Ron met Phoebe just inside the door of the locker room, and after assuring himself that she was unharmed, led her toward the small platform set up for the television cameras to record the postgame interviews and trophy presentation.

“I’ve spoken with the police,” he said over the pandemonium surrounding them. “They’ll talk with you as soon as the ceremonies are over. I’ve never been so frightened in my life.”

“Is Molly all right?” The players were shaking up champagne bottles, and Phoebe ducked a frothy shower.

“She was upset, but she’s fine now.”

As they reached the platform, Phoebe saw Dan being interviewed by O.J. Simpson. He had pulled a Super Bowl cap on over his wet hair, and as Ron helped her up next to him, she heard him sidestepping O.J.’s questions about his second-half coaching by promising a full press conference as soon as the chaos had settled down. He didn’t look at her, but as she drew near, he settled his hand comfortingly into the small of her back.

She ducked one champagne shower only to get drenched by another. Her hair dripped in her eyes and she dabbed at her cheeks as the president of the NFL came forward with the AFC Championship trophy. Standing between Dan and Phoebe, he began to speak. “On behalf of the—”

“Excuse me for one minute.” Phoebe hurried to the side of the podium where she grabbed Ron’s hand and pulled him up alongside Dan and herself.

Dan gave her an approving grin, grabbed a foaming champagne bottle from Collier Davis, and emptied it over Ron’s head. While the GM sputtered, Phoebe laughed and turned back to the NFL official. “You can go on now.”

He smiled. “On behalf of the National Football League, it is my great pleasure to present the AFC Championship trophy to owner Phoebe Somerville, Coach Dan Calebow, and the entire Stars’ organization.”

The players cheered wildly and released another shower of champagne. Phoebe tried to make a short speech, but got so choked up that Ron had to take over. OJ., still trying to get answers to his questions about the strange progress of the game, turned to interview Jim Biederot, while Phoebe passed the trophy over to Ron.

Dan grabbed her hand, pulled her off the platform, and steered her behind a celebrating cluster of players so that they were hidden from the media. “Come on. We only have a few minutes.”

He drew her around the corner toward the showers, through the equipment room, past a training room and into a hallway. The next thing she knew, he had hauled her into a small storage area, only a little bigger than a closet. No sooner had he pulled the door shut behind them than he gathered her into his arms and began to kiss her.