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The Eagles began their march down the field, and time itself seemed to bend to their will. No stress, no hurry, no worry, only the slow, methodical game of a team used to winning.
“Come on, defense, come on,” she found herself chanting over and over. “Come on, guys. Come on.”
Beyond Dylan, Kelly spoke the same litany. “Big stop here, boys. Big stop.”
But it didn’t matter. Like tissue paper, Baldwin and his offense ripped through their line again and again. They didn’t want the field goal, the tie, the overtime. They wanted the win.
Finally, the clock caught up with them. Twenty seconds and twenty yards to go. Short pass and out. Sixteen seconds and fifteen yards. Quick rush, timeout called. Nine seconds and eleven yards to go.
The Raptors took in the offensive line, then called their own timeout.
Finally, both sides set again.
Baldwin dropped back, waited. Nowhere to go. He threw it away. Incomplete.
Four seconds.
The Eagles set and the Raptors used their last timeout.
Abby’s hands shook. She couldn’t imagine being Scott, on the sideline, powerless as this played out moment by moment, yard by yard, and knowing he could do nothing but hope.
Baldwin went under center. Dropped back again. Hesitated.
“No,” Abby screamed, seeing the receiver come across the end zone, the defender two steps behind, at the same moment the Eagles’ quarterback did.
Baldwin’s wrist flicked and Abby, throat raw and voice gone, silently screeched in defiance of the imminent defeat.
A flash of silver.
Every fan in the stadium paused as time stood still.
A beat of supernatural silence.
Shock, awe, stunned confusion.
Then, like a tsunami, a wall of sound.
“Interception,” Dylan hollered in Abby’s ear.
“It’s over?” She couldn’t believe it. Waited, sure a flag would come, or a challenge, or...
But Dylan had called the interception correctly. A goal-line interception in the biggest game of the year. And the Raptors were victorious!
Thirty-Eight
“HEY SCOTT, IT’S time.” Abby’s spoke slowly, steadying her voice with every word. She’d been practicing until she could say them with the same calm she could assess a fibrillating heart or a collapsed lung. Practicing hope instead of despair. Her new therapist called her a badass. She wasn’t sure she believed her.
“When?”
“She had her bloodwork on Monday. Dr. Singh says the results are in and they’re ready to meet with us. Will you...” Her voice cracked, but she took a deep breath and tried again. “Will you come?”
“I can pick Dylan up at three, unless you need us there sooner?”
They’d talked a lot in the last several weeks about the future, Gen’s and theirs. When the Raptors won the Super Bowl, the players’ families had rushed the field and, one hand gripped in Dylan’s, the other sleeve caught in Kelly’s unrelenting grasp, she’d been dragged along.
Scott had reached for his son, tossed him into the air, and, together, they’d screamed in victory. The moment had been caught by a photographer and immortalized on the front page of every major news outlet in the country.
Abby, not sure she even belonged there, had allowed the momentum of the crowd to carry them away, but Dylan tugged at his dad’s sleeve and dragged his ear down so he could shout into it. A moment later, Scott’s head jerked up and his eyes locked with hers.