Page 130 of Hell Bent

The ball was loose. Everybody fell on it, but it didn’t matter, because the clock had ticked down to zero.

It was over.

The Super Bowl would go on, but for the Devils, the postseason started now.

I was going to have to figure out how to be a much better girlfriend.

Sebastian

On the sidelines, men stood with their hands on top of their heads and watched. I stopped kicking into the net and turned to watch, too. And then it happened.

This was why you learned every one of the rules for your new sport, at least the ones that applied to you. There was a flag down on the field, none of the Ravens players was celebrating, and the referee was pointing down the field. Pointing our way.

Blankenship, the aggressive, lightning-fast Ravens gunner, hadn’t just got in Simmons’ face. He’d brushed against him on his way past, and Simmons, who’d signaled for a fair catch to leave those six precious seconds on the clock for that desperate Hail Mary, had slipped on the turf and gone down.

It wasn’t over after all.

I buckled my chin strap.

Alix

I said, “What’s happening? I don’t understand.” The whole thing had taken about ten seconds, butwhatwhole thing?

Jennifer said, “I don’t know.” A buzz around us as the slow-motion replay unspooled once again on the JumboTron. The defensive players rushing down the field to get to the return man, and Simmons slipping and going down. Players diving on the ball, a yellow flag landing on the grass, and time running out.

Dyma said, “We get an untimed down.”

“A what?” I asked stupidly.

“An untimed down,” Ben said unexpectedly. “The game can’t end on a defensive penalty. The Devils get one more chance. And running into the returner when he’s signaled a fair catch is fair-catch interference, which is a fifteen-yard penalty.”

“How do you know?” Dyma asked. “I thought you were Canadian.”

“I have a lot of free time,” Ben said. “Also, the ref is signaling it right now.”

“So they’re on the forty-eight yard line,” Jennifer said. “The Ravens’ 48, I mean, not ours. And they have one more chance? That has to be a Hail Mary. Oh, boy.” She was jiggling both legs, and Nick had started to squirm and cry for real.

Dyma said, “Mom hates it when it’s a Hail Mary in a playoff game, because Harlan dropped one a few years ago in this exact same conference championship game, and they didn’t go to the Super Bowl. Interestingly ironic, but all’s forgiven if he catches it this time.”

Jennifer snapped over her son’s noise, “That pass was overthrown. Plus it should’ve been called for pass interference.”

Dyma said, “Mom isn’t too rational on this subject.” Not as cool as she sounded, though, because she was twisting her scarf in her hands.

“Wait,” I said. “Wait.” The players were running onto the field, and it wasn’t Harlan. It wasn’t Owen, either. It was Sebastian.

“You’re kidding,” Jennifer said. “That would be, uh …”

“Sixty-five yards,” Ben said. “Except?—”

“Except he’s kicking from the tee,” I said. “Isn’t he? The ball’s set up there all … all alone. What the heck? No snap?”

“From the line of scrimmage,” Ben said. “It’s a thing. A …” He paused, then snapped his fingers. “A fair-catch kick. It’s worked once in, like, fifty years, but it cuts seven yards off the kicking distance, because it’s from the line. Makes it fifty-eight yards from the tee, and he doesn’t have to deal with the snap and the hold or the defense trying to block it. He just has to kick it.”

“The word ‘just,’” Dyma said, “is doing a whole lot of work there. Oh, boy. How cool is he, Alix? I’m gladIdon’t have to live with this if I miss.”

“He isn’t going to miss,” Ben said. “He does what he has to do. He told me.”

I couldn’t answer. I was too focused on breathing.