Chapter 14 #2
Turned out Aidan had known what the fuck he was talking about when he said he needed to know how to carve through the Piranhas’ defense, because the Piranhas’ defense was carving them up.
Sitting there with a big fat zero on the board was one thing at the end of the first quarter.
It was another thing to be sitting there, at the end of the third quarter with the same fucking zero on the board.
With Scott Calloway running the defense, the Piranhas had been focusing on bulking up their line, and they were big and fast and tearing through the Thunder’s admittedly great offensive line, especially Ackers’ spot to the right of Aidan.
By the end of the second three-and-out with almost no yards gained, Zane had semi-permanently assigned Lane to blocking duty, giving the Thunder a little extra coverage to deal with the Piranhas’ insanely good defensive line.
But the problem with that was it fucked up all their great two–tight end formations, and as good as Trevor was, he was still struggling with getting double-teamed and getting out into the flat, working as essentially the second receiver to Mo.
“Shit,” Aidan muttered as he flopped down on the bench midway through the third quarter.
The Thunder’s defense had kept the game close—the Piranhas were only up ten points—but if the offense couldn’t move the ball reliably and then get into the end zone, it didn’t matter how close they kept the game.
“We could run the ball more,” Levi suggested. “With Lane on that side, Jaden’s getting some decent yardage in some situations.”
Lane didn’t say that “decent” meant like three yards, and if they ran even more than they already were, there’d be nothing to keep the Piranhas honest. They’d sell out, pulling in their safeties closer, in order to stop the run even more than they already were.
It might work briefly, but it wasn’t a game-winning solution.
Aidan knew it too, because he made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.
“Maybe a turnover—” Mo started to say and Aidan looked over at him, killing the rest of his sentence.
“No,” Aidan said. “We need to figure this shit out.”
A germ of an idea percolated in the back of Lane’s head. But he didn’t know if it would work. Frankly didn’t even know if he should say anything—was terrified, more than usual, of being wrong—but if he said nothing, the chances were they’d lose this game.
Not just for Aidan. For Nate. For him. But for Trevor, too. The very last thing Lane wanted was Trevor’s first taste of playoffs to be tainted with an ugly scoreless loss.
“Run more of those power rush plays next series,” Lane said fast, words tripping over each other, like if he got it out fast, he might be less scared to be wrong.
Turned out he wasn’t really, but he’d gotten it out in the open air, at least.
Four sets of eyes—Aidan, Levi, Mo, and Trevor—all swiveled in Lane’s direction.
“What?” Aidan asked flatly. “You know we can’t—”
“I know,” Lane interrupted him, before Aidan could say that it wouldn’t work. Aidan wasn’t wrong, it wouldn’t work for the rest of the game, but if they could run those, get the Piranhas’ defense even a little more confident, they might over-commit.
And if they did? Well, Lane had an idea of something they could try with that.
“What are you thinking?” Mo asked.
“Put Trevor on the power run package, too,” Lane added.
Aidan frowned. “Why? We’re doing okay without him.”
“Just . . . I want them to be sure he’s not going to split out,” Lane said.
Aidan shoved an empty white board at him. “Show me.”
Lane only had a minute or two to outline his plan. To lull the defense into complacency. And then when the right moment came, to move Trevor over, right before the snap, not giving his defender enough time to switch sides, and then to run a sweep.
“You want us to run a jet sweep?” Aidan asked.
“If they bite on the play, it’ll work,” Lane said, even though he was not sure it actually would.
“Put me on it,” Mo said.
Aidan just shook his head. “Trevor’s quicker than you, bud. And he can stiff-arm the shit out of someone if they do catch up to him.”
Mo made a face. “Getting old is the fucking worst,” he complained.
Lane finally risked a glance over at Trevor, who had a weirdly blank expression on his face.
“This is gonna be a one-time kind of chance,” Aidan muttered.
“It works well, he could get a lot of yards out of it,” Lane promised. “But you’ve got to get us to midfield, at least, to give it a shot.”
Lane had been playing with Aidan for three years now, in multiple kinds of situations.
Losing situations, winning situations, close situations.
But he’d never seen Aidan absorb information and then adopt a new kind of determination.
He’d seen Aidan confident and sure and full of conviction, but he’d never seen this before.
“Got it,” Aidan said, nodding sharply.
On the next play, Nate sacked Kelly, the Piranhas’ quarterback, forcing them to punt again.
The Piranhas’ punter was having the fucking game of his life, Lane thought, as he watched him place the ball all the way down near the five-yard line.
Miami and Coach Dawson probably thought they’d just sealed the game, pinning all the way back there, with a quarter left and a ten-point lead.
But then Coach Dawson didn’t know the kind of stuff Aidan Flynn was made of.
Lane wouldn’t say he pulled the whole team on his back and dragged them down the field towards the fifty-yard line, if only because everyone else, reacting to Aidan’s first play of the drive—a pass that he dodged three Piranhas’ linemen to shoot down the flat to Mo—stepped up, too.
Trevor stayed home on the next play, bolstering the line additionally, and that extra blocking was enough to boost Jaden free for a nice ten-yard run.
Next play, Aidan narrowly avoided a sack, tossing the ball away at the last second. There was a heart-stopping moment where they all thought that maybe the refs would call it intentional grounding. Aidan jogged over to where they were standing in a loose semicircle, debating it.
“Shit,” Levi said.
“Mo was sort of in the vicinity,” Jaden pointed out.
“Sort of,” Mo said wryly.
But whatever Aidan said to them must’ve convinced them, because a second later, they picked up the flag.
Dawson came over, yelling about it, but they held firm, and the Thunder offense lined up for another play.
Aidan looked over at Lane. “What do you think?” he asked.
The problem was that Aidan shouldn’t be asking Lane jack shit; Aidan was the Super Bowl–winning, Pro Bowl quarterback. Not Lane. Not ever Lane. He was out here for pure brawn.
He’d come up with the plan, sure, but maybe they should go with what they were doing—
“Lane,” Trevor barked, interrupting his thought spiral.
“What?”
“You came up with the plan. It’s a good fucking plan. Stop overthinking it.”
“What about—”
“Lane,” Trevor interrupted again. “Fucking quit it. You’re good at this, okay?”
He didn’t think so. It was going to take more than a lucky guess in the perfect situation to change his mind on that assessment, but he could at least own that yes, he’d come up with the plan. He could judge it, or at least try to judge it.
“Yeah, one more,” Lane said.
Aidan nodded.
Called out the play. Another run with Trevor on the line, blocking along with Lane.
And this time, it didn’t work, as predicted, because the offense bit hard and came in hot, nearly tackling Jaden in the backfield. He managed to eke out a yard. Maybe two. But it was clearly time.
The jumbo run package wasn’t going to work.
They were going to need to try the play.
Trevor looked nervous. Terrified, actually. Lane got it. This was a huge moment, in the biggest game of his whole career up til this point. And on top of that, they’d barely practiced jet sweeps all year.
Hadn’t needed to try any real trick plays, because the offense had moved the ball so well it hadn’t been necessary.
But it was necessary now, if they wanted to beat the Piranhas and go to the AFC Championship.
“You got this,” Lane said, nudging Trevor, hoping he was saying with his eyes what he couldn’t say with his mouth. At least not here, and not yet. You’re good. You’re great, even. You’re fucking amazing, actually. And I love you.
“Yeah?”
Lane wanted to tell him so bad but he couldn’t do it here. Not right now. Not in a way that might distract all of them from what they needed to do.
“Yeah,” Lane said. “Nobody else I’d want to be doing it.”
Trevor smiled and then they lined up. Trevor, for the first time on Lane’s side.
Six minutes had ticked down so far. Fourteen left in the game. If they could get a touchdown on this drive, they’d be right in it.
Right before Griff snapped the ball, Trevor pulled up and went in motion, switching to the opposite side of the line, and then before his coverage could follow him, Aidan gave the count and the ball was in his hands.
Then it was in Trevor’s hands.
For a heart-stopping second, Lane thought maybe he’d bobbled it, but no, no, he pulled it in close, and then he was gaining speed around the mostly empty side of the field.
One guy between him and a wide-open expanse on the flat. Mo reached the guy before Lane could and with a stiff-arm that almost felt certainly pointed in Aidan’s direction, he sent the guy sprawling, setting Trevor free to run fifty yards down the sideline and into the end zone.
Lane wasn’t as fast as Trevor, but that had never mattered as little as it did now.
Even though he should be preserving his energy for the remaining drive, nothing on earth was going to keep Lane from keeping up as much as he could, sprinting two and a half steps behind Trevor, and being the one there, to grab him and lift him up, right after he crossed the goal line.
He’d known. He’d just known, and the joy shining in Trevor’s eyes, out of every pore, told Lane that now Trevor knew, too. And that was even bigger than any touchdown could ever be.
But the touchdown was pretty freaking cool, too.