“Oh. Wow. Is it happening?”
“Yes. And I know you want to watch Owen and I said you didn’t need to come anyway, but Harlan won’t be home for four hours at the earliest, and you can get here in three. It won’t be faster than that, because you took fourteen hours, but I th—”
“Mom,” Dyma said, to the sound of some rustling. “Stop talking. I’m on my way.”
* * *
Two minutes to go.Out of timeouts. Hurry-up offense. Down by three.
On their own 32-yard-line.
Malik Jefferson, the QB, shouting out the play as they got back into formation, his arm drawing circles in the air like that would get them there faster. Owen, barking to the offensive line. All eleven men in the zone, focused all the way, and on the other side of the ball, the Patriots exactly the same. They saw the pass coming. They knew there was no other choice. Demarcus Williams, the cornerback, eyes wide behind the face mask, tracking every twitch of Harlan’s muscles, and Dante Francis, the free safety, tracking everybody.
Pass and catch and get out of bounds to stop the clock. Once. Twice. Three times, and this time, the ball came to Harlan. A bullet, thrown with all Jefferson’s arm strength, threading the needle through the defenders. Harlan caught it, the shock of the contact reverberating up his arms, and stretched for the sideline. Williams tackling him as he went, and Francis slamming into him from behind.
He kept his legs moving, even as he started going down. He stretched out with everything in him, and when he’d done all he could, he found a little more to give. And the ball touched the line. Still in his hands.
The referee’s arm going out, pointing to the end zone. First down, and the clock stopped.
At their own 45, now. Twenty more yards for a shot at the field goal and overtime. A minute and thirty seconds on the clock.
Pass and catch and get out of bounds. He’d been doing it for twenty years, and he was doing it now. A decoy when the ball didn’t come his way, drawing double coverage, doing his very best to signal that he expected the pass.
Another first down, but barely. Fifty-five seconds. Taking off and running his route, and Williams on him like a bird dog.
Harlan knew the ball was going to his left. He didn’t have to look. He was watching Francis, the safety, seeing the moment when he started tracking his path to the ball. Which would be headed straight toward Darius Smith, the second wide receiver.
Harlan had never been known as a power blocker. This season, he’d worked to change that. Extra time in the weight room. Extra drills. And most of all, extra will.
You did whatever it took. And it wasn’t all about you.
* * *
The nurse said,“Getting close now. Let’s turn the TV off. Doctor says she’s five minutes out. You got here just in time, didn’t you?”
“Are you … kidding?” Jennifer gasped. “That’s my … fiancé. Leave it on.”
Dyma said, “Mom.”
“Shut up and hold my hand,” Jennifer said.
“All righty, then,” Dyma said. “Looks like I’m a labor coach. Too bad I have no idea how to be a labor coach.”
“No,” Jennifer said. “I’m waiting for … Harlan.” The urge to push was growing, the pain intense.
It had happenedfast.She’d thought, for a while, that they weren’t going to make it. Annabelle had driven like a demon, though. They might be getting a ticket for that one yellow light that had been turning red, but she’d gotten them here.
“Babies don’t wait,” the nurse told her, but Jennifer wasn’t listening. She was watching the TV. Seeing Harlan lower his shoulder pads, get his body down low, shove straight up with his palms, and keep his feet moving. Knocking the charging defender right off the ball, which the other guy, the right guy, caught and ran with. Straight out of bounds.
Dyma gave a whoop. “That’s ablock.I didn’t know Harlan could block like that. I didn’t know hewouldblock like that.”
“No guts,” Jennifer said, through the concentric red circles that were squeezing her insides tight, “no glory.”
Dr. Leather Pants coming in, then, masked and gowned and gloved, saying, “Where are we here?”
“Thirty yards from the … goal line,” Jennifer said. “Twenty … seconds on the clock. First … down.”
“Maybe time for two more plays,” Dyma said. “Then they have to go for it.”
