Page 15 of Coach’s Pass (Twin Cities #1)

Coach Schmidt

“ D akota State may have lost in the title game last year, but they’ve looked sharp so far this season,” Amy Lee says, her voice cutting through the roar of the crowd echoing around the Fishbowl.

Primetime lights. National coverage. Everyone’s watching.

“Coach Schmidt, what do you think are your keys to success tonight?”

“Well, Amy,” I say confidently, “I think our renewed focus on discipline and zone coverage will serve us well tonight. We’ve drilled it all week. Communication and pressure are key.”

“Great answer, Coach.” She smirks and lifts a notecard. “Okay, second question—this one’s from the fans: What does your beard care routine look like? You’ve got quite a few admirers out there who’d love their shot with you.”

I chuckle and scratch my beard. “Well, tell them I appreciate the love. Let’s just say a little conditioner goes a long way… and I’m taken.”

I see Jackson off to the side, stretching, a grin forming at his lips.

Amy raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Taken, huh?”

I offer a wink and move to wrap things up. “That’s all I’ll say on that. Time to focus on the game.”

I stride towards the sideline when Austin sprints up to me. “Hey son, you ready for tonight?”

He hesitates. “Kind of. I... I have a question for you.”

“Sure son, shoot away.”

He squints, careful. “Were you in Duluth last weekend with Jackson?”

I freeze, how would he know. I turned my location off on my phone. Kept it lip tight. Did Jackson tell him? No, he wouldn’t do that. I stammer, “No of course not. Where would you get that crazy idea from?”

“Is it really just a coincidence that both of you were out of town on the same days? Jackson told me he was up on the North Shore last weekend. And you just admitted in front of the entire country that you are romantically involved with somebody,” Austin says.

My stomach sinks.

Fuck. My own son is too damn sharp for his own good. There’s only one play left in the book when the pocket collapses—deny and gaslight. I shake my head and sigh. “Austin, come on. Why would I be involve myself that way with Jackson? I would lose everything. My career would be over.”

He studies me for a minute. “Yeah, I don’t know. I just had this nagging feeling,” Austin mutters.

“Bring it in, son.” I motion him in for a hug. So much for keeping a low profile. Okay, time to focus on the game plan.

I gather all the players together on the sideline for a pre-kickoff speech.

Raising my voice above the roar of the crowd.

“Dakota State might’ve been the number two team in the country last year.

But that doesn’t mean shit tonight. I know this team better than I know the back of my hand.

And I know if you trust each other, if you fight for every yard, they won’t stand a damn chance. ”

“Y’all hear me?” I shout.

“Yes Coach!” they roar back, clinking their helmets.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch our Walleye mascot whipping the student section into a frenzy, doing the wave on the turf.

It’s game time baby.

We receive the football to start the half.

On the first drive I let Jackson call the plays, I trust him.

He’s got killer instincts when his head is in the right place.

Marches them downfield like he owns it. The drive ends with a clean strike to Ryan in the back of the end zone from the three-yard line.

But Dakota State answers right back. They’ve been studying our tape for weeks. Quick slants, a few missed tackles, and suddenly it’s tied 7–7.

I pace the sideline, jaw tight. Blood pressure rising way to much for this early in the game.

Second drive, I make some call adjustments. We go heavy on the run. Ground and pound. Chew the clock. Wear out their defensive front. Jackson hands off like a machine. Our O-line does its job. We settle for a field goal from the twenty-four. Not ideal, but it’s something. Ahead 10–7.

The rest of the first half? A game of tug of war.

They break off a forty-yard touchdown. We answer with a trick play that gets the crowd on its feet. Jackson fakes left, scrambles right, finds Austin for six. Then a busted coverage on our end lets them score another touchdown.

By halftime, it’s 24–21. We’re up, technically. But only by one possession. Too close. Especially at home, in our Fish House.

As the boys file into the locker room, their faces are heavy with fear and sweat. That’s the problem when you blow out teams. You get complacent when some real competition shows up. The team with the most grit always pulls out in this situation.

I step up on the bench, their eyes falling on me. “Listen up! We expected a fight tonight. And that’s exactly what we got going on. If you think I brought this team this far to fold now, you’re out of your damn minds.” A few of the players nod.

“They’re tired. I can see it in their footwork.

I can hear it in their breathing. We’re going to break them.

Drive by drive. Hit by hit. Every block, every snap—you finish the damn play.

You don’t wait for the whistle. You bury them before it blows.

This is our Fish House. Our field. Our year.

We lose this game, we give up control of our playoff future. You want that?” I bark.

“No, Coach!” they bark back.

“You want this win?”

“Yes, Coach!”

“Then act like it. Own this second half. Let’s go make a statement.”

The roar of the team shakes the walls. It’s time to finish this.

Our defense comes out swinging, stuffing Dakota State’s first drive. Linebackers crashing the gaps, corners tight on coverage. They try to run, we stack the box. Try to throw, we blanket the field. Three and out. Just how we drew it up.

Then Jackson takes over again. He’s methodical, stepping up in the pocket, picking apart their coverage.

Hitting slants, stretching the field with precision deep balls.

He’s calm and composed under pressure. He’s playing like a guy destined for Sundays.

That drive ends in another score. And the next? Same damn thing.

We’re up 38–21 and the crowd’s losing their minds. However, I’m celebrating yet. In this business, leads are illusions. A pick-six and a lucky onside recovery? Suddenly we are basically tied.

Our defense holds. They’re exhausted, but they dig deep. Pressuring their QB and holding down zone coverage. Exactly the kind of perseverance we built into this team.

I shift the offense into clock-chewing mode.

Heavy on the run and grinding down the clock, ruining any hope Dakota State would have at making the playoffs.

They squeeze out a field goal in desperation, but it’s a little too late.

Mercy points to make the loss sting a bit less. Final score: 45–24. Lake U on top.

As the clock hits zero, helmets fly off, players and the crowd rush the field. They know what this means. Not just a win, but a quality win . One the playoff committee will take into heavy consideration down the line. Under the pressure of the national spotlight, we delivered.

I gather the team at midfield. “You boys did it. You stuck together. You trusted the plan. And when they tried to rattle us, you punched back. This isn’t just a win.

This is proof. Proof that Lake U didn’t come to mess around.

We’re the real deal. And the rest of the country better start acting like it. ”

The players erupt in cheers, hugging the fans streaming onto the field.

I glance toward Jackson, giving him a proud smile. He smiles back at me. God I miss him, haven’t had any one-on-one time since I dropped him off at his apartment on Sunday night.

But now I have to be careful. Especially now that Austin is on to us.

I trot back to my office across the street, resisting all the temptation swimming in my cock.

I shut the door behind me, let out a long breath, and pull up Central Illinois game film.

Their pass defense is no joke. A nasty secondary that loves picking off impatient quarterbacks.

Jackson’s going to need to stay sharp in the pocket.

I start scribbling notes, slipping into the zone. Thoughts of Jackson start to fade.

I got distracted by a few recruiting calls, it was a little easier to sway five and four-star recruits when you win the big games. I’m halfway through one when my office door creaks open. Jackson is standing there.

His hair’s still damp from the shower, in his team hoodie and sweats. Duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. Jackson’s blue eyes lock onto mine. It’s like he possessed the ability to flirt with just eye contact. Causing me to lose my composure with only a glance.

“Hey Coach,” he says.

My throat tightens. “Jackson… you can’t be in here right now.”

He closes the door softly behind him. “I’m here for my reward.”

I stare at him, torn in half. Blood surging south. I promised myself I would hold back. “I mean it,” I say, more to myself than him. “We shouldn’t.”

He takes a step closer. “But you want to.”

God help me. I do. I stand up, heart racing like it’s third-and-long in overtime. “Austin’s already suspicious. If anyone sees you—”

“No one saw me,” he cuts in. “And I won’t stay long.” He takes another step closer. “I played my ass off tonight. You said I’d earn it. So here I am.”

My fists clench at my sides. “Lock the door.”

He locks the door, we make out as if we both have been fasting for a week. “Tonight you just get to suck me off? Alright?”

“Yes Coach,” he mutters. Taking off my belt and bringing my pants towards the ground. Fuck he’s hungry for my cock.

He swallows all of it. To the back of his throat, eager for me.

My phone rings, I glance over its Austin. He never calls.

I click to answer, “Hey dad, I’m on my way to your office. There is something I have to tell you.”

“Alright son, how soon are you going to be here?”

“Should be there in two minutes.”