Coach shrugs and turns to Tyler. "Run it again!"
"Watch me," I say, lining up in slot like Carlson is supposed to. The defensive back, a senior named Joe Manfredi, who also has some potential pro-level skill, is giving me a look like I'm crazy. Today is Tuesday, full contact day, and that rule applies whether you're wearing a helmet or not.
The ball is hiked, and I grab Joe's shoulder pads before he can make contact with me, snapping him down and to the side, knocking him just enough off-balance to give me half a step on him. I take off, losing that half-step quickly as my tennis shoes don't grip the turf as well as cleats, but I cut hard anyway, turning just in time to catch Tyler's pass. I turn to go upfield when I get hit from the side to land painfully on the turf, seeing Joe looking down on me.
"Good route," Joe says before offering me a hand. "Think you can get Carlson to do that?”
"We'll see."
"You what, Coach?"
"You heard me, Duncan. For four days, you've worked your ass off with Carlson, telling him every hint you can think of," Coach Bainridge says. It's already five thirty, we have a primetime kickoff in an hour, and I feel like I've just been smacked in the head. "I've been watching. You've taken the comments, you've cut out the trash talk, but most of all . . . you've tried to be a good teammate."
It's what I want to be. It's what's stopped me from calling Carrie. I have to prove to myself that I can take this step alone. She's never been far from my thoughts, and my sleep has been spotty at best, but I have to make this step if I'm ever going to be the man she deserves.
"I . . . I want Carlson to do a good job, that's all. I want the team to win."
Coach studies me for a minute, then reaches beneath his desk, pulling out my jersey. "Here. I notified the AD and the game crew. Your suspension is reduced to the first half only. I know you haven't practiced, but you're still the best tight end in the conference. Think you can get suited up and join your teammates for warmups?"
I can't believe my luck, and I catch the tossed jersey, turning and running back to the locker room. One of the equipment managers must have gotten the message as well, because my gear is sitting there, my pants already prepared, my helmet gleaming. "Holy shit."
"You gonna sit there and curse, or get your shoulder pads ready?" Tyler asks behind me, and I turn to see him giving me a smile. "Bainridge won't tell you this, but a group of us went to him and asked him to let you play today."
"Why? Who?"
"Why? Because we need to win, and you help us do that. Who? Everyone, Carlson included. Now go get ready."
I quickly get my things together and run down to the trainer's room, wishing for the first time all week that Carrie was there. Instead, I find Chelsea Brown. "Hey, Chelsea, can you help me with my hands?"
"No elbow?" She asks, and I shake my head. There's no time for it, and Carrie's words echo in my brain.
“Just the hands. Besides, you guys know that I've only worn it as a crutch for a while."
"Okay," Chelsea replies, grabbing the tape. "So they're going to let you play?"
"The second half. But I want to be ready in case."
Chelsea starts wrapping my hands the way I like, running the pre-wrap over my wrists but leaving the backs of my hands bare. She does my left hand first, then my right, and she kind of lingers like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. I don’t give it a second thought.
I give her a quick thanks and rush back to the locker room to grab my helmet and gloves, getting up to the field just as the team starts group warmups. The sun is almost down, and the lights are bright as I run out, dazzling me for a moment, and I feel the familiar rush of adrenalin. I hear a surprised roar from the crowd, but this time, I don't care about it. I'm totally focused on the team and take the rearmost position in the warmup lines.
We run through things, and I continue to coach Carlson throughout. We rehearse a move I showed him, something Coach Thibs borrowed from the Western Judo Club, and we finish warmups. Going back inside, Carlson stops in the tunnel, grabbing my shoulder pad. "Hey."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks, Duncan. For everything this week."
The first half of the game is tough. Western's hanging in, but the Silverados have a very stingy defense. Carlson's fighting his ass off, but he's just not able to hang in there, and with the offense unable to get anything going, the defense is getting tired. The breakthrough happens with five minutes left in the second quarter, when the Silverados hit a deep pass that puts them up by a touchdown, and then, just before halftime, he nails an amazingly long field goal.