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Abby released his hand and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him into her side. “I know. But he’s beaten longer odds than this.”
She wasn’t talking about football, and Dylan understood. He smiled. “Yeah, he has, hasn’t he?”
She kept her arm around him as Scott and the huddle broke apart.
They’d throw.
No one could pick up eighteen yards in a single play without throwing.
And the Eagles were ready.
Scott took the snap. The line held. They had to, at least long enough for the receivers to get into first down range.
Scott dropped back. Waited. Finn and Highcastle broke right, forcing the safety to follow both of them, but then Highcastle dropped his head and poured on the speed, outdistancing the defender as he waited the split second to ensure the corner back would cover Finn.
Scott planted his feet.
The line broke.
His arm reeled back.
The defensive end lurched toward him.
The ball sailed over the Eagles line as it forced its way through the offense. One, lone hand reached up to tip it, but the ball sailed over his outstretched fingers.
The defensive end hit Scott full in the chest, bearing both of them to the ground, but his helmeted head followed the ball.
Abby’s heart leapt into her throat as Scott took the hit—the second in a row—but ignored it. Only the ball mattered as it spiraled through the air.
Abby’s gaze, too, locked on the ball as it hung like an ornament in the sky, floating there for longer than physics could ever allow.
Highcastle’s legs churned.
Beside her, Kelly mumbled, almost praying, “Come on, Jordan. Come on.”
The ball dropped in a long, slow arc.
Scott shoved the defender off him and leapt to his feet.
Seconds ticked past.
Highcastle turned his head, reached long, and Scott’s perfect spiral slid into his outstretched hands.
The stadium exploded as the rookie, his forward momentum barely slowed by the catch, ran the last few yards.
“They did it, they did it!” She couldn’t hear herself think, couldn’t hear the words Dylan chanted in her ear, couldn’t hear the scream coming from Kelly’s throat.
Scott turned and stared straight at them. He pointed.
This one’s for you.
It didn’t matter who he pointed to: Dylan, herself, the fans. He’d done it for all of them, and they’d share his excitement, howling it back to him, a war cry of victory.
Then, Abby’s breath froze in her lungs.
There were still fifty-five seconds left to play.
By the time the Eagles took the field after the extra point and the kickoff, the clock had only ticked down to fifty seconds.