By the middle of the quarter the Sabers had scored their first touchdown while the Stars’ ground game had failed to move the ball, reducing their lead to seven points. The fans’ booing had grown so loud that the offense was having a hard time hearing Biederot’s signals. Dan’s assistants were furious, the players livid, and, two minutes into the fourth quarter, when the Sabers evened the score at seventeen, the network’s color man ran out of patience.

“Can you believe what you’re seeing?” He was practically shouting into the cameras. “All season, Dan Calebow has been one of the most aggressive coaches in the NFL, and it’s terrible to see him fold like this. This isn’t the kind of football the fans came to watch!”

Phoebe tried to shut out the commentator’s understandably harsh assessment of Dan’s coaching, just as she’d been trying to ignore the sound of the crowd’s jeers. She didn’t want to think about what this public humiliation was doing to his pride, and she knew she had never loved him more.

Her wrists, chafed raw by her struggles to get free of the ropes, were bleeding. Ignore the pain, she told herself. Play through it. Everything she had heard the players say, she repeated to herself, but she was beginning to think the knots would never loosen.

Hardesty had tied her wrists in a figure eight of rope, then secured the free ends to the vertical post that supported the back of the chair. Although her fingers had become sticky with blood as she worked at that tight double knot that held her in the chair, it wouldn’t give. Play through the pain. Shake it off.

Hardesty stared at the screen, took a drag on his cigarette, and coughed. The air was so thick with smoke that she could barely breathe. Sometimes she thought he had forgotten her, but then he would look at her with eyes so empty of any remorse that she didn’t doubt he would kill her.

Five minutes into the fourth quarter, the Sabers pulled ahead. On the sideline the emotions of the players and assistants reflected everything from fury to despondency, while the crowd had begun to throw debris on Dan. He stood alone, isolated by the players and the coaches. Only his iron discipline was keeping a full revolt from breaking out on the bench.

Sabers 24, Stars 17.

As the Sabers kicked the extra point, Biederot slammed his helmet against the bench, hitting it with such force that the face mask cracked. Dan knew it was only a matter of time before Jim ignored the threat to bench him and began calling his own plays. With less than ten minutes left on the clock and the temper of the crowd growing uglier by the minute, he could no longer keep the game on the ground.