Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Standing behind the line of scrimmage, hands braced on his hips while the officials reset the ball, Decker let the roar of the stadium roll over him.
Eighty thousand people on their feet, clapping, shouting, chanting.
The turf still carried the sharp smell of rubber and grass kicked loose by cleats.
Man, he loved this. Out here, there was no room for anything except the next read, the next throw, the next collision. The noise in his head disappeared. The ache disappeared. Every part of him locked on to one thing: win the down. Win the drive. Win the game.
Simple.
Clean.
For a few hours, he didn’t have to be a person. He only had to be The Machine.
The scoreboard glowed above the far end zone.
Reign: 27
Wolverines: 21
Fourth quarter.
Two minutes left on the clock.
And beneath that, in smaller numbers, the stadium cameras kept flashing between plays—
Career Passing Yards: 24,301
One hundred and twenty yards short of the record.
Decker rolled his shoulders once, loosening the tension that had settled across his upper back. The ankle felt solid when he shifted his weight. No wobble. No hesitation in the joint when he planted.
I’m back.
He jogged toward the huddle while the offense gathered around him, the familiar rhythm settling in automatically.
“Trips right,” he said, voice calm, confident. “Forty-six shallow cross.”
The linemen nodded.
The huddle broke.
As he stepped up to the line, Decker glanced quickly across the defensive front and let instinct take over. Two safeties high. Nickel coverage. The linebacker cheating a half step toward the B gap.
They expected a short gain.
He tapped his helmet and shifted the protection.
The ball snapped into his hands.
Three-step drop.
The pocket held just long enough for the crossing route to clear the linebacker’s shoulder. Decker planted hard, driving off the ankle that had once threatened to end his season, and sent the ball slicing through the air.
Completion.
The receiver tumbled across the forty-yard line.
The crowd exploded.
Ninety-seven yards to go.
Decker jogged back toward the huddle while teammates slapped his helmet. Their excitement washed over him.
Maybe not quite like it used to, though. Which was strange.
Usually, he could feel this kind of momentum like electricity under his skin.
Now, the feeling was quieter. Almost distant.
The next drive carried them down the field in disciplined chunks of yardage. A quick slant. A screen pass. A tight window thrown down the seam that made his coaches shout their approval into their microphones.
By the time the clock dipped under thirty seconds, the offense stood just outside the red zone.
Fourteen yards.
That was all that separated him from making history.
The huddle tightened around him, helmets nearly touching.
“Same play.” Decker broke the huddle and stepped behind center.
The stadium had gone from roaring to buzzing, that electric anticipation that builds when everyone in the building understands something big is about to happen.
The snap came clean.
The defensive end crashed hard off the edge, collapsing the pocket faster than Decker expected. Instinct took over. He stepped forward and flicked the ball toward the back corner of the end zone, where his receiver had slipped behind the safety.
For a moment everything slowed.
The ball arced through the air.
The receiver leapt, hands up.
The ball landed perfectly in the pocket of his arms.
Touchdown.
The stadium detonated.
Sound slammed into Decker from every direction as his teammates rushed him, helmets knocking against his shoulder pads while they shouted and jumped and pounded his back hard enough to rattle his teeth.
Someone grabbed his facemask and yelled something about “fucking legend.”
Another player shoved him playfully toward the sideline while the scoreboard flashed the updated number in massive white digits.
24,421
A new record.
For a moment, Decker stood in the center of the chaos, breathing hard, while the stadium roared its approval.
He’d done it.
It was awesome. He was proud of himself, proud of his team. They didn’t have nearly enough practice time together, but they’d all pulled it together to get him over the finish line.
It mattered.
It did.
So why did he feel so flat?
When the celebration finally broke apart, he jogged toward the sideline and pulled off his helmet, the cool air hitting the sweat dampening his hair.
He looked for his little girl. Birdie stood near the bench, wearing a tiny team hoodie that hung to her knees.
Her blonde curls were divided into two high ponytails.
She looked cute. She had one small hand wrapped around the nanny’s fingers while the woman crouched beside her, pointing toward the field.
Birdie’s face glowed with delight.
She looked safe. Happy.
Anya was a good nanny.
But a sharp jerk of reality hit him all at once.
My daughter’s bonding with the wrong woman.
The thought struck his bones and reverberated throughout his body.
Did I fuck this up?
Did I get it wrong?
But no, he had a contract. This is my job. Every parent went through the same struggles, trying to balance parenting with work. Regrets, doubts, it was normal.
Decker forced himself to turn back to his team, his coaches, and the family and staff rushing the field.
Even after putting Birdie to bed, Decker still couldn’t settle down.
The adrenaline from the win was still running high, and game playbacks ran through his mind.
Typical, but maybe he was a little more wired tonight than usual.
He headed into the kitchen for his ice wrap.
Grabbing it, he settled on the couch with his phone.
The quiet of his house after Birdie went to sleep still unnerved him. One little three-year-old made a lot of noise. He’d grown to like it.
He’d watch film in the morning, but there were a couple of plays he wanted to take a look at. Except instead of opening the file, he read the last text messages from Willa.
Willa: I don’t want to lose what we had to distance and missed calls, to resentment when we keep missing each other. Beat your records, be the best dad you can be. And maybe one day, we’ll find each other again.
Willa: Best road trip ever.
It didn’t have to be over. They could stay in touch.
Like right now, I could call her.
Except she’d be working on her case. She’d feel obligated to talk, but she’d be thinking about how much work she had left to do. She’d be torn.
And he couldn’t be the reason she fucked up this case that meant so much to her.
It wasn’t over, but they couldn’t be together now. When the season ended, he’d check in with her.
You know what? He knew himself. He was too restless to settle down.
Decker: Heading out for about an hour. You good with Birdie?
Anya: Absolutely. I’ll bring my book into the living room, in case she needs anything.
Grabbing his keys, he headed into the garage and took off.
Zach’s steel and glass house was situated on a hill overlooking Los Angeles. Decker buzzed in the code for the privacy gate and drove the long, winding driveway. His mentor had all the privacy a star quarterback could ever want.
Zach opened the door before Decker could knock. “You did it, man.” Grinning, he pulled him into a quick embrace. “Hell of a game.”
“Thanks.”
Inside, the house looked like a shrine to football. Glass cases held Super Bowl rings that glittered under soft lights. Framed jerseys hung along the walls beside photographs of confetti raining down on championship celebrations.
Every surface told the story of an elite career. But as Decker followed Zach deeper into the house, he focused on the hundreds of framed photos of his friend’s children.
Birthdays. Graduation ceremonies. Soccer games on muddy fields.
This man had it all.
His pulse quickened. That was exactly the reinforcement he needed. He was damn glad he’d come there tonight.
“Let’s celebrate.” Zach poured two glasses of bourbon. “Not enough guys get it. They want the money and the glory, but they don’t understand what it takes.”
Decker took the offered glass, rolling it between his palms. “It was a lot easier before Birdie. Now, my focus is…split.”
Help me figure it out.
Help me be the best dad and quarterback at the same time.
“It’s new.” Zach sipped his drink. “But you’re building a system. You control what you can, and the rest, you rely on your team.”
It sounded right. He’d heard it all before.
“But you don’t let anything pull you off the line,” Zach said. “That’s the difference between us and the other guys. The ones who don’t last.”
“Well, Birdie pulls me off the line,” Decker said. “That’s a fact of my life now.”
Zach’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and set his glass down. “Hang on.” He answered, “Hey, buddy.” And mouthed, My son, to Decker.
As they talked, Decker glanced around. The mudroom was spotless.
No pile of shoes like at his dad’s house.
No mountain of laundry. In all the years Decker had visited his mentor, he’d never heard Zach complain about the normal things kids do.
“Why the hell can’t they take their dirty dishes to the sink? ”
That’s because none of his kids live here.
“Let me check my calendar.” Zach headed to the built-in desk in his kitchen.
“No, I can’t do it. I’ll be in Miami that week.
” He straightened, crossing an arm over his chest. “Sure. How much do you need?” He pulled a pen out of a drawer and scrawled something down.
“I’ll send it tonight.” After he disconnected, he shot Decker a grin.
“Teenagers. Wait till it’s your turn. You’re nothing but a wallet. ”
But that wasn’t true. His son had asked him to show up, and Zach had chosen his trip to Miami.
He could’ve made a different choice.
I don’t want to send Birdie money.