Page 209 of Playing By Ear

“That’s weird,” Katie said. “Colin’s usually so confident.”

Jamie ignored the warning twist tugging at his gut. Instead he prepared to jump and scream the instant the ball flew home.

Colin backed up from the penalty spot, waited for the whistle, then took his shot, a bullet to the right side of the goal. Ramsay saved it with a swat of his bright-yellow glove.

Jamie sucked in a breath so hard it made his chest ache.

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Liam growled.

“He came off his line!” Evan shouted, then turned to his teammates. “Goalkeeper came off his line early. They should let Colin retake the penalty.”

Jamie looked to the touchline, where Charlotte was complaining to the fourth official, waving her clipboard and pointing to the goalkeeper. But without video review, there was no way to overturn a missed call.

The Warriors had to fight on.

“Off the line!” Perry stood and began to chant. “Off the line! Off the line!”

In an instant, the Rainbow Regiment took it up, hurling their righteous rage at the assistant referee standing on the goal line. He should have seen the infraction even if the referee hadn’t, but he’d made not a peep, just like after Evan’s penalty.

The Forthside fans roared as their left fullback scored his attempt.

3-3.

“With the first five penalty takers gone, we’re into sudden death,” said the commentator in Perry’s ear. “If one team misses and the other scores, it’s over. Of course, now is when the players who didn’t want to take a penalty have to try.”

Sudden death. Was there a more stroke-provoking phrase in all of sport?

The final Warriors midfielder, Ali Rodgers, approached the penalty spot with a confident but relaxed gait. Their attempt was a lightning bolt to the back of the net.

4-3, Warriors.

Forthside’s next attempt hit the crossbar—offering a microsecond of hope—but took a lucky bounce into the goal.

4-4.

Robert, Katie, and Liam all succeeded, as did their Forthside counterparts.

7-7.

“That’s nine straight,” Andrew said. “It’s starting to feel like that three-day Wimbledon match.”

It did feel an eternity. Perry’s body was vibrating with the need to pace. Instead he rocked between his toes and heels, gaze glued to the phone screen.

“Och.” John’s voice was muffled again. “If this keeps going, Fergus will have to take a second penalty.”

“Wait, Heather’s next?” Brodie asked. “Why not Jamie?”

“Perhaps because of his ankle injury,” Andrew replied. “Don’t worry, Colin says Heather practices taking penalties as well as saving⁠—”

The Regiment’s roar cut him off. Onscreen, Heather scored her penalty, then kissed her fist and raised it to the sky. Ramsay shook his head as he scooped the ball out of the net.

8-7, Warriors.

Was Jamie petrified? Quietly confident? Dying for the chance to be a hero?

Perry held his breath. Maybe Heather’s successful penalty shot had boosted her confidence enough that she would save the next Forthside attempt. Then the Warriors would win the Cup right now, and Jamie would never know if he could have done it.

Forthside scored.