Quarterback Read online

  “I think what you saw last night was a combination of things. The Cougars did have some key injuries, but I think it was more a great game plan by our staff and solid execution.”

  “What you did to the Cougars seemed a lot like an execution,” Jimmy quipped, earning another cough of laughter from Kris.

  “Well,” Kris said, trying to keep his voice even, “as you know, those guys tripped us up earlier in the year, so it was good to get them back.”

  A mischievous smile crossed Jimmy’s face as he looked down at the table, shaking his head from side to side.

  “Ever the diplomat, Kris Hopkins. Alright, here’s one for you, and I’m asking, begging, you to speak freely.”

  Kris looked over at Jimmy, motioning for him to continue. He had a good idea what was coming next, but feigned ignorance just the same.

  This late in the season, the impending line of questioning wasn’t tough to figure out.

  “I notice you said the staff put together a great game plan, but no mention of Coach Dumari.”

  A small chuckle slid from Kris as he leaned back, glancing out at Mickey and shaking his head.

  “It is obvious there’s some friction there,” Jimmy persisted. “Care to comment?”

  “Are you trying to get me in trouble today?” Kris asked, mirth in his tone.

  “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t try,” Jimmy replied, the same genial tone in his voice.

  Kris leaned into the microphone and shook his head, running a hand along the back of his neck. There was enough he wanted to say to fill books, none of which he could actually expound over the air.

  “All I’ll say is, Coach D and I are two very competitive people used to operating with a lot of autonomy. You add that together and there’s bound to be, as you put it, some friction.”

  Jimmy looked over at him, skepticism plain on his features.

  “I will say this, though,” Kris added. “We’re both committed to the same thing, which is winning football games.”

  Chapter Six

  The ball bounced back up off the artificial field turf, a plume of shaved black rubber bits rising from the plastic green blades of grass. It hung suspended a moment before Kris snatched it out of the air, his hand wrapping over halfway around it.

  Dressed in a pair of gym shorts and running shoes with the top half of his uniform, Kris stood near midfield of the Warriors practice facility, the rest of the team at work around him.

  On the right half of the field was the offense in red jerseys, linemen paired up in the end zone and working through technique drills, backs and receivers on the twenty going over pass routes.

  Opposite them was the defense dressed in white, the same basic split at hand. Defensive tackles and ends running through agility drills along the back half, linebackers and defensive backs going through coverage assignments.

  Eleven weeks into the season, the time for wearing pads and going full contact during practice was long since past. Just two days removed from a game, most of the players were still moving a bit slow, their bodies feeling the toll after three months of the weekly grind.

  Standing together at midfield were Kris and Walsh, both dressed in green jerseys, a clear sign to everybody that they weren’t to be touched. It was a directive that had existed from day one for quarterbacks in practice, but that didn’t keep them from feeling their share of the aches a long season brought with it.

  Gripping the ball in his right hand, Kris simulated a snap and took a seven step drop, his focus darting around the field, working through an imaginary progression. After several seconds he relaxed, dropping his hands to his side.

  “On that deep post to Adler,” Kris said, flipping the ball to Walsh, “I saw the safety was starting to sneak up on the line.”

  “Had they been doing that earlier?” Walsh asked, assuming his stance and running through the same drill. When he was done he relaxed himself and stood beside Kris, both of them watching the various offensive groups go through drills.

  “Never,” Kris replied, shaking his head. “That’s how I knew he was coming. We were already in twins left, so I brought Adler in motion to give him some space.”

  They both glanced to the side as Coach Dumari approached, arms folded across his torso, shoulders hunched forward as if he’d been punched in the stomach. The same dour expression traced his features, frown lines on either side of his mouth.

  “My play call took into account the safety was coming,” he said by way of a greeting. “We were fine with what we had.”

  Kris rolled his eyes towards the roof of the complex and shifted his attention back on the receivers running through route sequences. For the first few months he had tried to play the game, but now he was far beyond even trying to hiding his disdain.

  “No chance. That put seven guys in the box.”

  “Still would have been six yards before the safety made the tackle,” Dumari countered. “And the clock would have kept running.”

  Without looking back at him, Kris said, “Didn’t matter. The score put the game out of reach.”

  “It also put their offense back on the field.”

  Silence fell amongst the trio for a moment, the sounds of whistles blowing and position coaches yelling floating through the air. Walsh glanced between Kris and Dumari to see if either side would continue, but both remained quiet.

  After a moment Dumari moved on, the scowl on his face even deeper than before.

  Kris glanced over to him as he left, a matching expression on his own face.

  “Dick.”

  Chapter Seven

  Hand painted signs dotted the windows, depicting the sort of wide-eyed wonderment that only first graders could display. A few had drawn rainbows, others trees and sunshine. Some of them had gone for a more traditional family route, groups of stick figures holding hands, oversized smiles on their lollipop-shaped heads.

  The artwork stared out into the chilly Portland morning as Kris walked along the front sidewalk of Oakmont Elementary School and ducked inside, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, the collar of his leather jacket folded down neatly. Hanging a right at the corner he stepped inside the building, avoiding the front office and going straight for the home room of Mrs. Bonnie Elmont.

  Nobody bothered to stop him as he went, it being far from the first time he had visited.

  Odds were it wouldn’t be the last either.

  Pausing just outside the room, Kris peered in through the chicken wire on the upper half of the classroom door. Inside, two dozen children were stooped over their desks, coloring something Kris couldn’t quite make out. Taking a deep breath, he tapped at the glass with the back of his knuckle, many of the heads jerking upward in curiosity.

  A moment later Elmont appeared on the other side of the glass, looking out at him through thick-framed bifocals. A smile crossed her face as she opened the door.

  “Mr. Hopkins,” she almost exclaimed, wrapping both arms around the outside of his and pulling him into a hug. “So good of you to stop by.”

  The faint smell of sausage and cheese clung to her sweater as they embraced, the scent filling Kris’s nostrils and bringing a bit of moisture to his eyes. Arms pinned by his sides he patted her on the back, an awkward smile on his face.

  “Of course,” Kris replied. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  Elmont released the hug and stepped away, gripping either arm in her hands. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

  She stared at him a full moment, smile affixed to her face, before stepping aside and turning to the class. Behind her, two dozen children half-rose out of their seats, a murmur of excitement and anticipation sweeping through the room.

  “Class,” Elmont said, the same excitement laced through her voice, “today we have a very special treat. You all remember Mr. Hopkins, right?”

  Half of the students answered audibly, the others nodding emphatically in their seats.


  “Who here can tell me what Mr. Hopkins does?” Elmont asked, rubbing her hands together in front of her.

  A half dozen hands shot into the air, all boys with arms extended so high it raised them to a standing position.

  “Ooh! Ooh!” one called out in a faux whisper.

  “I know, I know!” another claimed.

  “Okay, Adam, do you know the answer?” Elmont asked.

  “He’s a quarterback!” a blonde with a Dutch boy haircut replied.

  “And who does he play quarterback for?” Elmont pressed.

  “The Portland Warriors!”

  “That’s right,” Elmont said, nodding in the affirmative. “Now, I want you all to give your undivided attention to Mr. Hopkins. Can you all do that?”

  Twenty-four heads nodded in unison.

  Turning towards Kris, Elmont bent a few inches at the waist in a half bow and said, “Alright, sir, the floor is yours.”

  “Thank you,” Kris replied, stepping by her to stand in front of the class. The smile slid from his face and his brow furrowed as he put a hand on either hip, staring down at them.

  “Alright,” he began, his voice even. “I have just one thing to ask all of you.”

  Before him every last student looked on, eyes wide.

  Kris held the pose a moment longer before raising his hands by his side, the smile growing back into place. “What does a guy have to do around here to get a high-five?”

  In unison every child rose from their seat and rushed forward, an excited murmur coursing through them. Kris lowered himself to the ground, his right knee hitting the carpet beneath him as his left hand went into the air.

  One by one the kids took their turn, slapping their hands against his palm. Every last one smiled as they did so, some taking two or three turns before returning to their seat.

  Off to the side, Elmont stood and shook her head, an oversized smile on her face as well.

  Chapter Eight

  The play clock ticked backwards from ten, the oversized numbers displayed on yellow countdowns in each corner of the field. Kris glanced up at them and watched as both of the Sacramento Spartan linebackers crowded the line before retreating back away.

  “Black A 8!” Kris called, looking the length of the line in either direction. “Black A 8!”

  On the far right Adler moved into motion, jogging in from the number four stenciled alongside the forty yard line towards the rest of the Warriors offense lined up on the opposite hash.

  “Hut! Hut!”

  The ball slammed into Kris’s hand a split second before the sound of pads slapping against each other filled his ears. The ambient noise of the stadium faded away as he dropped back, his focus on the field around him.

  On the right edge, Spartan defensive end Kiko Lewis sprinted hard up field, the tackle turning to run him past the play. Without looking their way, Kris stepped forward in the pocket, his first glance to Adler on a crossing route. Behind him the safety was tucked away in a Cover-3, forcing Kris on to his second option.

  Outside, the slot receiver ran a deep curl, a linebacker and corner bracketed around him.

  The third look was Mills on a deep drag, cutting back across the field from his tight end position. Taking one extra step forward Kris waited until Mills cleared the hash mark before lofting the ball towards him, putting just enough air on it to let Mills run underneath it.

  The ball rose into the red and black backdrop of the stadium for a moment before drifting downward, landing in Mills outstretched hands. Behind him the linebacker in coverage dove at his ankles, swiping his hand at Mills cleats.

  The attempt tripped Mills up just a step, his feet chopping in rapid fashion before regaining balance. A roar sprang out from the crowd as he turned towards the goal line, nothing in front of him but green grass.

  Shifting the ball to his right hand he sprinted forward, covering twenty yards in a just a couple of seconds. The last few yards he finished with a high-step, dragging his toe and thrusting his legs out in front of him.

  Standing behind the line of scrimmage, Kris raised his arms in the air. He dropped his right hand down and pounded his chest before pointing it back up towards the sky, the offensive line around him heading towards the end zone to celebrate.

  Hands stretched high overhead, Kris walked forward to Lewis, butting his facemask into the defender’s.

  “Sorry big man, just a step too slow.”

  Lewis’s face twisted into a mask of rage as he shoved his forehead back into Kris, pushing his body away. “Shut the hell up, Hopkins. One more second and I’d have had your ass.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t,” Kris said, a grin on his face as he eased away. Lowering his hands to his side he walked backwards a few steps, staring down Lewis, before turning and heading to the sideline.

  The kicking team jogged past him as he went, the special teams unit already moving to tack on the extra point. Kris slapped the helmet of kicker Bobby Montenegro as he passed by, pausing a few yards off the sideline and waiting for Mills to arrive from the end zone. When he did, Kris greeted him with a pat on the helmet, a smile on both faces.

  “One of these days you’re going to have to teach me that dance,” Kris said, jogging off alongside his tight end.

  “I don’t know old man,” Mills replied, “I might be afraid of you breaking a hip.”

  A laugh slid out of Kris as he shook his head. “Yeah, you realize this old man probably got you laid tonight with that pass don’t you?”

  “Realized and appreciated,” Mills said, offering a faux salute as he disappearing into the crowd on the sideline, all eager to congratulate him.

  Kris watched as Mills was swarmed by teammates before moving off to the side where Dumari stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his windbreaker. If he was pleased by the result of the play there was no indication, his eyes narrowed. Behind him stood Walsh, a pair of headphones over his ears, a clipboard in hand.

  “What the hell was that?” Dumari snapped.

  “That was a touchdown,” Kris said, turning over his shoulder as Montenegro kicked the extra point through. “And that was a PAT, in case you couldn’t tell.”

  “I called a running play,” Dumari snapped, ignoring the comment.

  “And I called an audible,” Kris replied, accepting a water bottle from a trainer. He turned the bottom of it upwards and squeezed out a steady stream, spray dotting the front of his jersey. “You see those linebackers crowding the line?”

  The folds of skin around Dumari’s jaw line grew heavier as he pulled his chin inward, glaring at Kris. “We are a running team. We run first to set up the pass.”

  Kris opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it and handed the water bottle back to the trainer. He took a couple steps towards the bench before stopping, his body parallel to Walsh’s.

  “You ever see that front Rook, do exactly what I just did,” Kris said, cocking an eyebrow towards Dumari. “It’s open every time.”

  Chapter Nine

  The scoreboard above the right goal post announced the score was twenty-four to fourteen with just over two minutes left in the third quarter. Kris glanced up at it, and then the play clock in the corner, before stepping under center. Across from him the defensive line shifted into a four down front, the outside linebacker lining up off the right edge.

  “Easy, easy, easy!” Kris barked, shifting back into the shotgun formation. Dickson took two steps to the side as he went, falling in on Kris’s hip.

  Starting on the left, Kris scanned the field, assessing the defense.

  “Red 9! Red 9!”

  Dickson turned on the ball of his foot, motioning towards the sideline. Alone in the backfield, Kris paused one extra moment to let him get past the slot receiver before finishing his cadence.

  “Hut! Hut!”

  At the sound of his voice, the center flipped the ball back between his legs, the oblong orb hanging in the air a split second before reaching Kris’s grasp. Without looking d
own his fingers found the laces, tucking the ball in tight to his ear.

  Kris made it no more than two steps into his drop before the left defensive end came tearing off the edge, a straight speed rush that left the tackle hugging air. Abandoning his progression, Kris pulled the ball down and secured it tight against his body, splitting the center and guard as he rushed up field.

  Past the first line of the defense the field opened up, Kris breathing hard as he sprinted forward. In front of him the inside linebacker came into view, dropping out of coverage and closing the gap fast. Looking straight at him Kris lowered his shoulder and ran ahead, fooling him into over committing before shuffle stepping to the side.

  A grunt of frustration burst out of the linebacker as he slid past, his outstretched arm glancing off of Kris’s thigh. For just the briefest moment Kris glanced back at him, looking up just in time see Lewis launch himself into the air.

  Out in the open and no chance of sliding in time, Kris rolled his shoulders forward, gripping either end of the ball and bracing for impact. Before it even got there he knew it was going to hurt, every muscle in his body tensing, trying to shield itself from what was about to come.

  The shot hit just above the ear hole on Kris’s helmet, the crown of Lewis’s head slamming into him like a medieval bludgeon. A flash of white light erupted before his eyes, a buzz filled his ears, his body weightless as he hung suspended in the air.

  An instant hush fell over the stadium as he slammed to the turf, his eyes rolling back in his head. At once the light and the sound faded away, darkness engulfing his senses.

  Chapter Ten

  Kris’s eyes felt as if they were crusted together as they slid open no more than a quarter inch, blinding light seeping in. The dull, incessant beeping of a heart rate monitor sounded out beside him, the noise resembling cannon fire at close range.

  Wincing at both the light and the sound, Kris raised a hand to cover his eyes. Held out just a few inches from his face the fingers appeared misshapen, their edges blurry.