Chapter 17 #2
With Ben still carrying my nachos, I started side-stepping down the row, giving a quick greeting to Juliet Monroe as I passed. When I made it in front of Ann, she took hold of my hand, so I leaned down to give her a hug.
“You just keep getting prettier,” she said, taking me in.
“Says the woman who hasn’t aged a day since I last saw you.”
Ann gave a small laugh, shaking her head.
“I’m so glad you made it.” Her gaze shifted to her right where Ben stood waiting.
“And I know I’m not the only one.” My lips parted, but I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Penny was just telling me about her Halloween costume and how excited she is to try it on for you.”
Oh, Penny. Not Ben. That made so much more sense. “I can’t wait to see it on her.”
Ben leaned forward. “No offense, Mom, but unless Maven eats these soon, they’re going to be cold.”
“Fine.” Ann released my hand. “But if Ben and Tate get too intense watching the game, we can always squeeze you in by us.”
Ben’s hand came to my waist, guiding me forward and making my heart go into a frenzy. “Unfortunately for Maven, she has to stick with me. It’s court ordered.” When I scowled at him, Ann laughed. “But you’re welcome to come sit with us anytime.”
I’d never been much of a football person—most of my appreciation for the sport had come from watching Ben in those tight pants when he was playing or cuddling up next to him with snacks in hand while he watched games on TV—but as the clock ticked downward and the crowd sat in tense anticipation, I found myself right in the thick of it, feeling all the feels.
The scoreboard read 29 to 31, and we were down by two.
“They’ve got to get this,” Ben said under his breath. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped between them.
Liv Rawlins sat on my other side, her palms pressed together and her fingers resting against her mouth. “Come on,” she whispered.
I scanned all the tense faces on our row. Even Penny sat rigidly on Carson’s lap, her focus fixed on the field. Tate seemed like the only one unaffected by the stress, which was typical for him.
I leaned toward Ben. “It’s fourth down, right?”
Ben smiled, clearly delighted by my attempt to speak football. “Yeah. And they’re out of field goal range, so if they don’t get a first down with this next play, it’ll be an automatic turnover. And with less than two minutes on the clock, Autumn Ridge won’t have another chance to score.”
The play started and the quarterback looked downfield, but defenders were on the Autumn Ridge players like they’d been glued together.
In what felt like a choice of desperation, the quarterback lobbed the ball to one of his nearby teammates, but the kid didn’t make it two yards before being tackled.
I glanced over at Ben to determine if it had been enough for a first down, but the collective groan from the crowd made it clear it hadn’t been.
Ben shook his head, heaving a heavy breath like the game was already over.
Irritation pricked me at how easily he was giving up. “They can still get an interception, can’t they?”
“Poplar Grove won’t throw the ball. They’ll play it safe and run down the clock.”
“Autumn Ridge still has a timeout left,” Tate said.
“It won’t matter.”
Tate gave a reluctant nod of agreement.
I lifted my chin. “You don’t just throw in the towel when there’s still time on the clock.” I was pretty sure that was a sport reference of some kind, though I couldn’t say from which sport. Maybe boxing? “So I refuse to give up.”
Ben’s gaze searched mine, like he knew there was a deeper meaning to my comment. Which there was, but also, it wasn’t relevant to now. Our clock had run out over six years ago.
“I’m with Maven.” Liv sent me a smile. “Until that final second runs out, we shouldn’t lose hope.”
“It’s not losing hope,” Ben said. “It’s looking at the facts. We can’t win.”
I kept my gaze forward this time. “Sometimes there’s more in play than just the facts.”
The two teams lined up, and following the snap, the quarterback handed the ball to a running back who only gained four yards. After an Autumn Ridge timeout, the next play went even worse for Poplar Grove High when our guys made a tackle for a loss of two yards.
I sent Ben a satisfied smile, but his gaze was on the clock.
The time continued to tick down from 1:28 to 1:27, then 1:26.
“Why hasn’t the clock stopped?” I asked, watching those precious seconds pass. Our players were lined up at the line of scrimmage, but the other team were taking their sweet time with the huddle.
Ben glanced at me. “The clock doesn’t stop when a running play is called dead as long as the runner stays in bounds.
And since Autumn Ridge is out of timeouts, the only way to stop it would be an incomplete pass, a turnover, or Poplar Grove running the ball out of bounds. None of which they’re going to risk.”
My shoulders fell slightly. Exactly as Ben had predicted, Autumn Ridge wouldn’t have another chance to score.
“Don’t lose hope,” Liv whispered, leaning toward me.
I gave her a small smile, but even with her encouragement, I could hardly watch as the offense lined up again. Poplar Grove waited until the play clock had two seconds left before a nearly identical situation unfolded—the quarterback handed the ball off, though this time for a three-yard gain.
Only forty-six seconds remained on the game clock. And again, it didn’t stop.
My stomach was in knots, and the next play seemed to take forever.
With only eight seconds left in the game, Poplar Grove finally snapped the ball.
Autumn Ridge’s defense came at the running back like a group of charging bulls, and to avoid the collision, the running back fled backwards instead of forward.
Out of nowhere, from the far side, one of our defenders slammed into the Poplar Grove player so hard that the ball went flying from his hold.
Ben shot to his feet, immediately followed by the rest of us. “Get it,” Ben yelled, the echoes of similar sentiments being shouted all around us.
And then it happened. An Autumn Ridge player scooped up the football and took off down the field. For such a big boy, he was moving fast, flanked by his teammates who were preventing any of Poplar Grove’s offense from getting to him. Liv and I jumped up and down, gripping each other’s hands.
“Run!” we yelled in unison. “Run!”
As if he could hear the crowd’s shouts warning him that the other team’s players were closing in, he picked up speed in one final push and crossed into the end zone.
I lifted my arms, turning toward Ben. “Touchdown!”
Ben was grinning, shaking his head as he clapped.
“We don’t have to make a big deal about how I was right,” I said, “unless we want to.”
“What?” He gestured to the celebrating crowd. “I can’t hear you.”
The cheering was loud, but not that loud. “You never were good at admitting when you were wrong.”
He shook his head, pointing to his ears like he still couldn’t hear me.
I ignored him, turning back to Liv. Then his hand came to my back and he leaned down, his warm breath tickling my ear.
“You were right.” His quiet voice somehow dimmed the surrounding noise. Or maybe it was how focused I was on the feel of his hand still against the small of my back.
I turned my head toward him, his mouth now only inches from mine. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“Just because I made it look easy doesn’t mean it was.”
Despite myself, I smiled. “Well, practice makes progress, and I’m guessing you’ll have plenty of opportunities to be wrong over our next seventy-two hours together.”
The sound of Ben’s chuckle was far too satisfying.
A renewed cheering sent our attention back to the field.
Ben removed his hand from my back to join in the clapping as the team gathered to celebrate their victory, and I tried not to let my disappointment take hold.
I shouldn’t be missing his touch. Nostalgia was to blame—the last-minute victory, the chill in the air that made it feel like fall, and being with so many of my favorite people in a place I loved.
“Speaking of our time together, should we grab you some real food after this?”
“Since when are snack shack nachos not real food?”
“You gave more than half of them to Carson.”
“No need to sound bitter. I offered them to you first.”
Ben sent me a smile that caused a kaleidoscope of butterflies to rush through me. “So, what do you say? Burgers from the Maple Bar? Then we can watch that Seven Brothers movie at my place.”
“How about burgers and watching the movie at my mom’s?” Where we wouldn’t be alone, just the two of us, with my weak resolve. And honestly, with the way Ben was acting, nostalgia was also getting the better of him. It was best to keep it safe. And chaperoned.