“With just a few tweaks, we can confuse the hell out of the Bobcats and pull this out. We’ve gotta win this one.”
“We will,” said Bullhorn Brodsky, nodding.
“If Buddy plays, you’ll have to protect him.” Coach pointed at the offensive linebacker. “That asshole Jackson is playing. Last time, he took Buddy out. We lost him for a month. We can’t let that son-of-a-bitch do it again. Protection!” The coach smashed his fist on a table. “Take that fucking bastard out. Show him what we’ve got.”
Coach Bass pulled the white board front and center. He picked up a marker and began to diagram plays. The men sucked down orange juice and focused their attention on his scribblings. On the line was honor, superiority, and a helluva lot of money.
The weather in Ohio was raw, just below freezing and damp. Griff warmed up his arm, throwing to the offensive coordinator on the sidelines. Along with Homer Calloway and Caleb Turner, Buddy jogged in place. The wide receiver glanced at the Bobcats side and spied Jackson. The big man looked around, until his gaze connected with Buddy’s. Horse made a slashing sign across his throat with his hand before he turned away.
Coach approached Buddy. “That’s it. You’re not playing. Turner, you go in for Carruthers.”
Coach turned, but Buddy grabbed his arm. “Come on, Coach. He doesn’t scare me.”
“Yeah? He scares me. We get rid of this fucking team, and then you take us to victory in the Super Bowl.”
“But Coach, I want to play.”
“Sorry, Buddy. I can’t take the chance.”
Buddy kicked the grass then sank down on the bench. “Fuck. Shit. That asshole wins,” he muttered.
Griff joined him. “Coach is right. We can’t let that guy cripple the team by knocking you out.”
“I’m no coward.”
“The guy is twice your size.”
“I wanna play.” Buddy fisted and un-fisted his hands.
Bullhorn Brodsky pushed over next to the wide receiver. “I heard you’re benched. Late night?”
“Naw. Coach is afraid that dickwad Horse Jackson is gonna kill me on the field.”
“The big guy?”
Buddy nodded.
“He took you out last time.”
“I know. This time, I’ll be more careful.” Buddy stared straight ahead.
“Maybe we can take him out first.”
“Good luck. He’s a fucking gorilla.”
“Hey, they took down King Kong, right?” Bull chuckled, slapping his teammate on the shoulder.
Buddy watched Griff go out to call the toss. The King’s won and elected to kick off. One of the assistants draped an insulated cape over Griff before he sat down. He pulled it close around his throwing arm. “Let’s see what they’ve got,” the quarterback said.
Bull, Buddy, and Griff watched the Bobcats march downfield, first down by first down, behind the expert leadership of Sean Murphy, their quarterback, until they were stopped at the King’s twenty yard line. They kicked thirty-seven yards for a field goal.
Griff threw off his coat. Brodsky too. Buddy stood up, looking at the coach, who shook his head. The wide receiver smacked his hand on the bench, salivating to get on the field. Horse Jackson locked his gaze with Buddy’s just before lining up.
The kickoff to the Kings bounced into the end zone for a touchback. Brodsky and the quarterback loped onto the field. The offense lined up, and Griff rifled one to Caleb Turner on the right. Brodsky kept Horse from breaking through to Griff until the pass was made. Then, the big man charged, taking the quarterback down and getting a roughing-the-passer flag. The penalty was fifteen yards.
Brodsky gave Griff a hand up. He was fine. They lined up again on their own forty-five yard line. Buddy smiled in satisfaction. Stupid fucker added to our ten yard gain. If he keeps this up, he’ll hand us the game.
The Kings’ drive ended on the Bobcats’ twenty-two. Buddy’s team kicked for a field goal. The game was tied, three to three. Possession of the ball changed hands again and again without a score. The Kings were intercepted once. The Bobcats fumbled, and the Kings recovered. Back and forth, back and forth—the teams were evenly matched. At halftime, the score was still tied, ten to ten.
The men warmed up in the locker room.
“Horse Jackson is a wrecking ball. He’s destroying our offense,” Griff said.
“Him and a couple of other guys. He’s drawing three blockers, and the rest of them are double-teaming our ball carriers. It’s diabolical. The guy’s big enough for three. There ought to be a size restriction,” Coach said.
When halftime ended, the team took their places. They received the kick off. Griff led the drive down field with a couple of completed passes to Turner and three runs by Homer Calloway. Then, the Bobcats recovered a fumble, and the tide turned. The Kings defense kept the Bobcats from scoring a touchdown. They had to settle for a field goal. The ball came back to Buddy’s team. Jackson stopped the Kings run midfield and injured Turner, who had to leave the game. Possession was handed over to the Bobcats at the two-minute warning.
The Kings defense rallied one more time to hold the Bobcats’ line, but time was running out. Still ahead by three points with a minute left to play, the Columbus team had to punt to the Kings. Coach Sebastian paced in front of the bench then called a time-out.
Buddy tugged on his coach’s sleeve. “I can get through. Please let me play, Coach.”
Coach Bass gathered the special team who’d be fielding the punt. “I have an idea. A special play I’ve been saving. Thought we’d need it for the Super Bowl. But if we don’t use it today, we won’t get to the Super Bowl. It’s a risk, Buddy. You’re in. Can you act? I sure as hell hope so. Brodsky, cover his ass. We need him.” The coach explained the play quickly, patted Buddy on the back, and the special team trotted back onto the field.
Buddy stopped one of the rookie players, Steve Cohen. “This is all up to you, Cohen. Can you handle it?”
The young player appeared nervous, but grinned.
“Keep your fuckin’ eyes on the fuckin’ ball,” Buddy said.
Cohen nodded. Buddy was pumped as he backed up into position for the punt. Cohen took up his place on the other side, about forty-five feet from Buddy. The wide receiver took a deep breath and blew it out. Jackson stared at him. Buddy shot him the finger quickly, shielding his movement from the referees with his other hand. He swore the big man snorted like a bull awaiting the opening of the gate.
The ref blew the whistle, then the snap, and the punter made his kick. The ball was lofted high in the air. Buddy ran to his left, Cohen to the right. The other members of the team followed Buddy, who looked up, dancing around to get a bead on the ball and be right underneath when it landed. He kept his eyes skyward and said a prayer, swearing he could feel the ground shake as Jackson took off, heading in his direction.
When he saw the replay later, it had only taken a few seconds, but for Buddy, at the time, it had seemed like hours. Jackson led a swarm of defensemen, champing at the bit to take Buddy out and grab the ball to guarantee their victory. As they charged, the ball came down, on the other side of the field! Cohen had positioned himself perfectly. There wasn’t a defenseman within fifteen yards.
Most of them were surrounding Buddy. They stood, looking stupid for a moment, before doing a one-eighty to watch the ball land safely in Steve Cohen’s arms. The runner ran like the wind, with Trunk Mahoney at his side. One defender who was out of position tore after Cohen, but Mahoney took him out with an effective block.
Buddy stared straight into Horse Jackson’s eyes, gave a wicked grin, and shrugged his shoulders. Rage was evident on the big man’s face. He charged at Buddy, but Bullhorn Brodsky bent over and blocked with his shoulder, knocking the monster back. The large man went flying out of bounds and crashed into a cameraman.
Buddy held his breath that no penalty flag would be thrown, but it was a clean hit, and Brodsky had only been defending his wide receiver. Buddy snapped his head up just in
time to see Steve Cohen cross into the end zone before a defender, launching himself at the runner, managed to make contact. But Steve had already broken the plane by flying over the goal line and scored a touchdown.
The Bobcat fans quieted down, but a roaring cheer rang out from the Kings’ side. Buddy looked over at the bench. Coach Bass was dancing. The Kings’ team leapt up. The rookie had scored his first touchdown—the one that would bring them to the Super Bowl.
Watching Jackson get up slowly, Buddy grinned. Since inventing new trick plays in football wasn’t easy, outsmarting the other team held great satisfaction. The clock was stopped for the review of the touchdown. The ruling on the field was confirmed. Then, another special team lined up to kick for the extra point. The Connecticut Kings took a four-point lead.
Buddy loped off the field, joining his pal, Griff Montgomery. Bullhorn Brodsky was rubbing his elbow.
“Thanks, Bull. You okay?” Buddy asked, stopping to face his teammate.
“Just a flesh wound,” Brodsky joked. One of the trainers approached the big man to examine his injury.
There were only twenty seconds left. Still enough time for the Bobcats to score on the kickoff.
Coach Bass called time out. “Don’t give up. I know you’re tired, but you’ve got one, maybe two, more plays. They’ve only got one more time-out. Dig in and give it every God damn thing you’ve got. It’s all riding on you now. Mahoney, you’re in. Whatever you do, don’t knock anyone out of bounds!”
The exhausted team trotted out onto the field again and took their positions. The kicker lofted the ball, and one of the Bobcats caught it. Instead of calling for a fair catch, he decided to run with it. But his teammates stood around as if it was a fair catch. The Kings’ defensemen charged down the field with their last bit of energy. Trunk Mahoney led the men as they swarmed over the receiver. He plowed ahead for only three yards to the fifteen yard line.
The teams lined up for one more Bobcat play. Coach Bass called their last time out and signaled for Mahoney to come off the field. Buddy and Griff gathered round too.
“That ape’ll be guarding Murphy for the Hail Mary. We’ll never get the sack. We can’t blitz. Double coverage on the runners. Knock the ball down. We need an incomplete pass. Go!”
Mahoney nodded and sprinted back on the field. He passed the word to the other defenders then they took their positions.
After the ball was snapped, the defense ignored Murphy and headed for the receivers. With no defenseman in his face, the Bobcat quarterback took his time. Finally, he rifled the ball to the King’s forty yard line. The pass was beautiful, but there was no open man. The Kings’ defensemen stuck to the Bobcats receivers like glue, and when the ball came sailing in, heading straight for Smith, Mahoney was there first. Reaching out with his long arm, he batted it to the ground for an incomplete pass, stopping the clock. The Bobcats called their last time out.
With ten seconds on the clock, there was time for one more play. The teams lined up one final time. Murphy went for another Hail Mary pass. This time, Mahoney launched himself in front of the intended receiver and caught the ball. The whistle blew, stopping the clock again. But the ball went to the Kings. Griff returned to the field. The center snapped the ball, and the quarterback took a knee.
Buddy looked up at the scoreboard and watched the time run out on the clock. The whistle sounded, ending the game, and the Connecticut Kings went crazy. Players who had been almost too exhausted to talk were leaping wildly, knocking helmets, chest bumping their teammates. Even Coach Bass let out one war whoop. The players mobbed Mahoney, slapping his shoulders, butt, and helmet. He was the hero of the game.
The teams shook hands, the coaches as well, and filed into their locker rooms. Coach Bass and Griff stopped for brief interviews with the media before joining their teammates.
Buddy couldn’t believe it. Back in the Super Bowl for the second season in a row. His grin was so wide it hurt. In the locker room, champagne corks flew. In the corner, bare-assed naked, stood Griff Montgomery, talking on his cell. Probably Lauren.
Life was perfect for Buddy, except for one thing. He needed Emmy. The victory would have been so much sweeter if she had been there. He fastened a towel around his hips and dialed her number. Now’s the time to propose again. But do it right. Just before the Super Bowl. Double celebration. We win, and I get engaged.
Chapter Fifteen
Emmy walked out of the Jefferson National Bank in Washington scared, but happy. She called Paula. “Get those three concerts back. I got the loan, and I’m ready to roll.”
A thrill shot through her body. She sounded like a producer, a manager, a woman in charge, and she liked it. She bit her lip as the enormity of the task sank in. Pay musicians. Pay crew. Contact manager. So wrapped up making a mental to-do list, Emmy almost smacked into the hotel door. When she arrived at the room, Paula was on the phone. She gave the singer a thumbs up and grinned.
Paula closed her phone. “Atlanta is back on. Miami next. Then New Orleans.”
“Great! Thank you. Where do we want to go after?” Emmy pulled up a map on her phone. As she was scanning the country, a call came in.
“Buddy, I saw the game! Congratulations.”
“You did? It was a close one.”
“On to the Super Bowl. I’m proud of you,” Emmy sat on the bed, cross-legged.
“Yeah. We’ve got a couple of weeks. Can I see you?”
“No practice?”
“We’ve got a week off first. Come to Connecticut.”
“I can’t. I’ve got a concert in Atlanta coming up.”
“What? I thought you were canceling everything?”
“Nope. We’re getting those three back.”
“How?”
“I got a loan from the bank. Seems Stash kept our bills up to date, and I’m my own collateral.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“You guess? That’s amazing!”
“I thought we could get engaged. So, when we win the Super Bowl, it’ll be a double celebration.”
“Engaged? Are you proposing to me? Again? Over the phone?”
“It sounds stupid, but I guess I am.”
She uncrossed her legs. “Elroy Carruthers! How dare you propose over the phone!”
“Marry me, Emmy. You know I’ve wanted to for forever.”
“This isn’t exactly the romantic proposal I was hoping for.”
“I know, baby. When you come to stay, I’ll make it very romantic.”
“I just told you I can’t come. I’m going to Atlanta. I still own the bus, and I’m saving money by driving. Your mom tipped me off to that. Make the concerts farther apart, so I can drive. It’s cheaper than flying, and the bus has to get there anyway.”
“Baby, I thought you were gonna give all this up? You told me without Stash you couldn’t do it.”
“I know. That’s what I thought. And maybe I can’t. But I’ve got to try.”
“Why? Why do you have to do what a manager or a producer does? Why can’t you trade your mic in for life here with me?”
She heard the plea in his voice, the breath he let out. He’s disappointed. Not exactly nice of me to ignore his proposal, is it? We have time. He’ll understand.
“It’s something I’ve got to do. Prove to myself I can. I love you, but an engagement’ll have to wait.”
“Maybe I’ll join you in Atlanta.”
“That would be amazing.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Love you, Buddy.”
“Love you too, baby.”
Paula was still on the phone. Emmy fished in her purse until she found a small notebook and a pen. After flipping past pages and pages of song ideas, she stopped at a blank one and began to write.
Paula hung up. “Miami is on. New Orleans is next.”
“You’re a miracle worker!”
Paula blushed and stared at her feet for a moment. “You’re the miracle worker. You got us the loan. How
much did you get?”
“Enough to front for the next three concerts. We’d better sell out. I’m on the hook to pay back a ton of money. Come over here. Help me pick out the next places we want to book.”
Paula walked over to her friend. “I thought you were going to quit?”
“I was. But with this money, we can continue.”
“What about Buddy?”
“He wants to get married…”
“Great! So, off you go.”
“Nope. I’m not going to run away from this. Once I’ve conquered this road trip thing. When I’ve done the tour all myself…with you, of course. Then, I’ll be ready to move on to something else.”
“Why?”
“Because Emmy Meacham doesn’t run away. No way. Not anymore. And since I don’t have Stash to hide behind, I’ve got to do this myself.”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Who turns down a guy like Buddy Carruthers?”
“I didn’t turn him down. Just postponed for a bit.”
“I think you’re crazy.”
Emmy laughed. “Maybe I am. But think how great my life will be when I’ve done this, made a bucket of money, and can leave touring at the top of my game.”
Paula shook her head. “Getting back at Stash wouldn’t be part of this deal, would it?”
Emmy grinned. “Maybe. Maybe it is. No one will ever be able to take this away from me again.”
“You go, girl.” Paula high fived with Emmy before they called down to room service to order lunch.
* * * *
Buddy got the okay from the coach to head south. He boarded a plane to Atlanta two days before Emmy’s concert. He booked a suite for the two of them, leaving Paula to remain in the room she had been sharing with the rock star.
“I’m here, baby. When are you coming back?”
“I’m tied up here for a couple of hours. I gotta check to make sure everything is working. It’s a big job.”
“You’ll be back for dinner?”
“Yeah.”
Buddy Carruthers, Wide Receiver Page 20
