any other, and the guys knew my cadence and were familiar with my calls.
Sweat dripped down my back, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I approached the line, saw my guys in their stances, rock-steady, and ready to protect me. We were going with the ten personnel package: four receivers—spread wide—one running back, and no tight ends. Unfortunately, we’d lose their epic blocking, yet, hopefully, it’d throw off the defense and confuse them about who should be double covered. Especially since my hope was to have Jameson, my running back, run a draw when I dropped back into shotgun.
I crowded the center, started the call. Motioning for my slot receiver to shift, I glanced at Jameson to move back a step, and then took up my position in the pistol formation.
“Blue, forty-two! Blue, forty-two!” I checked the defense to make sure nobody had shifted or was eyeing where we hoped to go with this. I saw that my skill players were right where they needed to be, my offensive lineman loose, yet coiled with anticipation. My heart raced with both excitement and exertion. We had this. It was ours for the taking. After nearly twenty years in the league, I could be headed to the big dance once more.
I clapped twice to signal the snap, called “Hut,” and caught the ball as it came sailing toward me. I shifted and gripped it, laces kissing my knuckles. I did my two-step drop and looked at my wideouts, knowing I wouldn’t be going there. As expected, coverage was great, and the rush was coming, way too many three-hundred-plus-pound bruisers wanting a piece of me. I had a second—my line was holding their own—and I saw Jameson juke his cover guy and come my way.
Excellent.
Faking the pass, I pitched to Jameson just as a linebacker broke free of his cover man and barreled my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jameson execute a perfect spin move and head down the sideline, just as number fifty nailed me with the full weight of his massive form and the power of a locomotive.
I went down hard, the air whooshing out of my lungs as I absorbed the full force of the behemoth on top of me.
And then…
The snap, or pop—maybe both. I couldn’t even tell where it came from exactly, but the entire right side of my body felt like a ball of agony.
The excruciating pain brought bile to my throat and spots to my eyes.
Before I had a chance to fully register what had happened, Quiddich got off me with an extra shove, making me want to vomit, and I heard the roar of the crowd.
Apparently, we’d scored. It was a game-changer for the team, a season-changer, and I tried to feel the euphoria. Unfortunately, I had a sinking suspicion that my football life as I knew it was over. This play was literally life-changing for me.
And that was the last thing I thought before everything went black.
