Page 120 of Devil in Disguise
Touchdown.
* * *
A minuteand ten seconds left on the clock, and Jefferson signaling that they were going for two.
Risky,Owen thought, as he sucked the not-cold-enough air deep into his lungs and ignored the twitching of fatigued muscles and the sweat that soaked his body. Two points to win the game, because the coach had decided that a minute-ten was too long to give the Bucs.
Win or die.
The huddle, Jefferson clapping his hands, and everybody in position.
Intention. Focus. You weren’t even a man anymore. You were a bison, blocking the road, not giving an inch. Threatened, and charging.
He snapped the ball. And then he charged.
* * *
The offensive line holding.The quarterback pumping, then pumping again, scrambling to his right, pumping his arm all the way. Every single receiver covered, and Harlan all the way at the back of the end zone. The quarterback’s feet inches from the sideline as he threw the ball, and a split second before he took the hit and went down. No deflection possible this time, because he threw that ball high. It arced up in a perfect spiral that seemed to hang in the lights forever, and then it came down.
Harlan in the back of the end zone, leaping. Reaching all the way over his head. Stretching.
The gloved hands. The ball descending. The crowd on their feet, and Dyma clutching Nicky close to her body. The defender jumping right in front of Harlan, trying to knock him out of bounds before he could get both feet down.
Harlan’s hands closing around the ball. His body twisting in the air even as he descended, his mind somehow knowing exactly where he was. Both feet hitting the turf, so close to the line, and then he was falling backward.
In bounds.
Eighteen to seventeen. For the first time in fifty-nine minutes, the Devils had the lead, and the crowd was roaring.
Fifty-two seconds on the clock.
Another kickoff, all the way down to the three. The defense smothering now, because every man out there believed.
Third down on the Bucs thirty-three, the pass broken up.
Nobody getting a Gatorade barrel ready to dump on their coach, because you couldn’t tell. You couldn’ttell.
The Devils offense on the sideline, with nothing to do but watch. Owen with his helmet in his hand, standing still. All his strength spent, all his effort expended, unable to do anything but wait.
Fourth down. Hail Mary. No other possibility.
Men running at speeds that were barely human, racing for the end zone. The defensive line trying to get to the quarterback, and the offense holding them off. The quarterback throwing that final pass with all his effort, all his strength, all his will. At least five bodies going up for it.
Batted down in the end zone. The ball hitting the turf, rolling to a stop.
No flags.
No flags.
Eighteen to seventeen. The clock down to zero. The buzzer ending the game.
The Devils had won it.
Pandemonium.
Annabelle crying, Jennifer laughing, and Dyma holding Nick close, turning around to hug Owen’s mom, his dad, his sister-in-law, and thinking,You were so strong. I admire you so much. And I love you forever.
“Well,” Grandpa Oscar said, “I guess those boys will sleep good tonight.”
