Last Man Out

by Mike Lupica

  “Another shocker,” his mom said.

  There was only enough time for his dad to jump out the window. According to Uncle Brendan, Tommy’s dad might have been able to break his fall better if he hadn’t had the dog to protect. Maybe he could have done a better job of rolling when he hit the front lawn. But his dad cradled the dog like it was one of the kids they’d rescued. Patrick Gallagher landed right on his ankle.

  He’d come back from the hospital with a cast and crutches, though he hadn’t been using the crutches very much, despite the objections from Tommy’s mom. He was already complaining that he was going to be off the job for the longest time in his life.

  Tommy noticed two things:

  How unhappy that made his dad.

  And how happy it seemed to make his mom, even though she wasn’t coming out and saying it.

  “Somebody else can save the world for the next month or so,” she said at the dinner table. “And, of course, the puppies.”

  That night when his dad came up to say good night to him, clumping around in his cast and muttering about how he didn’t really need it, Tommy asked, “Dad, why did you go back in for that dog?”

  His dad was sitting near him on the bed. “I don’t suppose telling you how much of a dog lover I’ve always been would suffice as an answer?”

  “Something bad could have happened,” Tommy said, feeling his voice break. They both knew it could have ended in a much worse way.

  But he wouldn’t allow himself to cry, to look weak in front of somebody as strong as his dad.

  Who leaned down and whispered into Tommy’s ear, “I had to.”

  “You didn’t have to,” Tommy said. “I heard Uncle Brendan say that he tried to go and you beat him to it.”

  “He did, and I did,” Tommy’s dad said. “Because it wasn’t his job. It was mine.”

  “But you weren’t the only one there. You always tell me you’re part of a team.”

  His dad reached over and mussed Tommy’s hair.

  “Don’t ever tell your uncle Brendan this,” he said. “But I’m the best player on the team. I hope it’s what you’re going to be on your football team someday. And if you are—no, when you are—I want you to know that there’s certain responsibilities that come with that. With being the best player. Because there are always moments when it’s all on you.”

  Tommy started to say something, but his dad put a finger to his lips to stop him.

  “I was never the best football player,” he said. “I’ve told you that before. But what I do now, what I did at that fire and all the other fires, I’m the best at that. I don’t mean it in an arrogant way, it’s just the truth. And now, it’s not just what I do, boyo. It’s who I am.”

  “Even when it’s dangerous?” Tommy said.

  He would never forget the smile that came over his dad’s face, as if somebody had shined a light on him.

  “Especially when it’s dangerous.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  NOW TOMMY WAS THE ONE who didn’t feel like coming out of his room. Especially when it came time to go to school and see his teammates.

  His shoulder seemed to be getting a little better every day, even though the pain would wake him up in the middle of the night and flare up when he’d accidentally bump into somebody at school.

  But nothing hurt as much as not having football.

  Nothing hurt as much as knowing he wasn’t going to get to play in the championship game, that he didn’t even have practices to look forward to.

  You only get so many chances to win in sports, Coach Fisher had said.

  He didn’t miss skateboarding the way he missed football. In fact, because of the way skateboarding had ended his football season, he didn’t miss it at all right now. He’d put his board in the garage so he didn’t have to look at it and be reminded about what had happened. His sling was reminder enough.

  Tommy knew it wasn’t the board’s fault. It’d been his choice to take that ride down Beacon Street. He’d done this to himself. But he knew something else: He’d found out the hard way that the thrill of playing football was all the thrill he needed.

  Since there were two weeks between the Waltham game and the championship game, Coach had given the guys a couple of days off. Their first practice was scheduled for Wednesday night. Tuesday night at dinner, Tommy’s mom told him he should go.

  “You’re still part of the team, whether you can play or not,” she said.

  “How can I face the guys and then go sit in the stands? When I hurt myself I hurt the team, too,” he said.

  “Nobody’s blaming you for what happened,” she said. “It was an accident, whether you should have been doing what you were doing or not.”

  “Well, I’m blaming me,” he said.

  They were sitting together at the kitchen table after dinner, Em already up in her room doing homework. Now Tommy said he had some homework of his own to do, even though he had no plan to do it right away. He knew his mom was trying to be nice and supportive. But he didn’t feel like talking to her right now. Since his accident, he hadn’t wanted to talk to anybody. If there was one thing he’d learned the last couple of months, it was that talking didn’t heal any kind of pain.

  Certainly not a separated shoulder.

  He’d even skipped lunch with his boys at school today, because it hurt too bad listening to Greck, Mike, and Nick talk about the big game. And he didn’t want to take the chance of saying anything that would make it sound as if he was feeling sorry for himself. Nobody was ever going to hear him do that after what had happened to him, Em, and his mom, the pain that would never go away.

  At least his shoulder would get better.

  Just not soon enough.

  • • •

  He was in his room after school on Wednesday, having already told his mom that he didn’t want her to take him to Bears’ practice, when Em knocked on his door. She’d been doing it a lot since he’d come back from St. E’s on Sunday. It was like they’d reversed roles: Now she was the one trying to cheer him up, even though she did a good job playing it cool.

  Em was the one standing in the doorway with her soccer ball under her arm.

  “You want to go over to Rogers with me?” she said.

  “Don’t think that’s such a hot idea, Em,” he said. “But thanks for asking.”

  “C’mon,” she said. “I went over there with you when I didn’t want to go.”

  “But then you really didn’t want to, and we stopped going.”

  “I changed my mind,” she said. “Even if you don’t want to kick the ball around, I need somebody to watch me.”

  “Ask Mom.”

  “Mom went to some meeting at school.”

  “Can’t we do it another time?”

  Em sighed, and gave him what he knew was her fake sad face. “You really don’t want to go to the park with me?”

  Tommy sighed, knowing she’d won. “I’m not going to be able to do very much.”

  “Well, you’re in luck,” Em said. “You can’t use your arm and soccer is a sport where you don’t need your hands!”

  “So was skateboarding.”

  “We’re not going to talk about skateboarding today.”

  “Deal,” he said.

  It was another cold day, even colder than Saturday had been. They both wore hoodies. When they got to Rogers, Em said it was a good thing, him coming with her, so he could run around and stay warm.

  “My room was warm,” he said.

  “Don’t be a baby.”

  “All I need to do is trip and fall.”

  “You won’t.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Because you’re with me,” she said.

  “That makes no sense.”

  Suddenly, his sister laughed. “I know!” she said, and then
she took off across the grass, pushing the ball in front of her, a streak of light, like she was on a breakaway.

  Tommy set up a goal like usual. Em asked him to just feed her balls so she could see how accurate she still was when she was really trying to score. He noticed she seemed to be more into it today than the day he’d practically had to beg her to leave her room. Aiming for the goal, she took shots with both feet, even calling out where she was going to try to put the ball.

  He had to be careful even kicking the ball, because he’d found out the last couple of days that even normal movements could make his shoulder hurt. But the longer they played, the more pride he found himself taking in leading her just right with the ball.

  And Em was clearly enjoying herself. Maybe it was just doing something she was this good at, or maybe it was because Tommy was here with her, the two of them doing something together.

  Seeing Em start to feel better made Tommy feel a little better.

  When they took a water break finally, Em said, “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

  “Me too, sis.”

  “I always thought I knew how much football meant to you,” she said. “Now I realize it means way more to you than I thought.”

  “I feel about football the way you used to feel about soccer,” he said. “One second I had it, the next second it was gone.”

  “You didn’t have a choice,” she said. “It just got taken away from you.”

  “Pretty much.”

  They were sitting next to each other on a couple of swings in the playground. Em had the soccer ball in her lap. Tommy turned and saw her staring at him.

  “What?” he said.

  “Nothing.”

  “You can’t fool me, Em.”

  She hopped off the swing now, put the ball down, and kicked it in this long, amazing arc across Rogers Park.

  “I do have a choice,” she said. “I want to play again.”

  Tommy wasn’t sure he believed what he’d just heard.

  “You want to go back and play for the Bolts?” he said. “For real?”

  “For real,” Em said. “If they’ll take me back.”

  “I have a feeling they will, Em.”

  Now Tommy Gallagher was the one doing something he hadn’t done since he’d fallen off his skateboard.

  Smiling.

  “You just decided this?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

  Tommy put out his fist. Em bumped it with her own.

  “I’ll play for both of us,” she said.

  FORTY

  THEY GAVE MOM THE NEWS as soon as they got home.

  By then Em had explained to Tommy that the Bolts needed to win their last regular-season game on Saturday morning, against Watertown, to get a championship game of their own against the Wellesley Thunder.

  “Almost the same deal as the Bears,” Tommy said.

  “Weird, right?” Em said.

  “Maybe,” he said. “I’m just glad that you want to play.”

  “Now I have to find out if they’ll take me back,” Em said.

  “They will,” Tommy said. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  The board in his league had let Tommy keep playing after his dumb fight with Blake Winthrop. He couldn’t believe Em’s coach wouldn’t allow her to play. Even though Em had quit the team early in the season, walking off the field during a game, her coach had to understand Em had been hurting so much because she’d lost somebody she loved.

  Mom called Coach Gethers right away. Tommy and Em watched her make the call, then heard her say, “Why don’t you come by around seven-thirty.” She nodded and said, “Great, see you then.”

  “She wants to talk to you,” their mom said.

  “How did she sound?” Em asked.

  “She sounded surprised, and happy.”

  “Are you serious?” Tommy said to Em. “How do you think Coach Belichick would sound if he found out that he was getting Tom Brady back?”

  “Or if the coach of the World Cup team found out she was getting Carli Lloyd back?” Mom said.

  “I’m not Tom Brady,” Em said. “And I’m sure not Carli Lloyd. I’m just me.”

  Mom came across the room and hugged her. “Aren’t you, though?”

  When the doorbell rang a couple of hours later, Em answered it.

  And didn’t just see Coach Gethers standing there.

  She saw every member of the Brighton Bolts.

  They all cheered so loudly when they saw Em standing there that Coach Gethers ushered them inside, saying that she didn’t want them to scare the neighbors.

  Then the house was filled with noisy, laughing, screeching, hugging girls. Including Tommy’s sister. Especially Tommy’s sister.

  He leaned over and said to his mom, “I’m never going to understand girls.”

  She patted him on his good shoulder.

  “It’s best that you learn that at a young age, sweetheart.”

  Em was back on the team. They’d never added a player to replace her because Coach Gethers had always held out hope that Em would be back before the end of the season. Before she left the house, Coach Gethers reminded Em when practice was the next afternoon, and said she was adding another practice on Friday, the day before the Watertown game.

  Tommy went to both practices with his sister, who ran and played and passed and shot as if she’d never been away.

  Then on Saturday morning, he watched her score one goal and assist on another as the Bolts beat Watertown, 2–0.

  It had been nice of Em to say that she was playing for both of them. But as he stood next to their mom in the stands and watched Em play soccer the way she could, and then watched his mom watching her daughter play, Tommy knew that Em was playing for all of them.

  FORTY-ONE

  ONE WEEK LATER, IT WAS time for the Bears to play the Wellesley Wildcats in the championship game.

  Tommy had to grudgingly admit it was perfect weather for a football game, even if you were just watching. As much as he wanted to be playing.

  He knew he had to be there for his team, no doubt. In his heart, he’d known all along that Mom was right, he was still a member of his team, whether he was playing or not. There was no way he could have missed this game. He’d decided to start attending Bears’ practices this week, being down on the field with the guys, helping Mike make the shift from safety to Tommy’s monster back position, Tommy telling him it really wasn’t all that different from playing safety, you were just a lot closer to the quarterback.

  “That’s a good thing,” Tommy had said at the Bears’ last practice of the season, “especially when the quarterback is our buddy Blake.”

  “The good thing,” Mike had said, “is that you’re here.”

  Coach Fisher had been telling Tommy all week that he was his brand-new defensive coordinator for the big game. He reminded him of that about ten minutes before the kickoff.

  “I still need those eyes of yours,” Coach said.

  “I’m gonna be your eyes in the sky,” Tommy said. “Somebody told me once you can see the game a lot better from on high.”

  Tommy had already decided where he was going to watch the Bears-Wildcats game:

  From the top corner of the bleachers, his dad’s old spot.

  Mom and Em were about ten rows ahead of Tommy with the rest of the Bears players’ families and friends. Uncle Brendan had even come to the game. Every so often, when there was a break in the action, Tommy would look down and see Em looking up at him.

  Then everybody’s attention would turn back to the field, where the game was turning out to be everything a big game should be in sports.

  The Bears scored on their first possession, running more than passing today until Nick hit Danny, his favorite
receiver all year, with a ten-yard touchdown pass right over the middle. Nick carried it in himself for the conversion, and it was 7–0.

  Blake and the Wildcats came right back. The big play was a swing pass from Blake to his tailback on third and three, on their first series of downs. Mike read the play perfectly, and was right there, had the tailback lined up, ready to drop him for a loss. But the tailback juked and Mike just flat missed the guy. The Wildcats’ runner took off down the sidelines, and ran forty yards before D.J. somehow caught up to the play and knocked him out of bounds. Three plays and a conversion later it was 7–7.

  That was my play to make, Tommy thought. That should have been me.

  Even this far from the action, even just watching, he still felt as if he was in the action. He wondered if his dad, from this same perch, used to feel the same way watching him.

  In the second quarter, the Bears had a rare turnover, Nick coughing up the ball on the Bears’ side of the field. Blake capitalized two plays later, connecting with his favorite wideout for a score. Wellesley’s tailback couldn’t get past Greck on the conversion, though. The Wildcats were ahead 13–7.

  Nick wasn’t done for the half yet either. He didn’t air it out deep, but he kept picking up yards with short passing plays, mixing in some runs as well. Amare McCoy finished off the drive for the Bears, sneaking into the end zone for a rushing touchdown. Then Nick handed it off to Amare once more, who ran it in for the extra point. It was 14–13, Bears, at the half.

  When the whistle blew, Tommy carefully made his way down through the stands toward the Bears’ bench. He walked over to where Coach Fisher was standing with Greck and Mike.

  Before Tommy had a chance to speak Mike said, “Worst blown tackle of the whole year. Maybe ever.”

  “Forget it,” Tommy said. “You think I didn’t miss my share of tackles?”

  “You see anything?” Greck said, changing the subject.

  “Not too much, to be honest,” Tommy said. “I did see that when their offense gets in a groove the play-calling always seems to be pass, pass, run. In that order.”