Colby strutted off the field, rolling his throwing shoulder. The last time he had to make a throw like that—the last time he had to prove he was the GOAT—had been before Richaun was on the team. Yet there was no rust at all. Hopefully it was a good reminder to the world that he'd EARNED his spot at the top, and forged his reputation as the best, all before ever having a star Receiver.
He sat on the bench, hands resting behind his head. The game was over. Of course, there was still time for the Dons to answer, but even if they did, it wouldn't matter. He and Richaun could manipulate the clock on their next drive and wait until the last seconds for a game-winning touchdown.
Speaking of Richaun, the clown was still on the field, the last Cobra from the offence to leave. He was laughing like a hyena as he stepped across the threshold, still hyping up the crowd. Somehow a villain like him was being cheered. Colby shook his head. Star power could do some crazy things to people.
On the opposite sideline, Ty sat staring into nothing. Sure, his eyes were on the special teams units taking the field for the extra point, but he didn't SEE them. He saw Colby's smug face, a curving ball, and Richaun's grin. All three things were taunting him—you're beneath me. You can't touch me. You're finished.
The grinding of Ty's teeth was audible to Coach Hoang, who sat beside the boy. Like rusty gears scraping against each other. It was a concerning sound. Made all the more worrying because of a horrible theory that'd been nibbling away at his thoughts.
The kick was good, pushing the score out to 21–28 as the game approached its final minutes. The silver-lining to the Cobras' touchdown had been how quick it happened; it left the Dons plenty of time to answer back. It wasn't the clock they had to worry about, but getting another stop.
The following kickoff was another touchback. Chris was shaking as he came off the field. Doing nothing in a win was acceptable, but if they lost…? Wouldn't it all fall on his shoulders?
Cameron grabbed his arm, snapping him back to the present. 'I got you, bro,' Cam said.
Chris patted his shoulder, a sad smile touching his lips. 'Thanks. You got this.'
They passed each other, and the Dons' offence lined up against the Cobras. The game was on the line. Would the seesaw swing back in their favour?
The Dons would force the issue if they had to, and they'd do it quickly. Even if they scored, they didn't want the Cobras to have the last chance with the ball. They wouldn't run on first down, but they would go with Play-Action.
Jay spun away from the fake hand-off, looking downfield. The Maclin brothers hadn't fallen for their fake; Jay winced, but kept his focus on the objective. He just had to wait for Stephen to break inside and then he could…
Immanuel burst around the edge, straightening towards Jay, though JJ rushed into his path. Jay still had to step up and duck under a swiping arm. He cocked back to throw, and was pummelled from his blindside. Jeremy speared him into the ground, the ball spilling free.
Jay fell hard, but there wasn't any time to sit around feeling sorry for himself. He bucked the younger Maclin off, and twisted around, searching for the ball, finding it already in Immanuel's arms.
Chris slumped on the bench, head in his hands. Jay stared slack-jawed. Even JJ sat back, looking in disbelief as the Cobras hopped up, celebrating with the ball as if it was the national trophy. Maybe it was. Maybe that fumble recovery secured their future championship.
The Cobras' offence would already be well within field-goal range, and could start draining the clock. There'd be time for the Dons to get the ball back if they could get a few stops … but not if it became a two-possession game.
The Cobras' defence danced and strutted off the field, knowing they'd just secured victory for their team. Nothing could stop Colby and Richaun when they were in sync, and they'd never seen the two play better than they had last drive. Celebrations had already begun.
Even the offence was feeling good—flying high—determined to hammer home the final nail in the Dons' coffin. Surprisingly, Richaun's demeanour was the most sombre amongst the whole team. He stopped the defence short, glaring at Immanuel, who still carried the recovered ball like a trophy.
'About time you worthless niggas did somethin'.'
'Bro! We on the same team,' Immanuel responded, his mood immediately souring. 'Ain't like you been doing shit all game.'
'Aye, chill chill chill,' Jeremy said, getting between his brother and Richaun.
Colby stepped in before Richaun could get more distracted by a useless fight amongst teammates. He pulled Richaun aside.
A snarl caught in Richaun's throat as he looked into Colby's eyes. Those eyes saw EVERYTHING, even into his head.
'Focus on the game,' Colby said. 'Focus on finishing off Ty. We need to prove no-one can stand against US.'
Staring into those all-seeing eyes, Richaun could only nod. There was no arguing with Colby when he knew what you were already thinking. Luckily, Richaun didn't even want to argue with what he'd said. At that point in time there was only one thing they agreed on—destroying Tyrese Samuels.
The Cobras' offence swarmed onto the field like sharks in a frenzy.
Ty was the first Don on the field. The rest were psyching themselves up; JJ was panting, but his fire still burned bright. With him at the helm, the others still believed, even if their doubt was twice as heavy in their hearts. Ty didn't need that. He just needed a target, and he had that in Richaun and Colby both. He'd rip apart everything they held dear. All he'd need to do was beat them. There had to be a way, if only he could find it.
Richaun's grin was bigger than a shark's as he met Ty again. 'If you admit I'm the greatest, I'll put you out ya misery,' he said, staring Ty down.
Ty bit hard on his mouth guard. There wasn't time for any bullshit with Richaun; he had to think. But with the snap, he'd have to do his thinking on the fly.
He weaved back from a snake-bite, the second turned into a feint just when he'd been pushed back a step. Richaun cut through the space, bursting forward, not letting Ty off his back foot as he lowered a shoulder into the smaller boy's chest.
Richaun stepped inside, using the leverage from a wider stance to push harder into Ty, springing deeper just as Colby threw the ball up towards them. Ty drifted back further—the pass was high; a deep trajectory—but Richaun planted hard, turning around and jumping.
Ty stumbled, and the ball dropped rapidly, falling deftly into Richaun's outstretched hands as he extended up, cutting the ball off. Ty pounced back, but tackling Richaun was like wrestling with a bear; he'd just as soon tackle JJ.
Grinning, Richaun twisted in his grasp, knocking him aside with a clubbing blow before rushing onward, still looking back at Ty even as he left him behind. The bastard was toying with him.
Zayden went low, and Richaun was late on his hurdle, getting clipped. He tipped until he was parallel with the ground, then crashed hard. It didn't seem to affect him, as he bounced back to his feet a second later, still grinning and laughing. What had been a savage, hate-filled fight, had turned to a silly game Richaun was certain he'd win.
Ty tore up fistfuls of turf as he stood, scowling at Richaun's back. They thought they could embarrass HIM and get away with it? Could do so and WIN?! He stalked over to the Dons' huddle, though his eyes never left Richaun.
From the sideline, Coach Hoang watched the deteriorating situation with an ever-growing sense of dread. Those boys—both flashing such sharp teeth at one another you'd think they were seconds away from tearing each other's throats out with them—were on a fast track to disaster, one that neither would walk away from cleanly.
His mind fixated on the sharp teeth, the oddity he'd seen more and more players have. It wasn't genetic—some said it wasn't even there at birth and grew in after their baby teeth fell out, though there were conflicting stories. Ultimately, no-one knew what caused it or why, just that it happened. But after watching all of the Dons' games, all of TY's games this past season, a theory had been growing in his mind, one he couldn't share with Ty.
They were markers. Not identifying who was "special", no—too many special players they'd encountered didn't have them—instead, it had to do with what football MEANT to these players. The opportunity it gave.
Not to stardom, fame, fortune, and status as one of the greatest, though typically most with those teeth had those goals and aspirations as well. But they had a different plan of getting there than most others.
Those teeth marked athletes for whom winning was secondary to the WAY they won. A victory which was hard-fought, but both sides came out of feeling nothing but the thrills only the gridiron could bring—yearning for another such game more than an addict needing their next fix—gave no pleasure to those with shark-like teeth. For them, winning wasn't enough. They needed to humiliate their opponent, to break them. Break their will, spirit, heart … and body.
It was only a theory, and probably nothing more than unwarranted, pessimistic superstition and trauma from his own injury (he doubted the player who'd hit him had such teeth but details like those were foggy), but watching Ty gave him a horrible feeling that his theory could be truth.
The ball was snapped. Ty didn't back off, though he knew another snake-bite was coming. He stood his ground, and lowered his helmet, so the crown blocked Richaun's strike.
Eventually, as you neared the core of a black hole, time dilated, slowing further and further the closer you got to that universal pull. As Richaun's hand struck Ty's, he was about as close as you could get, so everything seemed to move in slow-motion, as the bones in his hand and wrist shattered, one by one.
For outside observers, everything played out as if fast-forwarded. There was a sickening crunch, followed by a hellish scream, and suddenly Ty's helmet was flying across the field. The crowd didn't even have time to gasp.
Richaun had struck Ty again, the second was intentional, however, and knocked Ty's helmet from his head. Both boys recoiled for a moment, Ty shaking off the dizzying impact, and Richaun hissing as he nursed his broken hand.
Then Richaun took off. It shocked Ty, but only for a moment. Why would they devolve into a fight? There was still a game to win. And while humiliating their opponent might've been their top priority, that could only be done in victory.
Even as a flag fluttered to the ground, they stomped on it in their mad race down the field, pushing and pulling, Richaun fighting twice as hard seeing as he only had one hand to work with.
Colby watched them, eyes darting all around the patches of ground they rushed towards and past, searching for an opening, any at all, no matter how slim. But he could see something was wrong, even if he didn't know the extent of the injury. Time was running out; the defence would be on him soon. He stepped up calmly, avoiding the first edge-rusher, buying more time, yet still nothing opened.
There was a sliver, but it just overlapped with Ty's reach as well, and that fucker had surprised him too many times. It was a risk, but at that moment, he realised they couldn't overcome the Dons if he didn't trust Richaun. They needed to work together or else they were screwed. Putting his faith in his teammate, he threw the ball with all his might.
Both Richaun and Ty located the ball a moment after it'd left Colby's hand. It was like a sixth sense they shared, knowing when the ball—their prize; salvation and destruction all in one—was near. Richaun could get it, it would fall within his reach. Even with one good hand, he'd beat Ty and prove he was the greatest. He leapt, laying out for the ball, one hand full of talons thrusting towards it.
Ty was calm. A blizzard compared to the firestorm raging around Richaun. If Richaun could reach it, so could Ty, but he had to be careful of the swing and spin Colby could put on it. He took another step to steady himself, adjusting his position before he launched himself at the ball. His leap was greater, and combined with his long arms, it meant he could get both hands to the ball to battle Richaun's singular.
They ripped and tore at the ball and each other—Ty's hands bore scratches from where Richaun's claws had raked against him—before crashing to the ground together. Richaun kicked out, cleats scraping down Ty's leg. There was a jolt of pain, but Ty only tightened his grip on the ball, cradling it against his chest; Richaun's talons reached only clawed Ty's arms, unable to dig through the shield they formed over the treasure they both sought.
It was an interception. The official's signal confirmed it, and that Ty was downed by contact immediately upon the catch. Silence loomed in the stadium before the crowd erupted, fully behind the Dons. Most hadn't even noticed the stomp as they crashed. Even those that didn't weren't sure if it was intentional or just a consequence of their mad struggle. But they ALL cheered Ty.
Perhaps it was a belief in divine justice, or karmic retribution, but an epiphany had struck almost every person watching the game at that moment.
Richaun had fouled Ty, that was clear in their eyes, even without the stomp—how else could Ty's helmet have been knocked loose?—which opened their eyes and forced them to view Richaun's past actions more harshly; he'd been fouling Ty all game. The interception was justice, because people liked to believe cheaters and bullies never succeeded, and if they did, not for long anyway. So if Ty was the defiant victim in this game, then wasn't that the same for their fight during New Year's? So they came to the conclusion that there weren't two villains they needed to see suffer, just one. And his name was Richaun Howard.
When Ty found his feet, the crowd was still cheering madly, delighting in Richaun's downfall, but their glee couldn't even hold a candle to the crazed excitement in Ty's gaze as he stared down at the injured Cobra. There was so much adrenaline coursing through him, he hadn't even noticed the blood trickling down his own leg.
'After this game, the whole world will know—because you proved it to them—is that the only thing you're the greatest at, is being number two.'
He dropped the ball on Richaun's chest and left the field, not concerned with the flag they'd left behind at the Line of Scrimmage.
Richaun scrambled to his feet, staggering and screaming with pain as he tried to push up with his broken hand. By the time he got up, the Dons had enclosed around Ty, and there was nothing for him to do but retreat with his proverbial tail tucked between his legs.
Donte handed Ty's helmet back to him. It seemed a better trophy than the ball at that moment. But Ty's eyes soon turned to the scoreboard. There was still work to do, and it was in the offence's hands. The clock was running lower, and they had a lot of ground to cover, but they could do it.
Once he sat back down, a twinge of pain drew his attention to his leg. 'What the fuck?' He felt the hot blood pouring from his wound, his scowl deepening. Pain throbbed beyond the cut, from ankle to knee it ached.
Bella rushed to his aid, bringing the first-aid kit even before the team doctor arrived to examine it. Luckily, it was just a flesh wound. Ty kept a straight face to hide the pain. It definitely had nothing to do with Bella looking up at him on the verge of tears. God why was she going to cry? He wasn't broken.
Coach Hoang stared at Ty. A chill, deeper and more frigid than any other, gripped him like a vice. He tried to tell himself the injuries were just coincidental, something that was bound to happen with both Ty and Richaun's ferocious and rough play styles … but in his heart he knew he was just trying to cover up a rotten truth with a sweet little lie.
Despite what Coach Hoang thought about their intent, the flag hard-packed into the dirt was only a personal foul on Richaun. The personal foul came with the additional penalty of Richaun being ejected from the game.
Ty's interception stood, and the Dons took over. The defence had given them one more chance, but it was up to them not to waste it; all of Ty's efforts could be for nothing if they failed to convert.
JJ was still breathing heavily as he met the offence on the field, but then, a few of the other boys were as well. It had been an intense game. The final stretches would be played with the dregs of their fuel reserves. Unfortunately, Cameron was one of those Dons breathing hard.
He wasn't used to such a heavy workload, and it was finally getting to him. But he could see weary faces under the helmets opposite him. Less than there were on the Dons' side, but still. They just had to push a little harder for a little longer.
On first down, the Dons went for a pass. It was something short and quick to capitalise on any surprise there might've been over them not defaulting back to their conservative running; Jay wasn't scared of the Maclin brothers. He hit Cole in stride on a quick Slant, and the Dons picked up 5 yards.
Then came the run. It seemed the perfect time for it. The effort went nowhere. It wasn't as if the Cobras had predicted it, they were just faster, and stronger. The Dons' line didn't have the same bulldozer quality it had before. JJ didn't have the same charge, nor did Cameron—they were gassed.
Second-and-five quickly became third-and-five. The clock ticked as Coach Long studied the situation, but he felt no urgency. He called JJ and Cameron back, welcoming them to the bench.
'Keep your heads up,' he said. 'You played your heart's out. Let your brothers finish the job.'
They hung their heads as they sat, knowing their brothers could persist and win without them, but there was still parts of them that wished they could continue to contribute.
'Hey, we've got this,' Chris said, standing by Cameron's side. 'I'd feel way too shitty if I let you do all the hard work and I couldn't perform for one single drive to seal it.'
Cameron looked up at him, a tired smile stretching across his face. They bumped fists, and Chris ran onto the field, with Cameron staring at the back he'd admired and chased for most of his time on the Dons.
Amon was the one to replace JJ as the Dons shifted back to their typical "11" personnel package with just a single TE and RB.
Chris wasn't out there just to be a decoy, however, even if it was third down. Coach Long had a feeling fresh legs would be the key for the final drive, and he was proven right on the following play.
Jay took the snap in shotgun, but delivered the ball straight to Chris who ran Off-Tackle, and burst past the edge, out into open field after turning the corner. He blazed past outstretched arms, and shrugged off sluggish tackles, making it into the Secondary before he was corralled and taken down for a gain of 13. And those legs still had a lot more juice left in them.
A Stretch to the opposite side of the field picked up 7, and the Dive that followed earned the last 3 yards needed for another set of downs.
The Dons took their time between snaps, and though the Cobras filtered players in and out on a rotation, they still weren't as fresh as Chris who had done nothing throughout the game but keep warm on the sideline waiting for this moment. And the Cobras couldn't afford to take out key players like the Maclin brothers, who were crashing hard.
A barrage of runs—Counters, Tosses, and even Dives—pushed the Cobras back further. They were like dogs chasing after a motorbike that was toying with them, running them ragged.
The Dons had laid the foundations, had worn the Cobras down with a gritty, pounding game, and Chris was reaping the benefits.
As the Dons pushed into the red-zone, the game ticked over into the two-minute warning, giving the Cobras a final reprieve. One they desperately needed.
'You the man, Chris!' Cameron said when the offence returned to the sideline.
'I will be if I can punch in this last touchdown. If we keep our timeouts we could stop them one more time and get another chance for a field goal to win it all.'
Cameron looked towards the scoreboard. OT loomed. And that was only if the Dons got the touchdown they needed. The job still wasn't finished; they couldn't take their foot off the gas just yet.
It was after the break from the two-minute warning, when the Cobras landed their counter, stopping Chris for only a gain of 2.
It wasn't that the break had rejuvenated them, at least it shouldn't have done enough to bring them back to Chris's level, but the number of bodies they were throwing in his way to stop them.
As the clock ticked, Coach Long called for a timeout. There was a weakness in the Cobras' desperation, and he wanted to make sure the play he drew up was perfect. The Cobras were tough, but beatable, and he wouldn't be the one to let his boys down and stand in the way of their victory. He knew he wasn't a savant, nor any kind of coaching genius, but he believed in his boys, and they believed in him. He took all the time he needed to make sure the play was just right.
Jay looked at the final chart on the whiteboard, rubbing his hands together so they wouldn't shake. It always came down to him, even in games where they were running most of the time. It was moments like these when he wished he could have a quick smoke, just a puff or two would be enough to ice his nerves.
His face was the very picture of serenity when he led the Dons back onto the field, though he was still rubbing his hands together; he hoped they thought he was only keeping them warm.
The Dons lined up, and the Cobras met them, somehow looking as if they were back to one-hundred percent. It was like they'd just walked out of a Poké Center or something. "Let them come," Jay thought; their zealousness would bite them in the ass.
He let the play-clock wind down until it was almost zero before calling for the snap. Taking the ball, he turned towards Chris, who reached out, but wrapped his arms around only air, hunching over himself to better sell the fake.
Jay wheeled back around calmly, scanning the field. They were going for the kill shot into the end-zone, but the Cobras had multiple such threats to fend off. First was Stephen's on a Corner, as well as Benny on a straight sprint to the back of the end-zone.
Cole was on the outside, racing down the sideline. Another strong target with his one-on-one. Then he broke away over the middle. His speed was still a big enough concern to draw the attention of the Safety. It was a classic Dagger concept, and the Cobras covered it well … except, whilst they were concerned with the "dagger" slipping in their back—Cole—they forgot about the one going for their throat.
Amon was the most forgettable of the Dons' weapons. Even Cameron accomplished more throughout the season, and he was a backup. Yet on the Dons, EVERYONE had their moment to shine.
Chris wasn't the only one who'd sat out the majority of the game, thus maintaining his energy and keeping himself "fresh", Amon had as well, and his fresh legs gave him the edge he needed to gain a step on his opponent.
He looked back, and reliable as ever, Jay's pass was already on its way. Though it was a touch deep. Jay wanted to make sure only Amon could get it; a turnover would mean the end of the game.
Amon pushed, thankful for the full tank he could burn through. He lunged, leaving his feet as he raked the ball in against his chest, and slid to the ground, one knee slamming into the turf before he pitched over and face-planted. When he came to a stop, the ball was still held tight against his chest.
Another eruption followed. The very ground rumbled as the crowd leapt out of their seats, jumping with joy. The Dons swarmed, the first to reach Amon hefted him to his feet, only for him to get knocked back over by the second wave as they piled atop him and anyway in their way.
When Jay reached the laughing, hollering pile, he began pulling it apart. There was still a job to do—as long as there was time left on the clock there was—and he reminded them of that fact. They slowly found their feet again, and turned to Coach Long on the sideline, though the call was given for them to return. They wouldn't go for two and a possibility of ending the game early. He took the safe route, going for the extra point and overtime.
The kick was good, and the game was tied at 28 all with little over a minute remaining. As the kickoff occurred, most of the Dons were still celebrating on the sideline, though the coaches were trying to restore order.
Evan, the Cobras' returner, brought the ball out of the end-zone, but only as far as the 17-yard line, losing valuable seconds in the process.
When Ty took the field, it was the first time Richaun couldn't meet him. After news of his ejection, the boy had to be hauled out of the stadium by multiple of the Cobras' staff, even while a doctor was trying to look at his hand.
Ty was still laughing when he came to stand in front of Lamar instead. If Richaun was out of the question, the Cobras had been defanged.
A deep scowl marred Colby's face as he stood behind his O-Line. How had it gone so wrong? Still tied with the Dons after nigh on sixty minutes … and they were playing for OT.
When Colby turned and handed the ball off on first down, the entire stadium knew there wouldn't be a last minute comeback for the Cobras. Their disappointment was palpable, and they let the Cobras hear it, booing every following snap and hand-off.
Even when the Dons burned their remaining two timeouts on the first two runs, the Cobras didn't change their game plan. And on third down, though there was still 7 yards to go for a first down—and another 80 for a touchdown—the Cobras kept the ball on the ground for the third time in a row.
After the punt, which Chris ran back for only 5 yards, there was under thirty seconds remaining on the clock. Still, the Dons were optimistic—they only needed to reach field goal range.
That optimism died on first down. The Cobras weren't blitzing anyone, and were in full prevent defence, protecting anything deep, and anything towards the sidelines. There wouldn't be enough time for the Dons to get downfield for enough a shot at a kick with no time left on the clock. Jay took a knee.
The game was going to OT.