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Every teammate rushed over.
Adam had already pulled off his helmet. His face was twisted with pain, cold sweat breaking across his forehead as he clutched his left leg.
Nolan remembered the training session at Adam’s house the previous weekend.
He had rolled the same ankle then.
This time, the old injury had probably come back worse.
The athletic trainer reached the field and helped Adam off.
The first half ended with that injury.
Bang.
Monte punched a metal locker hard enough to dent it.
"Those bastards did it on purpose!" Ford, the running back, slammed a squeeze bottle onto the floor. His nickname, Bronco, fit him almost too well.
Nearly every player was furious.
There were a few exceptions. Nolan. The coaches.
And Rice.
Rice stood there with his acne-marked face blank and confused while Coach Thomas spoke low in his ear, laying out the next set of calls.
That meant Rice was going in at quarterback.
At the same time, in the visiting locker room, Hawthorne’s bald head coach nodded again and again, his expression hard and satisfied.
"Boys, you did fine," he said. "Adam Newman already had a bad ankle. That is his problem, not ours."
The players laughed. Some of it was joy at the win they thought was coming. Some of it was relief.
"From what I know, the Normans’ backup quarterback is nowhere near Adam Newman," the coach continued. "But we do not relax. Number 88 is a rookie, but he runs hard. In the second half, lock him down and make him feel us."
He knocked his fists together.
...
The stadium announcer’s voice returned overhead.
"Unfortunately, we have to report that Adam Newman, the veteran quarterback who has produced over four thousand yards in his high school career, may not return tonight because of a left ankle injury. Backup quarterback Rice will replace him."
In the stands, the woman beside Mia rose at once.
"Go on," she called. "Crack their heads open."
Her movement was not dramatic, but her dress was hard to ignore, and plenty of fathers nearby noticed.
Her voice was low and a little husky. With her side-parted dark hair and deep black evening dress, she had a striking kind of mature beauty, different from the easy brightness of the girls on campus.
When the second half began, the Normans trailed 12-6.
As soon as Nolan lined up, he felt the pressure change.
It was no longer only the cornerback. The free safety and strong safety were both shading toward him now.
The look felt familiar.
On second down near the Hawthorne thirty-five, Nolan cut hard, doubled back, and drew several defenders with him.
Rice threw to another receiver.
Touchdown.
Mark made the extra point, and the Normans finally took the lead, 13-12.
"Looks like Rice is pretty good," the woman said to Mia. "See? He led a touchdown drive right away."
"Right. Of course," Katherine said, brushing hair behind her ear and nodding.
Anyone who understood even a little football could see the truth. Without Nolan dragging defenders away, that touchdown never happens.
While the players on the field were close to boiling over, the two head coaches somehow looked almost friendly.
"Thomas," Hawthorne’s coach said with a smile, "where did you find that kid? Lucky bastard."
He had noticed number 88 in the first half. According to the submitted roster, Nolan was not supposed to be anything special. He looked like a brand-new weapon.
"You’re not sneaking a college kid onto the field, are you?"
The implication was obvious.
"You can ask him yourself," Thomas said, smiling back.
The two men had faced each other for years. What outsiders did not know, Thomas understood clearly: Hawthorne’s sudden rise from perennial doormat this season had a lot to do with the bald man across from him.
"Good luck, Thomas," the Hawthorne coach said, turning away. "Hope your backup quarterback can handle all that trust."
At that moment, Rice stood inside the pocket as two Hawthorne rushers broke through with the same look that had injured Adam.
Rice panicked.
He tried to dump the ball to a nearby tight end, but the football slipped out of his hands.
Fumble.
A live ball.
Any player from either team could take it.
A Hawthorne defender scooped it up and sprinted toward the Normans’ end zone. The quarterback had been standing behind the line, which meant the turnover happened deep enough that the offense had nobody behind the play to stop the return.
The Hawthorne player even turned around and backpedaled into the end zone. Once he crossed the goal line, he faced the home stands and struck a taunting pose.
Hawthorne’s extra point was good, and the Cougars were back in front, 19-13.
The home stands went silent.
"Well..." Rice’s mother scratched her head, mortified. "Who doesn’t make mistakes when they’re young?"
"It appears the Normans’ backup quarterback has committed a costly fumble," the announcer said, voice heavy. "Hawthorne recovers for a touchdown."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
Rice stomped in place. Anger, frustration, and embarrassment rushed over him.
Self-blame did not.
"What kind of protection was that?" Rice shoved the fullback beside him.
The fullback was not the type to take it. He shoved back, their helmets nearly colliding before teammates pulled them apart.
A fumble was one of football’s most devastating mistakes. It did not merely waste a possession. It could hand the other team points. In one swing, the game had turned brutal.
If the Normans lost tonight, they would send Hawthorne into the playoffs.
No one wanted to see that.
"Coach Thomas. Let me go back in."
The voice came from behind him.
Adam Newman stood shoulder to shoulder with the coach.
"I feel better."
"You would be putting your future career on the line," Thomas said, shaking his head.
Adam looked toward the stands first, searching the crowd for a familiar figure.
Katherine was looking at someone on the field, light in her eyes.
Then Adam turned back to Thomas and gave him a clean, almost painfully calm smile.
"I know. But we can’t lose, can we?"
He did not wait for Thomas to answer. He walked out with the offense, though his steps were still uneven.
"Adam Newman is back!" the announcer shouted. "A little pain can’t keep a hero down. Everybody on your feet."
Even Nolan could see Adam was playing hurt.
There was no time to ask questions. He returned to his spot. Earlier, because he had not known the alignment rules well enough, the Normans had already been flagged for illegal formation once.
This time, as Hawthorne brought pressure again, Nolan had a sudden idea.
He reversed course and raised his hand for the ball.
At the critical moment, Adam chose to trust him.
A backward lateral was legal anywhere on the field, but using one in traffic was risky. It gave up field position, and more importantly, most players could not make a quick, accurate throw under pressure.
Nolan was different.
He had spent a full week secretly practicing quarterback fundamentals.
"Number 88, Nolan Callahan, has the ball," the announcer said, voice rising. "He starts forward, but the lane is packed. He throws backward. Number 89, Matic, makes the catch, turns upfield, and no one is in front of him."
"Touchdown!"
The final word stretched into the night.
Coach Thomas kept the offense on the field for two.
Adam rolled right, drew the defense with him, and hit Nolan at the goal line. The conversion was good, putting BHHS back ahead, 21-19.
"What a surprise. Number 88 Nolan Callahan can throw."
On the Hawthorne sideline, the bald coach grabbed both sides of his head, mouth open.
He could not understand where this had come from.
"So that’s your secret," he muttered. "Hide a quarterback at receiver and spring him when it matters?"
He wanted to punch Thomas in the face.
Thomas had a reputation for volatile temper and unpredictable in-game changes. Now Hawthorne’s coach was convinced this had been planned all along.
That pass did not look like something a receiver picked up casually. The mechanics were clean. The accuracy was real. Someone had trained him.
"You didn’t think I was out of tricks, did you?" Thomas said with a twitching smile.
It looked like confidence.
In truth, he was more confused than anyone.
When did that kid learn to throw like a quarterback?
It had to be Adam. Adam must have been teaching him behind his back.
Thomas had specifically told Adam to let Nolan start at receiver first.
He could not understand why Adam, usually so disciplined and careful, had ignored him.
Even more unbelievable was Nolan.
How did anyone learn that fast?
How many days had he been on the team?
Through the rest of the third quarter and into the fourth, Hawthorne answered with another touchdown. Their coach chased the numbers, went for two, and got it, pushing the Cougars ahead 27-21. Adam kept feeding Nolan until the entire offense began tilting around number 88.
A late Mark field goal narrowed the gap to 27-24.
Adam’s steps, however, grew heavier and slower.
"I’m fine," Adam said, bent over with both hands on his knees. Sweat had soaked through his back. "I can finish. Two minutes left."
A hand landed on his shoulder.
"You’ve done enough," Nolan said. "Leave the rest to me."
Then he leaned close enough that only Adam could hear.
"I know what you’re thinking. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t throw away your career over this. If you do this, Katherine will blame herself."
Adam’s current state was too close to self-destruction. He was young, wounded, and proud, and he had not yet learned that one lost love was not the end of the world.
Everyone had moments of stupidity.
Sometimes someone else had to drag you back.
If Nolan forced Adam off now, he might be saving his whole career.
Adam lifted his head. After a short hesitation, he nodded.
During the final timeout, Thomas stared at Nolan.
"You want to play quarterback?"
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