Page 210 of Playing By Ear

8-8.

Jamie’s turn.

Chapter 40

Forty-five yards from the center line to the penalty spot.

Might as well have been forty-five miles.

For the first few steps, Jamie heard the encouraging shouts from his teammates. He heard the crowd in the stands. But by his tenth step, the real-world sounds were replaced by static.

Within that static shouted all the advice he’d ever received on penalties.

Look at the goalkeeper on your walk up.

Don’t look at the goalkeeper on your walk up.

Know ahead of time which way you’ll shoot.

Watch the goalkeeper before deciding which way to shoot.

Take a long pause beforehand.

But not too long of a pause.

It was like listening to a Greek chorus with every chorus member reading a different script.

Heather met him at the edge of the eighteen-yard box, the ball tucked casually under her arm as though it wasn’t a live grenade. “You got this, Jamie.”

“Thanks.” He took the ball, then turned away so fast he nearly fumbled it. Every eye in Hampden Park weighed upon him.

He placed the ball in the center of the penalty spot, turning it so the red lion of the Scottish Football Association logo wouldn’t stare at him.

Then, as he straightened up, a tune burst into his mind: The song he’d written for his father.

But you said,

We’re better than that

We look after our own…

A sudden calm swept over him. He lifted his chin and looked the goalkeeper straight in the eye, something he hadn’t planned to do. Ramsay bounced up and down and waved his arms, but as Jamie channeled his father’s icy gaze, the keeper stopped bouncing. Then he lowered his arms, adjusted his gloves, tapped the toes of his boots against the opposite heels. Now he was the nervous one.

Jamie took a deep breath. This was his moment. He would summon all the strength that was his birthright, the strength that flowed through his blood.

No one could beat him. He was the Prince of Fucking Provanpark.

Jamie took four steps back, just as he’d done in training sessions. He looked at both posts, just as Charlotte and Heather had taught him. Then he closed his eyes and imagined Perry’s guide coach tapping all three edges of the goal, creating a picture for his blind players.

It was so wide, so tall, how could he miss?

Jamie opened his eyes. Ramsay was shifting his weight and licking his lips, looking like he wanted to get this whole ordeal over with.

The whistle blew.

Jamie surged forward, squaring his body to the face of the goal, then planted his right foot, which felt as strong and sturdy as ever.

His left-footed shot rocketed to his left as planned, headed just inside the post. Perfect placement.