Chapter One

Carson

So, that was the sound of the world ending. Or at the very least—the season.

The scene on the field played out like a stop action shot from a movie. A horror movie. The roar of the crowd silenced, as if 80,000 fans all sucked in a collective gasp. Clay Vex, the star of the Bitsburg Cannons hit the deck, crushed under the weight of a three hundred plus pound lineman and there was nothing any of us could do but watch from the sidelines as he went down and the ball went tumbling right into the hands of the Stormers. I sent a wide-eyed prayer to the sky that he’d get to his feet, shake it off, and continue to play. That somehow, someway, it wasn’t as bad as it looked—or sounded. I looked for any signs of a penalty flag before turning my attention to the jumbo screen to watch the replay in slow motion.

But the seconds ticked forward, each one rolling slowly over the next. The refs raced in, separating angry men as they disputed foul play, and with the flick of a wrist, our medical staff raced out, on to the field.

My eyes squeezed closed as the team doctor knelt down beside Clay and his face went dark. “Shit…”

“Yep…we’re fucked.”

I shot a scowl at Matthew Banks, the rookie kicker standing to my left. “Eloquent, Banks.”

He shrugged, his expression unchanged. “Just stating the fact, Stiles. This games a wrap without Clay. Fuck man, our season just ended!”

I dared another glance at the scene unfolding on the twenty-five-yard line. Damn it. Banks might be an idiot in most things—but in this case—he was probably right.

Coach “Wheels” Wheeler looked like a nervous school maid, waiting for word, as the medical staff scraped Vex off the turf. He couldn’t walk on his own. That was the final nail in our coffin. Something was fucked up and it wasn’t going to get fixed with some athletic tape and a shot of pain killers.

We were done. This game was the last shot for us to make the playoffs. And it just fluttered away in an icy blast of wind over the field as Vex headed to the locker room and the Stormers offense took the field to try and close out the game.

Coach clutched his clipboard, scratching his jaw as he looked over the options. A nervous energy rustled through those of us on the sidelines. Coach looked up and glanced at me and then landed his eyes on Wilson Peters. The two remaining options to take Vex’s spot. I’d played less than thirty minutes all season, mostly late in the fourth quarter when the game was out of reach.

I was a third string nobody. Most of the diehard fans would be pressed to even know my name. Let alone my stats. And there wasn’t a chance any of them would remember the killer stats I’d racked up during my four years at Arizona State. No, it had been a bad year to be a quarterback. There was an onslaught of talent and even with my record—I was pushed down the pack and handed a third string spot, riding the Cannons sidelines.

Coach jerked his chin at Peters and it was done. I knew it wasn’t going to be me but it still stung as Peters strapped on his helmet and quickly started to warm up along the sidelines with a coach in each ear.

I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed off or relieved.

I didn’t have much time to sort it all out. Instead, we watched in agony as the Stormers slowly moved the ball down the field and chewed up precious seconds on the clock. We had a one point lead and it was becoming very clear that the Stormers were near field goal range and trying to set up a shot for a game winning field goal. My own stomach was churning like I’d just taken a ride on Death Trap, the roller coaster at my favorite amusement park. With seconds remaining, Rose picked off a pass across the middle and scrambled sixty yards for a touchdown as the clock expired. The noise went from zero to deafening when Rose crossed into the end zone. Holy fucking shit, we were going to the playoffs!

I couldn’t fucking believe it, even when the scoreboard flipped over to reveal the final score.

We’d done it! We were going to the fucking playoffs. After four long ass seasons, I finally had a shot at going to the Super Bowl. Hell, even if I never took a snap in the big game, I could die a happy man.

Streamers and confetti fell down onto the field and we all raced out to dog pile on top of Rose. He was the rockstar of the night, the gladiator that stepped up to the plate to save not only the day—but our entire season. We’d won the League Championship and we were all looking at a chance to win big in the playoffs.

****

Less than an hour later we were all back in the locker room, and the noise and buzz came to a sober stop at the news that Clay Vex had fractured his ribs and had a nasty sprained ankle. He was out for the rest of the season. Coach spoke to us and then dismissed us to hit the showers and get ready for the postgame rodeo.

I sat on the bench in front of my locker and laced up my boots when Banks crashed down beside me, grinning from ear to ear. “Can’t fuckin’ believe it! Damn.”

Banks was one of the babies of the team, a rookie, and while I didn’t personally care much for him, he’d decided I was his buddy and ended up at my side more often than not.

“Not a bad year to get in on the action, huh?” I asked, flipping the top off my water bottle. I downed half the contents, my throat scratchy from all the celebrating.

“Nope! Can you imagine if I got a ring my rookie year? Damn!”

I laughed and finished off the bottle.

The cold hard truth to the matter was that our chances looked bleak at best. Our starting quarterback went down hard and the playoffs were no time to bring in a forty-year-old aging veteran. Peters had been in the league for sixteen seasons. He’d played for three other teams prior to signing with the Cannons at the start of this season. He had skills, he had one trip to the Super Bowl under his belt, even though he got blown out by the Generals four years ago. Since then, he’d strictly been in a back-up role and was brought to the Cannons just for that purpose.

A parade of players clustered up at the doorway, and Banks pushed up to join the team. “You coming, Stiles? Gibson’s buying everyone a round at La Vie.”

“Nah, man. I’m gonna get some dinner and call it a night.”

Banks rolled his eyes. I guessed he couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to go spend hours in the VIP room of the upscale strip club in the heart of Bitsburg. “All right, man. But you need to get your balls back from whatever bitch has ‘em locked up in her purse.”

A wave of anger rolled over me but I managed a tight-lipped smile as he chuckled at his own joke. “See ya, Banks.”

The locker room cleared out and I sat in silence. After a while the motion sensor decided no one was left behind and all the lights shut down.

“Guess that’s my cue to leave…” I muttered to myself.

I pushed up from the bench and the lights flickered back to life. I slung my thick coat over my shoulders, and grabbed the messenger bag that contained the team’s playbook, my laptop, and the hardcover crime novel I’d been working my way through. The guys ribbed me for constantly having my nose in a book—either fictional or the playbook—but I needed to up my study even more now that Vex was out.

When I arrived for practice at the team facility three days before our first playoff game, I noticed something very strange. There were news vans everywhere.

I knew it was playoff time, and news vans weren’t anything to worry about. It was the number of media outlets that was weird—something big had to be going down. I hurried across the parking lot to get inside and when I approached the front door, a group of reporters rushed me and the questions came so fast I couldn’t think straight.

“Carson, are you ready to take over the offense?” one reporter called out.

“What was that?” I asked

“Peters just blew out his ankle about an hour ago, and you’re listed as the starting quarterback. How do you feel about that?”

“Can you take this team to the Super Bowl?”

“Have you ever played in a real game?”

My head spun at all the questions flying at me. I stood there for a second, took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera and grinned, even though my heart was beating out of control. “I just got here and I was unaware Peters got injured. If I get the call, I promise the folks of Bitsburg I’ll be ready to go. I know this offense inside and out and have a good feel for the plays and am confident I can execute them. Thank you.”

I excused myself before I shit a brick right there in the parking lot on live TV and made my way into the team’s facility. When I pushed through the door, the first thing that hit me was how eerily quiet it was.

The news wasn’t good for Peters and could end his career since he was pushing forty. Clay, our starter, was done for the year and the fate of the season now rested on my shoulders. Not only was I the guy, but I was the only guy still standing.

I’d be hitting the field in the playoffs and the entire country would be watching.

Fuck me. No pressure or anything.