After The Fire (One Pass Away Book 3) by Mary J. Williams Page A

finished polishing your comedy
    routine, get your asses back on the field. Or I’ll do us all a favor and cut
    your sorry selves. Then you’ll have all the time you want to take that act on
    the road.”
    Harry Coleman had the gruff, tough as nails, head coach
    routine down pat. He was with the Knights before Gaige was drafted. They had
    become friends—off the field. During the parameters of the game, Harry was no
    man’s friend. His job was to mold a team of winners. Management hadn’t always
    made that easy. But this year was different. There was a different feel in the
    locker room—and on the field.
    It was especially different for Gaige. This season had an
    urgency attached to it. It was for all the marbles. After sixteen years, he was
    hanging up his cleats. And he planned on going out a winner.
    His teammates knew—and a few select friends. This was Gaige’s
    final season. Looking back, it seemed like the time had flown in the blink of
    an eye.
    Gaige could still remember the butterflies in his gut the
    first time he took the field as a starter. A rookie—expected to lead a team of
    NFL veterans. He earned the men’s respect with his play and his nerves of
    steel. These days those nerves were rock solid. Back then, he faked his way
    through the first few games.
    He took his team to the playoffs that year. With Gaige at
    the helm, they had reached that lofty goal another nine. Four times they made
    it to the division championship. But to Gaige’s great disappointment, he couldn’t
    get the Knights over that last hump—to that final game.
    Sixteen years. He had every award. Rookie of the Year. MVP
    six times. Sports Illustrated Athlete of the Year twice. You name it, Gaige
    Benson had the shiny hardware.
    One thing had eluded him. A trip to the Super Bowl. This
    year was his last chance. And nothing would stand in his way.
    “You heard the coach. Get the lead out of your asses. Line
    up. Third down and long formation. Kozlowski, I’ve looked at your backside for
    seven years. And it hasn’t gotten any prettier.”
    The center bent over, putting his arm between his legs.
    “You see this?” His middle finger pointed at Gaige.
    Gaige grabbed the offending digit, pulling just hard enough
    to shove Kozlowski’s athletic cup uncomfortably against the man’s balls.
    “I could break that finger off.”
    “Do you think guys are lining up to have your hands between
    their legs?”
    “Yes,” Gaige said without hesitation.
    The offensive line chuckled. Gaige was a damn good-looking
    man. When it came to his sexual preference, he was straight as an arrow. But if
    he ever decided to lean that way, he would be fighting men off with a stick.
    “Are we talking about sex or football?”
    The question came from the only rookie on the line. It had
    taken Jeremy Mcmillon a while to come out of his shell. However, with that
    smartass comment, Gaige decided he was starting to fit in just fine.
    “Sex. Football. They’re all the same to Golden Boy.
    Beautiful woman. Perfectly thrown touchdown reception. They both make his dick
    hard.”
    “Set!” Gaige shouted.
    Enough with the kidding around. He was gratified that to the
    last man, his teammates took their pre-snap stance. Knuckles on the turf.
    Bodies tense and ready to spring.
    “Sixty-five red.” He called to his right, turning, he
    repeated it with the same hard cadence. “Sixty-five red. Hut.”
    Gaige received the ball from Kozlowski’s sure hands. He had
    taken two steps back when out of the corner of his eye, he spied the team’s top
    defensive end, Ben Stomp Larkin, break through the offensive line. It
    was a sight he loved to see during a game, but when he was the big man’s
    target, Gaige was less than thrilled.
    Waiting a split second, Gaige let Larkin commit himself. A
    straight line, fresh meat to feed on. At the last moment, Gaige faked to the
    left, pivoted right then scrambled toward the sideline. He knew Sean would be
    open. Eight years of