They hit the two-minute mark: Panthers’ ball. The Panthers made quick work of eating up the yards and with one minute and thirty seconds remaining, the Hurricanes found themselves defending at the thirty-yard line. The Panthers’ sideline called the third-down play. Brad dropped back to pass. The Hurricane cornerback intercepted and ran the ball back to the thirty-yard line. Twenty-nine seconds remaining. Shawn called the play from the sideline: Twister on the Ground. The center snapped the ball. Justin shook his defender and streaked to the middle of the field. Kareem threw the pass. Justin literally plucked the ball from the halfback’s would-be intercepting hands. He had to jump up to do it, though, and when he came down, it was with a defender’s arms wrapped around his legs ... ten yards from the goal line. Ten seconds left. No time outs. No huddle.

“Hut, hut, hike!”

Kareem caught the ball and ran straight for the middle. He spun once, twice, and sidestepped a tackle, high-stepping over the goal line. Dominique whooped as she jumped to her feet; she, Kathy, Ian, and other parents formed a group hug. Even Reggie caught the joy, giving Alejandro a cool high five. The bench rushed the field, followed by the fans. Dominique made her way to the grass, holding back from the swarm that surrounded her man.

Jake answered a couple questions and then noted Dominique standing on the side. He waved her over. When she reached him, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips.

Dominique pulled back, surprised. During the week, she and Jake had agreed to take things to another level but he’d said nothing about their going public. “Baby,” she whispered into his ear, against the din of those around him, “the team and parents don’t know that we’re seeing each other.”

Jake’s eyes sparkled as he once again hugged her hard against her chest. He leaned and spoke into her ear. “They do now.”

44

44

Monday morning and Dominique’s mood was as bright and colorful as the orange, red, and yellow autumn leaves that had fallen in her front yard. Even François’s e-mail demanding ridiculous, unnecessary reports couldn’t dampen her mood. Her son was a football star, the Hurricanes were champions, and she was in love.

“Hold my calls,” she directed Reggie as she picked up her latte from his desk. “For the next hour, I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

She entered her office, turned on her computer, flipped through her task list and began wading through more than a hundred e-mails. She tried to focus but try as she might, she couldn’t keep her mind on work. A man named Jake, and memories from the weekend, kept getting in the way.

“Who are we?”

“Hurricanes!”

“What do we do?”

“Tear it up!”