Page 188 of Just One More Thing

I stop thinking so hard and start seeing.

The field widens. The rush slows down. My feet know where to go before my head gives the order.

Third quarter. I hit Warrick deep for thirty-eight yards, and the stadium shakes.

Two plays later, I find Ryan in the seam for twenty-two more. He gets drilled the second the ball arrives but hangs on. He gets up slow and then points at me.

I point back.

We score on the next play. Warrick in the back of the end zone, fully extended, one foot dragging the chalk.

Bucs 14. Panthers 19.

Fourth quarter. We’re on the Panthers’ forty and down by five. Their defensive line is coming hard every snap, like they know this drive is the one.

Three plays move us inside the twenty before a holding penalty pushes us back.

Next play, Ryan runs an out route, and I put it where only he can get it. He goes up over the defender and comes down at the twelve.

Two runs. Four yards.

The ball is on the eight.

Final drive. Fourth and goal.

A field goal does nothing for us.

We huddle. Helmets in tight. Breath hot. Everybody listening.

“PEA PIE. PEA PIE. RIGHT ON ONE.”

I look at Ryan. He knows.

We break.

I line up under center and scan the defense. The safety shades Ryan’s side. They know where I want to go.

The ball snaps.

I drop back. Three steps. Five.

Ryan breaks for the back right corner of the end zone.

I pump.

Shit. He’s covered.

Pressure crashes from the left.

I roll right.

A defender blows through. Wayne meets him with everything he’s got. The hit echoes. Pads clash. They grunt and growl through the hit.

I tuck the ball. Then I stop thinking like a quarterback and run like a player with eight yards left.

The eight.

The five.