Chapter Twenty-Six Denver
Piper woke before his alarm. The elevation in Denver always messed with his sleep.
He stared at the ceiling as he tried to get his body to connect with his head and get the fuck up.
His body always did this on game days. The difference was that it rarely attached itself to anything specific. He always had a blank drive to perform.
Today felt different.
He tried not to think too hard about it.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, moving into the routine before his mind could follow.
By the time he reached the kitchen of the suite, the light had shifted just enough to outline the windows. He made coffee and poured it into his protein shake.
***
At the facility, Tank didn’t bother pretending Piper was okay.
“Looking dialed, bro,” he said as Piper walked in.
“It’s game day, of course I fucking am.”
Piper grabbed his tape and started wrapping his wrist. He pulled it tighter than necessary.
“They’ll bring pressure early,” Piper said.
“I know.”
“Make sure you’re set before the snap.”
“I’m always set.”
“Last week you weren’t.”
Tank paused.
“That was one rep.”
“It was two.”
Tank gave him a look. He wasn’t annoyed at Piper, but was aware of the vibe.
“I’m set today,” he said.
Piper nodded.
“Good.”
He stood, dropped the tape, and picked up a ball.
“Go throw,” Tank said.
Piper threw the ball and it came out clean, sharp, and controlled.
His ribs didn’t agree with the second throw. He could feel a small flare. He had taken a hit late in practice on Thursday but ignored it. He adjusted his stance and kept going.
By the sixth practice throw, it was gone. Or far enough away to not matter.
***
The first drive of the game ended in a field goal. Score: L.A. 3, Denver 0.
Three and out by Denver followed.
Next drive, second and seven on the Denver thirty-eight, the linebacker got through the gap. Piper saw him coming and knew the throw was open, and he was not going to be standing when the ball arrived.
He released.
The hit came across his lower rib in a single blow that drove the air out of him before the pain did. He went sideways, took it on his shoulder going down, and the crowd noise pulled back.
Then the noise came back. The rib arrived with it; a line of fire under his pad on the right side burned through his body. The ball was gone. Completion, thirty-one yards.
He got up.
He got up the way he always got up, without putting a hand down to help himself. Tank was already jogging over.
“FUCK, you okay?” Tank said quietly as he grabbed Piper. “Don’t grab it. Go get it checked out.”
“No, I gotta finish this,” Piper stubbornly replied.
He ran the next rep off pure mechanics. The rib told him exactly where it was every time he twisted at the waist. He did less of that for the rest of the drive.
The drive ended in a field goal. Score: L.A. 6, Denver 0.
On the sideline, Tank stepped in close.
“Ribs?”
“All good.”
“You’re throwing it differently.”
“It’s fine,” Piper said, trying to get Tank to leave it alone.
“You’re lying,” he said.
“I’m playing.”
Tank let it go.
Third drive, Piper saw it before the snap. Safety late over the top. He took the snap and waited one beat longer than the rib wanted him to and released on rhythm.
Touchdown.
He didn’t celebrate. The receiver slapped his helmet once, hard, and ran on. Score: L.A. 13, Denver 0.
The ribs were louder now. FUCK JOAN, get me through this shit, I’m on fire and so are my ribs.
Denver started to show life and scored before the half on a long drive that ate up the rest of the second quarter. Score: L.A. 13, Denver 7.
Piper watched it from the sideline with a Gatorade, and the rib pain getting worse. He still refused to get checked by medical staff in fear he would get pulled from the game.
At halftime, the trainers wanted to look at it. He let them, but assured them it was nothing, so he went back out.
The third quarter was slower. Denver’s defense started to crash out. Windows closed faster. Piper threw less and threw shorter. Each team got a field goal out of it. Score: L.A. 16, Denver 10.
Then, on second and goal from the seven with four minutes left, Piper saw the corner inside again. Same look as the third drive.
He took the snap. His rib on fire.
Touchdown. Score: L.A. 23, Denver 10.
He did not celebrate, the pain was too extreme. He walked off the field, helmet in one hand, the offensive line forming around him, and he let them celebrate the moment.
Denver scored once more in garbage time. He took a knee twice.
He shook the hands he was supposed to shake.
Final score: L.A. 23, Denver 17.
He won in extreme pain, which was sort of his style.
***
Back in the locker room, Rihanna’s Bitch Better Have My Money blasted over the speakers. Piper sat near his locker feeling defeated regardless of the win.
The room around him was like every locker room after every road win. Loud and full of life, but Piper hollow.
Then he got up to shower.
His phone buzzed. It was Noah. Hey sexy, nice game, is your rib ok? I know you are currently ignoring me but I will be in L.A. for a shoot with some shitty pizza company. Would love to see you and kiss that rib better.
Piper stared at his phone.
Fuck, Joan, I NEED to see him.