Chapter 36 Jones
JONES
The lead slips through our fingers as the Indianapolis offense attacks with ferocity in the second half.
Their quarterback marches downfield, earning first down after first down, launching beautiful passes that turn into even more beautiful catches. They pull in front by six.
With crossed arms, I stare at the action on the field, searching for a way for us to regain the lead. Cooper is by my side, and Coach Greenhaven reviews the upcoming play—his plan of attack for when we get the ball again.
Once we do, we trot out to the field, ready, absolutely ready. As the noise in the stadium rises to deafening levels, Cooper drops back in the pocket and I cut across the field in a new route the Indy defense hasn’t seen from us before. Cooper’s arm is a gun, and he takes aim.
My eyes zero in on the ball. All I know is the hunt. Hunt that ball, haul it in, and take it to the end zone. Scan left and right, watch for predators. Dodge this way, dart that way, the target in my crosshairs.
As the ball soars through the air, I race for it. It’s ten feet away, five feet away. It’s in my hands.
A surge of energy lights up my chest, powering me like an electric grid.
It barrels through my legs, and I race, blinders on, the end zone in sight, my guys blocking for me.
At the five-yard line, a touchdown seems a foregone conclusion, but a safety catches up from out of nowhere, slamming into me.
Clutching the ball like the precious cargo it is, I take another huge step, and one more, until all the air spills from my lungs as he hits hard again.
My ears ring.
My bones rattle.
The collision echoes through my body as I crumple. My knee slams against the grass, then the rest of me smashes to the earth in a crush of limbs.
The safety’s legs tangle up with mine, and the heavy weight of his body shoves my knee harder against the ground.
Harder than I’ve felt before.
Then, everything turns into déjà vu.
This must be how Garrett felt when he fell.