Devon Drake, Cornerback Read online

  The bus pulled up in front of the stadium, and the men rose. The Kid shook Devon’s hand then followed Mahoney off. Devon found the locker assigned to him. He took off his suit and tie and pulled out his gear. The men warmed up in the training room before heading out to the field. Fans had begun filing in to take their seats, even though kickoff time was over an hour away.

  Griff Montgomery’s sweaty brow furrowed when he approached Devon. “Anything I should know about the Sidewinders?”

  Brodsky joined them.

  “Both you guys gotta watch out for Jeremiah West.”

  “What number?” Griff asked.

  “Thirty-Seven. He likes to hurt quarterbacks. And he’s huge.”

  Devon swore Griff’s face got two shades paler.

  Bull clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Griff. I’ve got this ape.”

  Coach Bass called the team together for some last minute instructions. He also warned about West. Then, he turned to Devon Drake. “I’m counting on you to shut down Norville Lucas. You know him. Can you do it?”

  The cornerback nodded, though he wasn’t sure. He limbered up his leg muscles and joined his teammates as they lined up. Outside were wild fans, clouds of confetti, bands playing, and total chaos. They had to focus through all the commotion and get their game on. Griff led the pack, running onto the field to stand for the Star Spangled Banner. The spectators went crazy. The noise was deafening. Devon smiled to see thousands of people waving and cheering.

  He placed his hand over his heart, held his helmet, and sang along with Emerald, who was performing the national anthem. Griff slapped a few hands as he went out to the coin toss. Devon held his breath. If they were lucky and won, they’d kick off. Losing meant receiving, and kicking off for the start of the second half. The men were almost superstitious about it. They needed to win.

  Griff picked heads, but the coin came up tails. His face was grim as he returned to the bench. They had to receive.

  “That’s okay. That’s okay. Go out there and score,” Coach Bass said, slapping them on the shoulders and pumping a fist.

  Buddy Carruthers and Bullhorn Brodsky ran out onto the field behind Griff. Devon paced while watching the game.

  The Kid followed him. “Don’t worry. They’ll pull it out. I know we can win.”

  Just as they set, Devon saw number thirty-seven, Jeremiah West, glance over at the Kings’ bench. He shot his middle finger up for a second then looked away. Devon began to sweat.

  The kick-off went straight toward Buddy Carruthers. He caught it on the seventeen yard line and took off, weaving in and out of Sidewinders until he was taken down on the thirty-five.

  After a brief huddle, the ball was hiked to Montgomery. Buddy went out for the pass, but a defenseman was on his tail. Brodsky faced off with West, angling to keep the big man away from Griff. Caleb Turner was unguarded, so the QB rifled the ball to him.

  Bull took his eye off West for one moment to see Turner make the catch, and the big man charged through, scattering offensive linemen like rag dolls. He made a beeline for Griff. Brodsky yelled at the QB. Griff turned in time to slide to the ground, just before Jeremiah hit him. The defender fell on top of Montgomery anyway.

  The whistle blew. Roughing the passer was called. A fifteen yard penalty was added to the seventeen yards Caleb had gained, putting the Kings in the red zone on the eighteen yard line. Bull offered the quarterback a hand up. Fortunately, Griff was okay. The crowd cheered as he prepared for another play.

  “That asshole just put us in field goal range,” Devon said to The Kid.

  The next two plays went nowhere, as the Sidewinders ratcheted up their defense. A gain of one yard was followed by a loss of five, as Jeremiah West sacked Griff. Devon held his breath until he saw the quarterback push to his feet, uninjured.

  Coach Bass was chewing gum at a hundred miles an hour and pacing. He stopped when the ball was snapped. The fake pass play was in motion. Griff stepped back then handed the ball to Buddy, who charged through a hole in the line and zoomed toward the goal-line at lightning speed. He was taken down on the five.

  The men on the bench stood up and yelled. Devon glanced up in the stands and smiled to see his sister and Stormy on their feet, their hands waving and their mouths open. As he took his attention back to the field, he noticed Bullhorn looking up in Samantha’s direction. Dev’s lips compressed into a thin line. That fucker. But he didn’t have time to think about it. He had to focus on the game.

  The next play, the quarterback sneak worked perfectly, as Griff hurled himself over the goal-line just seconds before being taken down by West. The fans and the team went wild. Coach Bass did his little dance as they set up to kick the extra point. Several players slapped Robbie Anthony, the kicker, on the back as he put on his helmet and loped onto the field. The kick was good, and the Kings moved ahead, seven to zip.

  Devon got ready too, as it was time for him to get in motion. The kickoff return landed the Sidewinders on their own thirty yard line. Devon trotted to his position. He locked gazes with Norville Lucas, who smiled and nodded once. Devon had liked Lucas when they were together on the same team. They had kidded each other who would be victorious if they came up against each other in a game. Guess we’ll find out today who’s better, Lucas or me.

  The cornerback felt a surge of energy as the ball was hiked. He found Lucas and shadowed him, keeping his eyes on the wide receiver’s hips. Though Norville was pretending to go to the outside, his hips were turned toward centerfield. His dad had taught him how to use this technique of following where the wide receivers hips were pointing to stick to his man. He became Lucas’ second skin, forcing the Sidewinder’s quarterback, Anderson Boyer, to pass to another player.

  “Think you can beat us?” Norville said, after the whistle blew.

  “Damn right.”

  “Good luck.”

  The men parted with a smile as they returned to their own teams to set up for the next play. The Sidewinders had a short huddle. Again, Devon headed for his man, but he got there a fraction of a second after the ball. Norville caught the pass and made some impressive yardage before he was taken down by Mahoney on the Kings’ forty yard line.

  “Where the fuck were you?” Trunk asked, as he joined Devon on the line.

  Fucking extra weight. Damn it. Shit. Those fancy meals with Jackie. It’s her damn fault. The minute that thought entered his head, he felt like an idiot. Focus. Move your ass.

  They set, and the play began. Devon took off, racing toward Lucas. He knew not to turn and look for the ball until he was on his man. Once he reached Norville, he glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep his eye on Boyer and the ball. The QB backed up, pulling his arm back. His head turned toward Devon, who pushed his legs to move faster. He caught up with Lucas at the same time as the pass.

  Lucas pushed off Devon’s ribs, keeping his hand out of sight. But the cornerback wasn’t going along with that. He tugged Lucas under his armpit, bringing the wide receiver right next to him. He’d learned to do this without the ref seeing, to avoid a penalty.

  Drake leaped into the air, his arm stretched out as far as it could go. Lucas mirrored his actions, but the cornerback owned the inside toward the center of the field, and Lucas was a few inches too far outside. One final stretch to the max, straining his muscles, and Devon’s fingertips grazed the ball. His momentum carried him into it, and though he couldn’t get a grip on it to catch it, he was able to deflect it, tip it, out of Lucas’ reach. There was no one in position to pick off the redirected ball, so it hit the ground.

  Drake glanced at the bench and spied Coach Bass giving him thumbs up. Dev smiled as he turned to Norville. “Ask me again if I think we can win this.”

  Lucas’ frown turned to a smile. “Hardass.”

  The two men broke to return to their respective teams. For a moment, Devon wished he’d had a good friend like Lucas on the Kings. Since he’d gotten there, it had all been about proving himself and dating Jacki
e. Jetting to the Bahamas for the weekend or Los Angeles for a premiere hadn’t left much time for hanging with his teammates.

  The two teams set on the line of scrimmage for the next play. Anderson Boyer faked a pass and handed the ball off to a running back. The Kings were caught off guard. Devon was on the opposite side of the field, keeping tabs on the wide receiver when the Sidewinder’s pulled off the sneak play. The runner got the one block he needed to open the field, and he took off like a jet plane. Before Devon or any of the other Kings defensemen could catch up, the Sidewinder had crossed the goal line.

  Shit! Caught sucking our own dicks. Fuck. Drake didn’t need to peek at the sidelines. He knew what the coach was doing—chewing his wad of gum as fast as a machine gun pumping bullets, arms folded across his chest, and a big frown slapped across his face.

  Norville caught up with Drake as they headed for the extra point play. “Say, what was that again?” He grinned and slapped the cornerback on the shoulder.

  The extra point was good. Devon loped off the field with the rest of the King’s defensemen. He shed his mouth guard and helmet then downed a gulp of water. Plopping down on the bench next to The Kid, he shook his head.

  “They’re good,” The Kid muttered.

  “Yep.”

  Both teams tightened up their defenses during the rest of the first half, keeping the teams to one field goal apiece. At halftime, the score was tied, ten to ten. The men retired to the locker room for Gatorade, juice, and a pep talk from Coach Bass.

  “Drake, we’re moving you. Let Demson handle Lucas. You take Willis. Number twenty-three.”

  “I can handle Lucas.”

  “I know you can, but we’ve got to keep them guessing. You’ll overpower Donovan Willis easy. Just for a few plays. Then, you’ll switch back. Boyer’s been throwing more to Willis since you’ve been shutting down Lucas. We need you to take Willis out of the equation.”

  Devon didn’t believe what the coach was saying and wasn’t sure if the man believed his own words. The cornerback had been keeping up with Norville Lucas, most of the time. But Lucas had gotten some yardage in the first half, and Devon had been kicking himself over it. A shutdown cornerback never lets a play go through. Damn it. Gotta step it up. Tuffer Demson was fresh, not having played yet.

  Drake had to agree with Coach Bass’s decision, even though he didn’t like it. Willis was slower than Lucas, and Devon was a bit fatigued. Fresh meat would keep Lucas covered.

  The cornerback’s legs had become a bit rubbery. A trainer gave him a brief massage before he returned to the field.

  The rest of the game would be daunting, especially since the St. Louis team would receive the ball. The special kick-off team was in place. Lucas got the pigskin. With great coverage, he made it from the twenty yard line to the thirty-five. Devon shoved his mouth guard in, donned his helmet, and headed for the line of scrimmage. He and Robbie Anthony, the kicker, exchanged shoulder bumps as they passed.

  Two running plays had Devon antsy. He wanted some action. He couldn’t prove himself unless he could get near the ball. Sure enough, by the third play the Kings’ defense, led by Mahoney, had stopped the runners, who only made two yards.

  Drake took a deep breath. It was time for a pass. He crouched down, placing his weight on the balls of his feet, waiting for the snap. Boyer called out a series of numbers, and boom, it was in play. Devon took off, shadowing Willis, watching his abdomen turn the opposite way his head was facing. Devon wasn’t fooled. He caught up to his target easily and stayed with him, hogging the inside. When Willis attempted to break away, Devon slapped his thigh, slowing the wide receiver down.

  With Lucas well covered by Demson, Anderson had no choice. He rifled the ball right at Willis and Drake. Devon cut in front of the Sidewinder and launched himself toward the ball. Willis made the same move, and the men collided. The whistle was blown as both players hit the ground. The cornerback landed on his shoulder. Pain seared through him, but was gone in a flash.

  Pass interference was called on Devon. He was furious. He looked at Coach Bass, who signaled him to cool it. Mahoney moved in quickly, pulling a furious, fast-talking Drake away from the referee, who was none too happy to have the man in his face.

  “Willis committed pass interference,” Devon shouted.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Trunk said in a low voice, placing his mammoth paws on Drake’s shoulders, pushing him away from the official.

  Devon glared at his teammate.

  “You’re just gonna make it worse. Calm down. We’ll stop him,” the lineman pressed.

  The fifteen yard penalty put the Sidewinders in the red zone. Devon struggled to stuff his anger down and focus on stopping the other team. But Anderson Boyer wasn’t getting tired, and their offensive line was holding strong. Another running play put them on the ten yard line.

  Sweat started running down Devon’s back. He had to stop this. The only way was to catch a pass. But would Boyer be throwing so close to the line? He didn’t think so. Still, it wasn’t his place to try to outthink the quarterback. He needed to stick to Willis like glue, watch the ball, and intercept any pass attempt.

  The ball was snapped, and Devon took off. Sure enough, Boyer tipped his hand by glancing too often at Willis. The cornerback was confident. He shadowed Willis while glancing up occasionally to keep his eye on the ball. It was coming his way, fast.

  Willis cut in front of him. Devon saw red. No you don’t, asshole. Get outta my way! Boyer overshot his man. Devon saw the ball was coming in too high for Willis. The cornerback backed up, facing the pass, adjusting his position, his feet dancing across the turf, backing him over the goal line. But the ball came too high. He leaped into the air, extending his arm, fingers straight as he reached for the hurtling pigskin.

  He touched it, and in his attempt to nab the end, tipped the ball up in the air. Down it came, right into the arms of Norville Lucas, standing in the goal. It was a touchdown. The crowd went wild. Devon was parallel to the ground and landed with a thud. What the hell? What just happened? Mahoney offered him a hand up.

  They set up for the extra point, and their kicker scored with no difficulty, although the Kings’ defense made an aggressive attempt to block it. Now, the Sidewinders were ahead by seven. The Kings needed to ramp up their game. As Drake limped off the field, he noticed Griff and Coach Bass in a quick huddle.

  “You hurt?” Coach asked.

  “Nah. Just a muscle pull or something.”

  Coach signaled for a trainer. The man took Drake to the bench and checked him out. “A Charlie horse. Walk it off.”

  Drake nodded. He paced back and forth, his gaze glued to the field and his offensive team.

  He watched Jeremiah West snort like a bull as the ball was hiked to Griff. The big man charged. Bullhorn Brodsky set his legs apart and tussled with the huge defender. West hooked his foot behind Bull, tripping him. Once the Kings’ offensive lineman went down, West took off. For an over-two-hundred-pound player, he could move. It was like a locomotive chugging toward Griff Montgomery, who was looking for an open man. He didn’t see West charging at him until Brodsky called out.

  A quick snap of the head, and Griff slid to the ground about two seconds before West got there. Jeremiah fell on Montgomery. Words were exchanged, and the referee signaled a roughing the passer penalty. The coach on the Sidewinder’s side of the field went crazy. He was jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box, yelling at West and the ref.

  Bull rubbed his calf then helped Griff up. The quarterback straightened his jersey. Even with the fifteen yard penalty, they hadn’t gained much. A brief huddle and they spread out across the line of scrimmage. The ball was hiked. Buddy took off like a shot, then cut to the center, Griff threw the pass to where he knew Buddy would be, and bingo! They gained fifteen yards.

  The trek down the field was slow. A few times it was touch-and-go, with a third down and eight or twelve yards to go. With the Kings playing at their finest, they managed to pull out a fi
rst down and keep possession. But each time, it was a heart-pounding eleventh-hour save. Drake sat, jumped up, paced, shoved gum in his mouth, spit it out—he simply couldn’t sit still.

  Finally, they entered the red zone. Griff backed up, cocking his arm for a long pass. Buddy Carruthers and Caleb Turner ran a crisscross play, trying to confuse the defense. It worked, and the pass rocketed toward Buddy, when out of nowhere came Jones Cantrell, sailing through the air, right in front of the Kings’ wide receiver. Cantrell snatched the ball out of the air and hit the ground. Before Buddy could lay hands on the man, he jumped up and took off. Brodsky changed direction, heading for Jones, with Buddy pursuing, gaining on the Sidewinder’s cornerback. But Cantrell down shifted into third gear and took off like a spacecraft on a launching pad. Bull pushed off, flying through the air, landing close enough to grab Cantrell’s heel. The fast man tripped and fell forward several feet before coming to a halt on the Kings’ thirty-five yard line.

  Devon was yelling until the play stopped. That must be the guy who replaced me. Fast son of a bitch. That’s what a cornerback is supposed to do. Not tip the ball into the hands of the other team. Anger at himself bubbled up again. He tamped it down so he could concentrate on the game. Since the Kings lost possession, Drake was going back on the field.

  “We’ll get ’em,” Trunk said to the cornerback as they took their positions. The Kings’ defense harnessed their anger and kept the Sidewinders to a field goal. But that meant they had a lot more ground to cover to catch up.

  From the sidelines, the Kings’ players watched their teammates fight their way downfield. The Sidewinders seemed to smell victory. As they all grew weary toward the end of the game, Griff and Buddy managed to fake out their opponents. Instead of going out for a pass, Buddy doubled back after a few steps right, cut left, and took a short lateral pass from Griff. The defenders stopped in their tracks. Buddy blew past them before they figured out what was going on. With Bull at his side, the wide receiver crossed the goal line to score.