Page 25 of Ruthless Deliverance

“Yep.” Especially since I’ve already read it and written an essay on it. Years ago, but still. Hopefully I’ll be out of here before it’s due, but if not, I might be searching my old laptop for a copy of it. Not that it will help with Garbo. I’ll probably fail even if I turn in a perfect assignment. Good thing it doesn’t really count.

“Be sure you’re making wise choices all the way around.” He glances over my shoulder before walking off as the bell sounds for next period.

What was that about? Probably wanting to protect the mutant who runs the place, or maybe heard about his colleague being fired by said mutant. But he’s correct, I need to make wiser choices all the way around, and the first will be to stay the hell away from Creed.

24

CREED

The guys hustle around the locker room. Some nervous, some excited. Me, I’m numb. Mostly. Except for the throbbing in my shoulder that remains to remind me that I’m here and Ethan isn’t. If he were, he’d be sitting across from me, going over the plays that he’d want to keep in our pocket in case we got in a bind. It hadn’t happened often. The two of us had played our parts since childhood. Me as the quarterback, him as the running back. There hadn’t been a situation we couldn’t get out of. Together.

“Kincaid!” Coach calls across the room, signaling for me to follow him. Predictable. I can already go over the conversation he’s about to have with me as I step into his office and sit in the hard plastic chair in front of his cluttered desk. He maneuvers to the chair, barely able to make it around the boxes he has stacked all over. Although the room is plenty big enough for a decent office, it looks more like an overstuffed storage closet.

“How’s the shoulder?”

There it is. The first question I knew was coming. “It’s good.” And it almost is. The injections have been helping enough.

“If at any point it’s not, I need to know, Kincaid. This season is important to everyone. Whether you’re playing or not, you’re part of the team. And we’re all making it to the championship game. There’s no shame in stepping back a few games if need be.”

My anger rises, my patience worn thin from hearing the same shit over and over. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he wants me out of the game. “Do you want me to sit out, Coach?”

“No. Why would I want to bench my star quarterback?”

“I don’t know. Why would you? You seem adamant on convincing me to sit out of the game, but you know it’ll have to be my decision not yours.”

“This is my team. If I feel your ass should be on the bench, then that’s where you’ll be. I don’t doubt you can get the job done, play through the pain I know you’re still experiencing, but what I don’t want is you out on that field with your head all jacked up making it worse.”

“It can’t get worse.” The words are flat but taste bitter. What’s worse than watching the person who’s always been by your side fade away, take his last breath, then disappear from existence altogether? Just like that. In a split second he was gone.

“Yes. It can always get worse.”

Not after all I’ve seen, all I’ve learned. There’s no going back and fixing it, but that’s the only thing that’ll make it better. And getting out of this damn glorified closet. “Yeah. Got it.” Standing, I step over some helmets and pads thrown on the floor and reach for the door.

“Even the strongest must ask for help at some point, Creed. Don’t let your pride get in the way. If you need to, speak up.”

It’s not pride. There’s no undoing the past. I’m good. I am. I just need to get on the field. “Sure. Well, here’s me speaking up. Do your job. Coach the fuckin’ team. And stop trying to talk me off the field. It won’t happen. I’ll be on the field with my team when we capture the title.”

Just before I’m out the door, I hear Coach say, “Let’s hope so, stubborn ass.”

He can hope all he wants. I know I’ll be out there. If anything, his stupid wannabe pep talks are screwing with my head more than helping. They’re also giving me even more reason to prove to him and my father that I can do this.

Before I know it, I’m standing on the field, watching the coin toss. It goes in the other team’s favor, and they predictably opt to kick and have us receive. Shortly after kickoff, I’m jogging back onto the field, my first snap underway. It’s a smooth handoff, and Marco easily gets a first down. Three snaps later, the ball sails through the air, landing perfectly in Marco’s hands as he comes down in the end zone. Touchdown.

I should feel good, accomplished. We’re on the board and will easily control this game. But this game, that touchdown—both are a first without Ethan on the field. Fuck. As many times as I gave him shit about his ridiculous touchdown dance that earned us penalties for excessive celebration a few times, that’s what I want to be watching right now.

Walking back to the bench, I drop down on the hard metal and watch the extra point sail through the uprights. Then I wait, hollowly, for my turn to get back on the field. Because the first time without Ethan on the field has to be the worst, and Coach was right about one thing. It got worse, but now it has to get better.

25

DANI

When Luna said a few students hang out at the field beside the football stadium, she meant every student. And maybe a few who don’t attend Sacred. One thing is for sure, everyone seems to be here for one purpose, celebrating. And it appears every last one has their own way of doing so. Plenty have red cups, beers, or bottles of liquor in their hands. Others are passing around what smells like marijuana. Then there’re a few who are taking the celebration in a completely different route by practically (or maybe actually) screwing right out in the open. But it’s the discreet celebrating—the unobvious kind that I can’t see being passed around—that I’m more concerned with.

“Here we go,” Luna mutters under her breath as Keith walks up to us.

There’s no hesitation in Keith when he loops his arm over my shoulder, and gives me a chipper, and slightly slurred, welcome to the party. I’m guessing he’s not seeking his mom’s approval tonight and has gained some newfound confidence as a result of liquid courage. I can’t help but be happy for him. Although, I need him to direct it at someone else.

“Want something to drink?” Keith offers, motioning to a group of people surrounding a keg.