“One of the guards is lying at the bottom of the stairwell by the locker room!” She fought for breath. “I think he’s had a heart attack. Be careful. He’s crazy and he has a gun.”

The man stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Before he could question her, she ran past him toward the field. The guard stationed at the fence recognized her and jumped back from the gate. The Sabers’ offense was on the field. She looked at the scoreboard.

2:58 . . .

And then, all she saw was the back of Dan’s head.

The problems between them evaporated as she ran toward the bench. Players were blocking her way, and she shoved at their jerseys.

“Let me through! Let me by!”

One by one they stepped aside, clearly astonished to see her. Bobby Tom and Jim Biederot caught sight of her and began to rush forward.

“Dan!”

He whirled around as she called out his name. His face contorted with a depth of emotion she had never seen, and she leapt into his arms.

“Phoebe! Thank God! Oh, thank God, Phoebe . . .” Over and over he muttered her name as he held her tight against his chest.

The sideline minicam zeroed in on them, while in the owner’s skybox, Ron shot to his feet and ran for the door. Meanwhile in the broadcasting booth, the announcers were stumbling all over each other trying to explain why the Stars’ owner was embracing the coach who had spent the past two quarters of the game cold-bloodedly leading her team into disaster.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. He returned the kiss and hugged her so tightly she could barely breathe.

“Can you still win?” she whispered.

“As long as you’re safe, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.” His voice was gruff with emotion, and she drew back far enough to see that his eyes were filled with tears. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said. “I love you so much. Oh, God, I love you.”

She locked the words away like a treasure to be drawn out later. For now, she could only think of him and what he’d done for her.

“I want you to win. You’ve worked so hard.”

“It’s not important”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” She realized she was crying.

He hugged her hard. “Don’t cry, honey. Let’s just be happy you’re alive.”

She realized he thought she wanted this for herself. “You don’t understand. I don’t want you to win for me! I want you to do it for yourself!”

“We’re behind by ten, honey. There are less than three minutes on the clock.”

“Then you’d better get to work.”

He smoothed her hair back from her face, and his eyes were so full of love that all the doubts she’d had about his feelings evaporated.

“We’d have to score two touchdowns to win, and right now the men hate my guts.”

“I’ll talk to them.”