Page 87 of Hell or High Water
“An unbelievable play doesn’t cancel out every mistake,” Nate reminded him.
Jordan made a face. “Whatever, man,” he said.
Nate walked away not sure if he’d made a dent. He was hopeful, at least, but not convinced.
Still, when they took the field after Aidan took the Thunder’s offense down the field, Dawson hitting a matching field goal,it seemed that Nate’s optimism wasn’t misplaced, because Jordan’s position was better.
This time they didn’t let Barkley rip off a big run, and after only one first down, the Eagles were forced to punt.
It was one of those games, Nate thought as the final minutes ticked down, that left you weary and exhausted to the very marrow of your bones. Each and every yard for both teams had been hard fought.
They hadn’t given up another big run to Saquon Barkley, and they hadn’t even given up a big play to Hurts, but the special teams guys had given up a big punt return in the third quarter and that had set them up for a fairly easy touchdown, no matter what Nate and his guys had tried to do to stop it.
And for the first time in what felt all season, Aidan and the offense had been stymied, barely able to put drives together.
Cam was getting more work as a punter than he had all season.
Games like this happened. It was just football. Sometimes the breaks didn’t fall your way, and a team was better suited or even better prepared to handle what you were good at. That seemed to be the case today.
Nate had just hoped that in the end, it might go their way. But it didn’t.
They lost by three, the Eagles hitting one last field goal.
Nate’s body ached as he tipped his head back in the showers.
He dressed, dealing briefly with the media questions, and half an hour later, they were filing onto the plane, a quiet, subdued bunch.
It was only their second loss of the year, but that didn’t mean it didn’t suck either.
Especially because it felt like this one should have been the Thunder’s kind of game.
Even Jordan, joining the card players at the back of the plane, was quiet-ish.
As he slumped into his seat, Nate was grateful because he didn’t have the energy to fucking deal with his bullshit tonight.
He pulled out his phone and turned it on, letting all the messages filter in.
One from his dad, telling him that he’d played great, and sometimes the breaks didn’t go their way.
Another from his agent, congratulating him on his two tackles for loss and his sack in the fourth quarter. Wisely, Ian didn’t bring up the actual game result, because they’d been together a long time, and he had to know that if Nate had to choose between individual stats and team success, he’d pick the latter every single fucking time.
A text from Deacon.Good game, tough loss,was all it said. Deacon would understand. Deaconalwaysunderstood.
Nate scrolled through the rest of the texts—various friends and family members peppered with some old college teammates and even a few from guys he’d played with on the Condors—but his thumb froze when he got to one particular text.
He hadn’t expected to get one from Ramsey, and when he opened their conversation, his stomach fluttered, because there was way more than just one.
Ramsey had clearly been texting him throughout the whole game.
There were easily a dozen texts here, and Nate could easily identify what had driven Ramsey to send each and every one.
He’d started with something about Jordan being out of position—Nate would have to give him some shit for watching enough football this year to know that much—and then he praised him for that crazy batted pass of Brown’s. He made a comment or two about Nate’s prowess, including his third quarter sack, that made Nate’s heart beat a little bit faster, and then he wrapped up the whole analysis of the game by only saying one thing.
Hard fought loss. Keep your head up.
The plane took off, and the plane quieted more.
While Nate was scrolling back and through the messages, reading them three, four, five times—that last time through was between him and his phone—another text popped in.
