It’s information I knew was coming.
Raising my gaze, I watch the Lady Knights grab their trophy. Arya holds it above her head, beaming as Eden hugs her. The other girls swarm around them.
My hand moves over to Camrynn’s arm and pushes down, so her phone drops lower. She looks up.
“Don’t mention that tonight.”
Her eyes widen, and she beckons me to lean down. I incline my head near hers as she whispers, “Smith-Hall is dead. Beaten to death in the shower.”
Keeping my voice low so Mrs. Nixon doesn’t overhear, I say, “Let the dance team celebrate.”
Reynolds nods slowly, turning off her phone’s screen.
“Let’s go congratulate them.” I walk down the bleachers, thinking for a moment about Casanova’s last night alive.
William Smith-Hall was mistakenly sent to a general population section of the prison, instead of county lock-up where he’d been held. Before anyone realized he’d ended up on murderer’s row, he was forced into the showers, raped with a broken broom handle, and beaten to death over the course of several hours.
Smith-Hall begged for mercy. The way his victims begged for their lives. There was no mercy to be had. Only pain, humiliation, and torture.
At the end, he was reminded that he’d taken two girls with connections to Joe Sullivan. He learned as he died that Joe Sullivan’s family and the Dark Knights sent their regards. A video of some of his suffering was recorded and uploaded into an electronic vault on the dark web. I haven’t watched it, but one day, I may.
As I cross the gymnasium floor, Arya races toward me and leaps in the air. I catch her and hold her against me. She kisses me on the mouth with her sweet lips, smiling and excited.
“Come with me, Viking. There are some people you have to meet.”
I set her down and let her pull me by the hand to a man and woman.
“They’re from TurboFx Network. This is my boyfriend, Erik Sorensen. He’s a great writer, and also the best defensive player in college football.” She looks up at me with a smile. “They want me to star in a reality show.”
“Sounds perfect for you.”
The producers shake my hand and introduce themselves.
“He’d be great for the show, too,” Arya says enthusiastically. “His team won the college national championship, and he’s entering the NFL draft. Everyone’s sure he’s going to be a first-round pick. And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s so handsome, right?”
They smile and nod enthusiastically.
“Having an attractive couple where both are elite athletes would be terrific. You’re engaged?” a producer asks.
“No,” Arya says. “But we’re planning to live together, so that would make filming easier.”
“You should stick with your original idea,” I interject. “Arya’s the show. Everyone else…friends, boyfriend, family… we’re window-dressing.”
Arya smirks, looking up at me. “Well, we can talk about it.” Looking back at the TV people, she says, “The Viking—that’s Erik’s football nickname—doesn’t really care for the spotlight as much as I do.”
“Epic understatement,” I say in a low voice, which makes them laugh.
“Arya,” a dancer screams from several feet away. “Pictures!”
“We’ll let you get back to your team. We’ll be in touch tomorrow,” the producer says.
Arya squeezes my arm. “I’ll jump in these pictures, and then we can go celebrate.”
“Take your time. Enjoy your moment.”
She slows to a stop and turns. “I really do love you.”
“Same.”
