Goal-Line Stand by Todd Hafer Read Free Book Online Page B

planted his left foot and cut toward the sideline.
    A down-and-out, Cody thought. Pretty crisp pattern, Brett, but I’m on it.
    Cody shot a glance into the backfield as he closed in on Brett. Bart cocked his arm and fired the pass, a near-perfect spiral. Brett was running out of field as he stretched for the pass, trying to reel in the ball and keep his feet in bounds at the same time.
    As he prepared to slam into Brett, Cody saw that the ball was going to be off target. There was no way Brett could catch it unless he stepped out of bounds.
    Cody didn’t care. The pain of his mother’s death, the humiliation of Coach Smith’s taunts, the embarrassment of half a season on the bench—he loaded it all into one furious hit, which he unleashed on Brett Evans with a Neanderthal grunt.
    He crashed into Brett’s exposed left flank. The force of the impact drove the receiver into the bench along the sideline. He tumbled over the bench, a sprawling mess of arms and legs, before landing with a thud on his back. Bart Evans was the first one to his motionless brother’s side. “He’s out!” Cody heard him screaming, his voice quivering. “He’s out cold! Somebody call 911!”
    Panic flooded Cody’s system. After making the hit, he had headed back to the field to collect praise from Pork Chop. But Chop sprinted right by him, toward the downed wideout.
    Cody stood in the middle of the field, both hands clutching his face mask. “God, please forgive me,” he whispered. “What have I done?”
    “You stink, Martin!” Bart said, ripping off his helmet and marching toward midfield. “That was a cheap shot and you know it! This is just a scrimmage—what’s wrong with you? If he’s hurt bad, I’ll see you after practice!”
    “I’m sorry,” Cody said quietly as he felt his head droop.
    Cody watched as Bart returned to his brother’s side. Half the team was crowded around the fallen receiver. Periodically, one of the Raiders would steal a glance over his shoulder at Cody, who stood frozen at midfield, alone like a leper.
    Cody felt a wave of relief wash over him when, finally, Coach Smith helped Brett to a sitting position. Then Pork Chop, who was crouched in front of Brett, stood and offered his hand.
    Brett pulled himself to his feet and stood blinking and slowly rotating his head. Cody felt himself drawn to his teammate, as if by magnetic force. He walked slowly but deliberately to Brett and extended his hand. “Brett, I’m sorry about the hit. You okay?”
    Brett studied Cody’s hand for a moment, then spat in it. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he snapped, “no thanks to you! And you best watch yourself, Martin. You know what they say about paybacks!”
    Brett wasn’t at practice the following day. In the locker room, Coach Smith explained that he had suffered a slight concussion and wouldn’t be in the lineup for that Saturday’s game with West.
    “Martin,” Coach Smith said, “you played some at receiver last year, so you’re gonna have to fill in. We’ll have to make sure you get some reps with the firstteam offense these next two days. We’re gonna run through all pass plays at nine-tenths speed, so that should help prepare you for game conditions.”
    Cody looked up from lacing his shoes to see Bart glaring at him.
    On the practice field, Cody was relieved to discover how easily the pass patterns came back to him. He ran deep posts, fly and flag routes, down-and-outs, down-and-ins, dig-and-gos, and comebacks.
    He was able to get open consistently on Matt Slaven, Brett’s practice replacement at cornerback, but Bart didn’t throw him one ball.
    Cody was ready to complain to his QB, but Coach Smith beat him to it. “Bart,” he snapped, “you have two wideouts, in case you’ve forgotten. Martin needs some touches, so you better throw him the ball, or I’ll put Goddard in. For Pete’s sake, quit being such a petty little baby!”
    On the next play, Bart called a Red Basic, X-in, which called for Cody to