Page 63 of After the Snap

Near midfield, King comes back to the huddle after another short completion and leans closer. “Corner’s sitting on the outside now. If I sell it hard, he’s going to jump.”

Sullivan glances toward him. “Safety’s still over the top.”

“He’s late.”

“But he’s still there.”

I’m already picturing the route before we break the huddle, seeing him planting hard enough to make the corner commit before turning upfield into the space behind him. If the safety hesitates for even half a second, there’ll be a window.

The call coming in is a run to the opposite side, and my first instinct is to change it. Then Jacksonville shifts with King, pulling a linebacker away from the side we’re attacking, and our center points out the opening to the guard beside him. I could still change it, but I settle under center and leave the call alone. Our back takes the handoff and follows the right side through the gap the line opens for him. He reaches the second level untouched before the safety comes downhill, then lowers his shoulder and carries the hit several more yards before going down.

We keep taking what they give us after that. Sullivan holds on to a throw across the middle through contact, and when Jacksonville finally leaves King enough room near the sideline, the tackle who got beaten on my fumble keeps the edge clean long enough for me to find him. By the time we reach the red zone, the defense has crept closer to the line because we’ve made the shorter gains hurt them all the way down the field.

Coach sends in the next call with us inside the ten, but before I can repeat it, our back nods toward the defense. “Linebackers are crashing every time I cross your face.”

Sullivan wipes a hand across his face mask. “Mine too.”

“Safety’s cheating down,” King adds.

I look from one of them to the next and then toward the defense, fitting the pieces together until I can see exactly what the Armada is about to do. Even then, I repeat the call without changing it.

The snap reaches me as our back crosses in front, and I extend the ball toward his stomach long enough to pull the linebacker and safety downhill. When I draw it back, Sullivan is already slipping into the space behind the linebacker while King gets a step on his corner near the back of the end zone. For one heartbeat, I have both throws again—the shot that could turn into something spectacular and the shorter ball already waiting in front of me. This time, I don’t make Sullivan wait. I put the pass on his chest and let him decide what happens after the catch.

He catches it and turns upfield just as the linebacker recovers. The first hit twists his shoulders, but Sullivan keeps his legs moving while King abandons the back of the end zone and gets enough of the second defender to keep him from closing cleanly. Sullivan drives through the contact and falls across the goal line with the ball locked against his chest as the official signals the touchdown.

King reaches him first and grabs at his shoulder pads while Sullivan is still getting to his feet. “That block was elite.”

“You barely touched him.”

“I changed the entire outcome of the play.”

I reach them laughing, and Sullivan catches my eye over King’s shoulder before tapping the ball once against his chest, right where I put it. I see him open underneath again for half a second, except this time there’s no Jacksonville jersey falling on the ball afterward. Sullivan has it standing in the end zone. The rest of the offense closes around us, and when somebody drags me into the middle, I go with them instead of looking toward the sideline for the tablet.

Coach Quinn is waiting when we jog back toward the numbers. “Anything you need to see?”

I glance at the tablet in his hand as I move past him toward the rest of the offense. Sullivan and King are still arguing, with our right tackle and back crowding into the conversation.

“Not yet.”

Coach gives a small nod and hands the tablet to someone else. I take the water bottle waiting for me and sit beside the offense instead.

JJ drops onto the bench beside me and reaches for a water bottle from the crate at our feet. “You know, you’re making my life difficult.”

“Thought you wanted the job.”

“I do. I was hoping you’d have the decency to look mediocre first.” He twists the cap off his bottle and looks toward the field. “What did you see on the touchdown?”

“The safety finally came down because we kept hurting them underneath. Once he committed, Sullivan had the space behind the linebacker.”

“Corner still sitting off King?”

“Until King convinces him that’s a bad idea.”

“I heard that,” King calls from farther down the bench.

“Nobody was talking to you,” Sullivan tells him.

King immediately starts arguing, but JJ is still looking at me, waiting for anything else I have. A few hours ago, I would have expected giving the man competing for my job an advantage to scrape against something ugly inside me. Instead, I point toward Jacksonville’s sideline. “Watch the nickel when you go in. He’s giving away which side the pressure is coming from.”