After the kickoff, the Sabers got the ball first, which meant Flynn would have to cool it on the sidelines while Mick Riley and the Sabers offense went to work.

Mick was efficient as ever, chewing up yardage with good passes. The run game was on point, too, and with six minutes off the clock they were in the red zone on the eighteen-yard line.

Flynn and the rest of the defensive players stayed out of the way but kept their bodies limber by moving around behind the benches. And when Mick threw a sharp touchdown pass to Ernie Truskey, their tight end, the entire Sabers sideline cheered, along with everyone in the stadium.

It had been textbook Riley, and Mick got lots of head slaps on his way back.

After the extra point, Flynn and his defense huddled with the defensive coordinator to work out their strategy for this series while the special teams prepared for the kickoff.

St. Louis would have the ball on the twenty-two-yard line.

It was time for Flynn and the defense to work some magic.

After the huddle, he lined up on the right side, breathing in the smell of fresh turf. Turf smelled like winning to him and he could never get enough of it.

He dug his knuckles into the grass and focused only on the player in front of him. That was his target, the player who stood in the way of him getting to the quarterback.

At the snap he pushed off and went head to head with the offensive lineman, who managed to hold him back long enough for Grant to get off a short pass to the wide receiver on the left side. Grant made a quick turn in time to see Junior take the receiver down after a short five-yard gain.

Good enough.

They huddled, then lined up again. This time it was a run through the middle and Flynn piled onto the runner, who ended up with no gain.

Now it was third down and this was the key to stopping the Traders’ drive.

“It’s third and five,” Flynn said in the huddle. “It could go either pass or run, so be ready for it with man-to-man.”

They’d gotten their instructions from the sidelines, so they knew what they had to do.

They broke and lined up in man coverage, expecting anything. When Grant dropped back to pass, Flynn pushed off and broke around the lineman, heading straight for the quarterback. Grant danced around him and threw the pass a fraction of a second before Flynn could get to him.

The pass was incomplete. Fourth down.

Grant shot him a glare. Flynn grinned.

The Traders would have to punt, so it was a damn satisfying series. Anything that kept the Traders from the end zone was a win in his book.

They traded back and forth the next several series, with no one scoring. But Flynn had a goal in this game, and that meant getting to his brother. So far, that hadn’t happened and by the end of the first half Flynn’s team was up by one touchdown. That meant defense was tough on both sides, which suited Flynn just fine. He liked a hard-fought defensive game.

He’d like it better if the Sabers put more points on the board in the second half, something their coach pounded into the offense when they hit the locker room during halftime.

“We’ve got a lot to be proud of,” Flynn said to the defensive line while they took a breather at halftime. “We’ve held them scoreless. Let’s keep that momentum going in the second half.”

“You know you want to shove your brother into the ground,” Hey Man said with a grin.

“Well, yeah. But to be honest, it’s important to keep our heads in the game. I know Grant is their quarterback, but to me he’s just like any other quarterback. If one of us—any of us—get to him for a sack, that’s icing. The most important thing is winning the game. Let’s keep our minds focused on that.”

He wasn’t going to let himself get distracted about having his brother on the other side of the ball. He wanted to make sure the other players stayed the same way.

So when they took to the field at the second half, he knew the defense was determined to keep it a scoreless game for the Traders. The crowd was fired up, and so was the defense. He got into position and pushed off the offensive lineman, heading straight for Grant.

His brother had good feet, though, and Flynn only grabbed a piece of Grant’s jersey before Grant sprinted out of his grasp. But he had to throw the ball away for an incomplete pass that left them with a second and ten.

Flynn felt the tension rising as Grant came under center and handed off to the running back. They smothered the back behind the line of scrimmage for a loss of yardage, which left the Traders with a third and long. Grant would have to pass on this down and the defense would come in with a hard pass rush this time.

And this time, Flynn blitzed past the lineman. He had Grant in his sights. So did Junior on the other side. Grant had nowhere to go but down, and Flynn pancaked him.

“Fucker,” Grant mumbled.

Flynn grinned, leaped up and held his hand down for his brother, who grudgingly let him haul him to his feet.

They shared the briefest of glances, but Grant eventually grinned back at him.

“I’m going to burn you all for a touchdown later,” Grant said, pulling turf out of his helmet.

Flynn laughed. “Doubtful.”

As he walked off the field to wild cheers from the stadium, Flynn was elated. But the game was far from over. And true to his word, Grant threw a long pass early in the fourth quarter to his best wide receiver, who outran the Sabers corner for a touchdown.

Fuck.

Okay, so there’d be no shutout today.

The Sabers recovered on their next drive when Mick drove them down the field and LaSalle ran in a touchdown from the six yard line, taking over the lead again.