Page 14 of Final Drive

We’re halfway to the lot when my phone buzzes.

Quinton: How was practice? You guys looked fast out there.

I stop walking and read it twice.

You guys looked fast out there.

The lacrosse team runs the trail that loops the lake. I’ve seen them out there, a line of guys in matching shorts grinding up the hills on the far shore, and their conditioning block is in the afternoon. He’d have had a clear view from the ridge for a good ten minutes.

That accounts for all of it, and my skin is still crawling.

“Reese?” Bo is watching me. “What’s wrong?”

I put the phone away without answering the text. “Nothing. My mom.”

That’s the third one today, and I’ve stopped counting how many I’ve told this week.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” I get the smile on. “Let’s go home.”

I make it all the way to Bo’s truck before I look back at the ridge on the far shore, and there’s nothing up there but trees.

CHAPTER SIX

Reese

Dinner is loud and chaotic in the best way. Bo made his grandmother’s jambalaya, the kind that makes your eyes water and your soul sit up, and all nine of us are crammed around a dining table built for six, passing bread and talking over each other.

“Three oh four,” Zane says for the third time, shaking his head. “That’s insane. That’s Olympic trials insane.”

“It’s one practice.” Gray can’t quite keep the satisfaction out of his voice. “We need to be consistent.”

“We will be.” Tyler already has training schedules open on his phone.

“Tyler, put the phone down and eat,” Bo calls from the kitchen. “Food’s getting cold.”

“I’m eating.”

“You’re holding a fork. Different activity.”

Zane reaches over and takes Tyler’s phone out of his hand. Tyler looks offended enough that Beckett starts laughing before he even says anything.

“He’s right, though,” Eli says. “Today felt different. Like we finally stopped fighting it.”

Nobody asks what it means. Everybody at this table knows, and nobody says it out loud.

Gray sets down his fork. “Speaking of things we’re not saying out loud, we need to talk about the filing.”

The table gets quieter without actually going quiet. Zane is still chewing. Bo comes in from the kitchen with the rest of the bread and drops it in the middle of the table.

“Tyler has the paperwork ready,” Gray continues. “If we’re filing for pack recognition before nationals, we need to move this week.”

“What’s the rush?” Beckett asks, in the tone of a man who already knows.

“The scouts today. The reporter.” Gray’s jaw tightens. “People are paying attention.”

“You mean before somebody outs Reese,” Jackson says.