Page 108 of Devil in Disguise
Except that Harlan was running a post route, and now, ten yards down the field, he turned. And Jefferson was passing the ball, because Andre hadn’t had it after all. All of that misdirection happening in a couple of seconds, and Harlan leaping high, the ball hitting him in the gloves.
And coming down with it at the fifty-yard-line, being tackled by the safety instantly.
Too far for a field goal. They needed ten more yards, and even then, it’d still be a fifty-five-yard attempt.
Even as she was thinking it, Jefferson was hustling the team down the field, Owen shouting instructions to his linemen all the way. Dyma couldn’t see his face, but she could read his body language. All the way dialed in. All the way focused.
“I can’t believe they passed!” Dyma said. “I can’t believe it!” But nobody was listening.
Twenty-five seconds. Ball at the fifty.
Another pass, a longer one, and the Steelers were ready this time. Harlan running his route, then changing course and throwing a block on the cornerback, sacrificing his body. Bouncing off him again, both of them going down, and the ball headed for the second wide receiver, Darius Smith.
And the Steelers’ safety leaping for the interception, getting his own hands on it.
Interception.
Oh, no. Oh,no.
Wait. It wasn’t! The ball had squirted out of both pairs of hands. Deflection. Incomplete pass. But it was only second down, and they had time to get off two more quick plays. Another pass attempt, and if it worked, the field-goal attempt.
She was thinking it, and the ball was going sideways, headed to the ground.
Harlan, still down, picking it up, then getting up faster than should have been possible, like he wasn’t quite human, and running. Toward the end zone, for some reason. The safety nearly catching him as he went by, but Harlan bouncing off him, a hard palm on his chest, and the safety sprinting to catch him. Half the Steelers jogging back the other way, because whatever Harlan thought he was doing, that had been an incomplete pass. Some of the Devils running with him anyway, the tight end racing to catch up and block for him, and in the stands, pure confusion.
Harlan to the thirty, threading the needle down the left sideline as the safety closed in, and then pulling away. To the twenty. To the ten, the crowd on its feet and roaring. Across the goal line. Spiking the ball, and being grabbed by the tight end, and then by everybody else, as the clock ticked down to zero.
The referee, signaling … what? Something.
“Review,” Charliese said. “Whether the ball hit the ground. And whether he stayed in bounds.”
A chorus of boos coming from the stands. From Steelers fans, arguing that the pass was incomplete. From Devils fans, that it wasn’t. And on the Jumbotron, the replay starting, then replaying again, in a loop.
She couldn’ttell.
Slow motion, now. The pass deflected, bouncing off both pairs of hands. Harlan reaching out and scooping it up at ground level, then jumping to his feet and running.
“That’s in bounds,” Charliese said. “That’s inbounds,baby!” Harlan’s feet were as sure as if he were walking a tightrope. Sprinting full tilt, and holding that line.
A second angle, now. Slow motion, over and over. The ball near the ground, and Harlan’s gloved hands under it. Again and again.
The stadium hushed now, waiting.
A minute. Two. Both teams standing around, hands on their hips, breath frosty in the January air. Their bodies would be drenched with sweat despite the cold, their muscles cramping. They’d played seventy minutes, and they were ready to play ten more.
The referee’s arms going up.
Touchdown.
Bedlam.
* * *
When Owen calledDyma after the game, she told him, “I’ve had family time. I’ve had it to about the thousandth degree. I have to go back to school tomorrow, and I wantOwentime. I want it right now. I want to tell you how amazing you were.”
He was happy to give her Owen time. And when he went to pick her up and she was wearing about the sexiest little black dress he’d ever seen, with straps that tied at the shoulders, a neckline that dipped heart-stoppingly low, and a flirty little ruffled hem that ended not very far down her thighs at all? He was more than happy.
He took a look at that, and at the black heels she was wearing with it, and said, “Maybe skip dinner. Besides, you’ll be cold.”
