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“That’s Dallas for you.” January takes my free hand and squeezes. It does little to calm my nerves, and my palm gets clammy around her fingers. “You know he wouldn’t let his teammates go down without trying to help.”
“Yeah, but how much is he helping if he gets hurt again?”
“Is Daddy okay?” June asks, and she looks up at me, worried.
I forgot that kids feed off of an adult’s emotions, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself for her sake. If something happens to him and she’s here to see it, I need to be brave.
“He’s just fine, sweetie,” I say, and I kiss her forehead. “I promise.”
The refs blow the whistle to end the injury timeout, and I’m tempted to cover my eyes. Dallas is like a magnet, though. I can’t look away, even if I try.
I’m drawn to him as I watch him and Jett exchange some words and a quick hug before they confer with the rest of the offense and get on the line of scrimmage.
Dallas marches to the right side of the field like he knows exactly what he’s doing. I guess he does; sometimes I’ll catch him watching video after video of old game footage. He jots down notes about play calls that will never affect him, and I can see his dedication to the game in the thoroughness of his research.
The ball gets snapped, and Jett steps out of the pocket. He looks left and spots Sam down field. He throws the ball for a completion that’s good for twenty yards.
The clock stops and the play moves forward as hope creeps back into Titans fans. For half a second, I think the game can go on without Dallas having to touch the ball at all. He’s there as an eleventh man, a diversion, not an actual offensive piece to use.
Except when the ball gets snapped on the next first down and Jett looks right, I hold my breath.
He finds Dallas open on the forty-yard line and throws a perfect spiral his way. Dallas catches it—awkwardly, but it’s still a catch—and steps out of bounds to stop the clock before he can get tackled.
“He looks like a giraffe learning to walk,” January says, and a laugh bursts out of me.
“If I wasn’t so worried, I’d give him crap about how he’s acting like he’s never been on a field before. He was that good before he got hurt?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. Scouts lined up at the start of his freshman year in high school, and they kept coming. He was approached by some of the biggest names in college football, but he decided on a smaller school because it was closer to home. On a full ride, too. He was—is—incredible, but that was twelve years ago. His body has changed, and I have no idea how he’s going to handle this kind of intensity.”
I hold June close to my chest—as if the nearer she is to me, the smoother the next play will go. The Titans snap it again, and the clock dips under one minute left in regulation.
The roar of the crowd only grows as our boys charge down the field and take it play by play. There’s no rushing, and Jett doesn’t look the least bit frantic even as precious seconds tick by. He’s totally in his element.
At third and eight with forty seconds left, Jett throws the ball fifteen yards down the field to a waiting Dallas.
He catches it and takes off, using speed I’ve never seen from him before.
It’s beautiful, like poetry in motion. His movements are fluid. His body anticipates the defense before they can react. It’s effortless, and he makes it to the ten-yard line to earn a first and goal before being taken down by a Kansas City lineman.
I wait for him to get up, and when he springs to his feet and shrugs off the attention from medical staff, I finally relax and let myself enjoy.
“Go, Daddy!” June screams, and I bounce her up and down.
“There’s no way they’re doing this, is there?” I shout to January.
“I think they are,” she shouts back.
The next two plays get them nowhere. There’s a loss of two yards then a gain of one. On third and long with ten seconds to go, the hope that worked its way into the dome seems like it’s slipping away for good.
Dallas, Jett and Sam Wagner stand off to the side, away from the huddle. Dallas is using his hands to explain something to the other two, and they nod along. They knock their helmets together and rejoin the line of scrimmage, and it all comes down to this.
The whistle blows for the final time and the Titans wait to snap the ball. When they do, Jett catches it and immediately throws a lateral pass to Dallas. Dallas moves forward two yards before tossing a lateral to Sam.
Everyone on the Kansas City defense is confused and thrown off by the trick play. They get to Jett then Dallas a beat too late, and Sam uses it to his advantage.
He takes off. His long legs get him past the five-yard line, then the four and three. He crosses the goal line just as the clock expires, and he spikes the ball in the end zone.
Everyone around us screams and the Titans players rush the field. Confetti falls from the ceiling, and it’s so loud, I can’t hear myself think.
