Page 64 of After the Snap

Coach leaves me in through the rest of the half, and the Armada keep changing just enough to make us work for what we get. We stall once near midfield and turn another possession into three instead of seven, but I stop treating everything the defense takes away like something I have to win back on the next snap. When the halftime whistle sends us toward the tunnel, the missed opportunities are still there, but they aren’t the first things I reach for. I'm already sorting through what JJ needs to know before the offense becomes his.

He meets me near the bench when we come back out, already wearing his helmet, and I hand him the tablet before he asks for it.

“Sullivan will shorten the middle if they carry too deep, and the back has been getting yards every time they protect against King.” I let go of the tablet, then add, “Don’t get impatient with what they give you.”

JJ’s eyes lift from the screen to mine, and hearing the advice in my voice lands harder than I expect after spending most of the first half learning it the expensive way. “Got it.”

JJ jogs onto the field with the offense, leaving me behind the boundary with my helmet tucked beneath my arm. I’ve spent too many years walking into a huddle, knowing the offense belongs in my hands, for the view from here to feel natural. When JJ looks toward the sideline before his first snap, my body reacts before I can remind it I’m not the quarterback on the field anymore.

Jacksonville’s nickel creeps closer to the line, and my hand comes up before I think about whether I should interfere, two fingers pointing toward the pressure. JJ catches the gesture and changes the protection before the snap, sending the line toward the exact side the Armada attacks and buying himself enough time to find Sullivan underneath for the first down.

“Good,” I mutter as Sullivan turns upfield.

Coach Quinn’s shoulder brushes mine. “You get any closer, they’re going to flag us for twelve men.”

I look down and realize I’ve stepped almost to the boundary. “JJ almost missed the nickel.”

“But he didn’t.”

JJ’s first drive stalls when he sails a throw over King near the boundary, and the frustration is already written across his face when he comes off the field. He reaches for the tablet, then glances at me.

“Had him.” His jaw tightens as he pulls up the play.

Every instinct I have knows what comes next: find the mistake, pull it apart, make sure it never happens again. I also know how useless it would have been if Coach, Sullivan, or anybody else had tried to erase mine for me.

“You’ll get another one.”

JJ looks at me for a second before nodding, and this time, I let him find the answer himself.

On the next possession, JJ lets the offense work instead of forcing the defense to give him something bigger. The run game keeps them moving, Sullivan takes the space underneath, and when the safety finally cheats forward far enough to leave King with room behind the corner, JJ takes the shot.

The ball drops over King’s shoulder near the sideline, and he pulls it against his chest before the corner can recover, keeping his feet in as the hit carries him out. I'm off the bench by the time the official signals the catch.

“That’s it!” I shout.

JJ finishes the drive in the end zone, and when he reaches the sideline afterward, I’m waiting for him. His grin is still visible through his facemask when I catch the back of his helmet and pull him close enough for our shoulder pads to collide.

“Good fucking drive.”

“Thanks.”

I release him, expecting the old calculation to follow—the reminder that every good snap JJ takes is another one Coach could decide belongs to him instead of me. It comes, but it can’t get underneath the pride already sitting hot in my chest, because I still want the job as badly as I did when I walked into the stadium tonight, and watching JJ succeed doesn’t make me want it any less. For the first time, wanting something for myself doesn’t seem to require hoping somebody else loses it.

From the sideline, I watch the offense keep solving problems without me. The line adjusts when pressure comes, Sullivan changes a route when JJ gets flushed from the pocket, and King comes back toward an imperfect throw rather than leaving his quarterback to pay for it. The huddle keeps working whether I’m standing in the middle of it or watching from here.

Jacksonville gets one last chance to close the gap, but our defense forces their quarterback out of the pocket on third down and stops him short of the marker. The sideline surges toward the field as the remaining seconds disappear while Tuck yells something at the younger defenders that gets lost beneath everyone else’s shouting.

Coach catches the back of my shoulder pad as he passes. “Are you coming?”

JJ is already being swallowed by the offense near midfield while Tuck heads toward the defense, and King is trying to insert himself into both celebrations. Sullivan catches me by the shoulder when I reach them on the field and pulls me into the middle before I can decide where I’m supposed to go. JJ is grinning beside me, King is shouting about something nobody is listening to, and Tuck reaches us long enough to slap the back of my shoulder pad before somebody pulls him toward the defense again.

My part in the game finished two quarters ago, but nobody seems interested in whether I threw the touchdowns, turned the ball over, or spent the second half on the sideline. They pull me into the middle anyway, and by the time we turn toward the tunnel, players are peeling away toward the families and staff waiting near the access doors. I answer a few congratulations while King talks beside me, but my attention keeps moving through the people gathered along the corridor until I realize I’m searching for Calliope. When I don’t see her, disappointment hits harder than it has any business hitting before I come around the corner and find her near the wall outside the locker room.

Seeing her makes it easier to breathe before I can pretend I wasn’t looking. She looks up, her eyes moving through the people between us until they find mine, and the smile that spreads across her face feels different from every other one directed at me tonight. Everyone else has been looking at the quarterback Charlotte traded for and congratulating me for what I did in their stadium, but Calliope looks at me like she’s just happy to see me, and my smile answers hers before I can think better of it.

“Callie!” King calls, jerking her attention away from me as he heads toward her.

I follow slowly, trying not to resent him for stepping directly into a moment he doesn’t know existed.