Chapter 29
Vee
From the moment we arrived in Denver, my schedule was full.
I accompanied my ops coordinator on the stadium inspection of Empower Field at Mile High.
While Denver was ultimately responsible for the kickoff countdown, as the visiting team, we had responsibilities.
Along with that, I tried to stick with Drew Pratt whenever possible.
Troy Dennison became my very helpful assistant. Maybe in all actuality, I was his. I knew deep down that I wouldn’t be capable of having the discussions we were about play calling if it hadn’t been for the afternoon in my office with Fin and checkers.
On the few occasions my path crossed Fin’s, it felt as though he made a concerted effort to look in the other direction or avoid me. It may have been my ego talking, but if it was, it was a bruised ego.
Sunday morning, the kickoff countdown went into high gear. With the game scheduled for 4:05 p.m. Eastern time—2:05 p.m. in Denver—the four-hour countdown began at 10:05 a.m.
Lip and Grant were with Dad and Daphne in a suite.
Uncle Darin and Aunt Rachel flew in on Saturday.
We’d all gotten together for Sunday breakfast. I was the one who left early, to get to the field in time for the one-hundred-minute security meeting.
While I wasn’t involved in the meeting, that meeting was the real kickoff of activities.
As the Coopers went out on the field for the last practice, Cody Simpson made his way over to Troy. I moved away, giving them some time alone to talk. When I turned, Fin had joined their exclusive group.
Lifting my chin, I walked toward them. “Have a great game.”
“Thank you, Ms. Maeve,” Cody said. “Glad to be wearing the Coopers amber again.”
I smiled. “Looks good on you.” I met Fin’s gaze. His black eye was now green and yellow. “Mr. Graham.”
“Ms. Hubbard.” He turned and walked onto the field.
Shit.
Denver won the coin toss.
The Coopers would receive the ball to start the game.
With my earpiece in my ear, I listened to the calls, checked my notes, and watched as the players moved on the field. Both defenses were top-notch. The first quarter ended without a score. As the second quarter began, I realized Drew’s play calling was ultraconservative.
Was he worried about Fin’s throwing arm?
Another four and out. Our running backs weren’t making enough progress.
Denver got the ball to our forty-yard line. It was fourth and inches with a minute left in the half. I clenched my teeth as we waited for Denver’s decision. Would they attempt a fifty-seven-yard field goal or try for a first down?
Their offense came back on the field and lined up.
Holding my breath, I prayed our defense would not jump early. With only two seconds left on the snap clock, Denver called a time-out. Air rushed from my lungs. Coach Brown, our defensive coordinator’s voice, came through my earpiece.
The likelihood of hitting a fifty-seven-yard field goal was statistically a little over fifty percent. However, Denver’s field-goal kicker had hit a sixty-two-yard field goal in game one of the season. Troy and I stood near one another as they snapped the ball.
Our defense rushed.
Denver’s holder fumbled the ball.
Flag—was there a flag on the play?
Malik Johnson, one of our cornerbacks scooped up the ball and took off.
My body tensed as I watched Malik run.
“To the fifty. To the forty. To the thirty.”
I balled my fist, willing Malik to stay in bounds.
“Touchdown, Lexington,” came from the stadium speakers.
Turning, I looked down the bench. The entire team was on their feet, cheering their teammate. As Malik came off the field, he was greeted by back slaps and pats. There was enough time left in the first half to kick the ball to the Broncos.
Our defense held.
However, since we lost the coin toss, our defense would be back on the field as soon as the second half began. Thankfully, it was four and out for Denver to start the second half.
I listened as Drew sent his calls to Fin’s helmet. Two more conservative calls. It was third and four. In my head, I was screaming, “Call a pass play.” I recalled Dad telling me that I was on the sideline to observe—not micromanage and not make calls.
Next, was the call—play fifty-seven.
I looked down at my notes and shook my head.
Why the hell wasn’t Drew letting Fin pass?
The ball was snapped. Fin handed it off to Dijon Ortiz, a running back. The gap closed. The stadium let out a collective groan. I looked up at the jumbotron.
Shit.
I’d been watching the wrong player. Fin had faked to Ortiz, and I totally fell for it.
Fin hadn’t handed off the football; instead, he ran the ball, sliding feet first with a six-yard gain and a first down.
It took all my control not to jump up and down and cheer. Grant would have a fit if that picture was in tomorrow’s Lexington Herald. That didn’t mean I tried to subdue my smile. “Good job, Fin,” I said under my breath.
Denver scored a touchdown and a field goal in the fourth quarter. Our defense was exhausted. Playing at this altitude didn’t help, even with a few extra days to acclimate. With five minutes to go, we were down seven to ten. The Coopers’ offense took the field.
After a fair catch, the ball was placed on the Coopers’ twenty-five-yard line.
On the first play, Fin threw a thirty-yard pass to Kylon Lewis, our wide receiver.
He’d been wide open. Denver’s defense wasn’t expecting a pass play.
Fin called for no-huddle offense, hurrying our team back to the line of scrimmage.
The whistles blew and flags flew. Fin had caught the defense with an illegal formation and a five-yard penalty.
We were now in Bronco territory.
I looked up at the clock. There was still a lot of time. A field goal would tie the game. A touchdown would have us ahead. Drew was telling Fin to use clock. The ground game was wearing down our backs as well as our O line.
Another third and inches, just outside the red zone. Holt, our kicker, was a pretty sure thing forty-five yards or less. Fin needed to get us closer.
This time, I watched for the fake.
It wasn’t a fake. Fin handed the ball to Morgan, our fullback. The O line opened the gap. Morgan was stopped at the fifteen-yard line. It was a great run. “Good job, Morgan,” I said to myself.
Drew called a time-out.
From my earpiece I heard Drew’s side of the conversation with Fin. From what I could decipher, Fin wanted to go for the touchdown. While I couldn’t voice my opinion, I agreed. Drew told him not to do anything heroic. We had time to settle for the field goal.
After the snap, Fin settled for a short pass to Patel. As he threw, the ball was tipped.
It sailed into the air.
Time stood still as it was narrowly missed by Denver’s defensive end and hit the ground. The ball was dead. Up on the jumbotron, I saw the replay. As Fin threw, he was hit from the side and slow to get up.
Whistles blew.
Tilson, Drew, and the medical team ran onto the field.
My heart ached in my chest as I stood helplessly on the sidelines.