Piper said nothing.
He had seen Noah do it. He had watched Noah do it. He understood that Noah had been waiting for a third down; hecould end with a cadence rather than a throw, because the rain made every throw so difficult, and Noah did it Noah’s way.
Seattle drove eleven more yards in three plays. Noah threw once for eleven yards.
First and ten at the L.A. twenty-one.
Noah ran a quarterback sneak for a yard. Then a check down to the back for three yards. The clock hit the two-minute warning. Seattle had two timeouts. L.A. had two.
Second and six at the L.A. seventeen.
The rain came back.
It came back in a single shifted gust that put a shelf of water across the line of scrimmage, and the ball came up wet from the snap and Noah double-clutched, tucked and ran for two and slid feet-first.
Third and four at the L.A. fifteen. Noah came off the field. The kicker came on. Twenty-nine seconds on the clock. The wind would make this difficult.
Piper watched the kicker stretch his right leg and roll his shoulders and look up at the goal post through the wall of rain.
The hold was clean. The kick was good into the goal post.
The Seattle sideline roared, and Piper, watching from the L.A. sideline, remained silent.
Score: Seattle 17, L.A. 17. Twenty-five seconds.
L.A. ball at the twenty.
Piper jogged onto the field with Tank already in formation. The Seattle defense increased the heat during the series, and Piper crashed out. Three and out.
Time expired in regulation, they were going to overtime, or so he thought.
Then Piper saw it, a flag, for holding on Seattle.
Wait.
He had one more play to end this. Piper looked up.
The clock said zero. The official’s arms were at his sides, the clock had kept running after Piper’s last play went dead.
The officials added seven seconds back to the clock.
They were back in huddle. Piper nodded to Tank. They knew what they were going to do.
They broke, and Piper got into throwing position, shooting a perfect spiral. The ball shifted in the rain and instead of hitting Tank, it landed right into the hands of a Seattle defensive lineman, who grabbed the ball and ran for his life into the end zone. Pick-six. Touchdown Seattle. The clock went to 0:00.
Final score: Seattle 23. L.A. 17.
Piper watched the Seattle bench storm the field. Piper’s head was in his hands trying to keep some composure. His coach walked over to him as he tried to shake off the disappointment of letting his entire team down.
He didn’t go to midfield right away.
The rain was hammering the field.
Piper put his helmet under his arm and walked to midfield. Noah was at the fifty, waiting for him.
His hair was soaked. There was mud on one side of his face. He looked at Piper, and Piper looked at Noah, and neither of them said anything for a moment because neither of them needed to. Noah extended his hand. Piper took it. Noah held it. Rain running down each of their faces. Eyes focused on each other.
“Good game, Ashton.”
