He breathed in, eyes locked on the linebacker who’d given him shit.
The linebacker grinned. Blew him another kiss.
“Hut!” Colton shouted. He took the ball from between Art’s legs and bounced back. Passed it off to Orlando in a flash of white and orange. Then he roared and charged.
The entire line exploded upward, two thousand pounds of raging linemen moving as one, thundering right through the Mississippi defense. They put each defender in the dirt, toppled them on their asses, and then kept going, charging the linebackers. The linebackers and the corners froze. This wasn’t a play from any playbook, and they had no idea how to react to it, to an all-out offensive charge. They shifted left and then right, trying to track the ball as the full fury of Wes’s teammates bore down on them.
Wes ran with Josh, and Colton appeared beside them, and all three of them ran down the middle linebacker and hefted him up, then brought him to the dirt as they heard the whistle blow.
“Listen up, you fuck,” Colton growled into the linebacker’s face mask. “We’ll fucking take you out every play if we have to. Until you shut your fucking mouth.”
“Man, get off me!”
“You just got tackled by the fucking quarterback.” Colton put his hand on the linebacker’s helmet and used it to push himself up. “Enjoy that replay on ESPN.”
Hands grabbed Wes’s pads and hauled him up. He spun, but it was just Art, grinning at him. He had grass stuck to his face mask, and his arm was bleeding from a six-inch scrape, but he was smiling ear to ear. Wes held out his hand for Josh, and they jogged back to the huddle.
The defense was still picking themselves up out of the grass. One player looked like he was about to hurl. Substitutions were running out onto the field. On the Texas sideline, Coach Young was staring at his clipboard with his play card over his mouth. Wes could see the crinkles around his eyes, though.
“Well done,” Colton said. He called the next play, giving the ball to Wes.
Wes caught Colton’s pass and ran for twelve yards before one of the linebackers brought him down. Not a single one of Mississippi’s players opened their mouth.
They fought for each down, grinding out yards in a series of first, second, and third downs, then fought for another first down. By the time they made it to the red zone, close enough to make a play for a touchdown, they were all sucking wind in the huddle, their hands on their knees. Colton called the play, a diamond sweep, and locked eyes with Wes. “Get to the end zone,” he said, panting. “I’ll put it in your hands.”
When the ball snapped, Wes burst off the line, running flat out before fading to the right and the back corner of the end zone. He had three defenders on him, jostling him, shoving him out of sight of the refs. He turned and saw Colton launch the ball.
He breathed in, felt the beat of his heart. Imagined the ball soaring through the air. Saw the pass from Colton’s vantage point. He counted, and then leaped. His hands rose over his head, fingers spread wide—
The ball slammed into his palms, and he squeezed, pulling the football down to his chest as he let gravity take over. He and all three defenders went down to the painted grass inside the end zone. Whistles blew, and he saw refs throw their hands up. Heard the stadium go wild.
Touchdown.
He got to his feet, bellowing as Colton and Josh and Patrick came running for him. Orlando and Art slapped his helmet, and they screamed nonsense into each other’s face masks. He turned to the VIP box and blew another kiss. For you, Justin.
“Fuck,” Colton said on the sideline, pouring water over his face as they watched special teams set up for the point-after kick. “That was the hardest six points we’ve ever earned.” He grinned. “But also the best.”
Their defense fought hard and held Mississippi to a field goal, and then they were back on the field. They ground through the end of the first and into the second quarter, and they got three first downs before they had to call for special teams to come out and try for a field goal.
Wes and Colton moved from player to player, crouching down and checking in with everyone in between plays. What did they need, and how were they holding up?