HALFWAY THROUGH FOOTBALL PRACTICE ON MONDAY, with Lucy and her girls watching from the hillside, Bruno huddled with Ward for a minute before Ward called us all together.
“We’re cutting off early because we have the extra week,” he said. “This is the last series of the day. Four downs, starting from midfield. If the offense gets a first down, they get tomorrow off. If the defense stops them, tomorrow’s a holiday for the D. Lefferts, you’re in for Bannion.”
Two runs by Addison and Anthony gained nothing. Madden called a slant for Will on third down, but Zowitzki tipped it away.
“I want this mother,” Madden said in the huddle. “I could use a day off. I need ten yards. Martin, what do you want to run?”
“I got the play,” I heard myself say.
Faces turn toward me in disbelief.
“Vic, listen,” I said. I think it was the first time I’d ever called him by his first name. “Thorn is crowding the line. He wants to take my head off. I can beat him long. They’ll be all over Martin.”
“Forget it,” said the quarterback. “Bomb’s low percentage. Martin, run an out.”
Will shook his head. “He’s right. Zowitzki’s going to try and mug me. Let him do it.”
Madden stared at Will. Will stared back. Then Madden stared at me. “All right, Martin runs a slant. Lefferts, I’ll pump-fake you on an out, then you turn up.” He paused. He’d lost face to Will. He wasn’t about to lose face to me. “You’d better leave his ass in the grass.”
“I will,” I said.
I faked the squareout, but Thorn didn’t bite: he’d figured it out. He was by my side as we sprinted together, flat out.
’Roids versus the Reservoir. We were running so fast that when I looked back over my shoulder, Madden’s pass was actually a little short. I had to come back for it. I leapt straight up. Meantime, Thorn wasn’t playing the ball: he was timing his hit, trying to kill me. And it was a good hit: as I jumped, his helmet bludgeoned my left thigh. But while my brain cringed at the pain, my hands thought for themselves: they caught the ball.
I went flying, and landed hard on my right shoulder. Then I popped up and flipped the ball to Thorn, just to mock the guy. He swatted it about twenty yards, supremely pissed off.
Clune gave me a congratulatory head-butt. “Day off! Yeah!”
Madden? No smile. But a nod. Good enough.
• • •
When I saw Lucy waiting outside the locker-room door after I’d showered and changed, I figured she was waiting for the quarterback. “He’s getting ultrasound on his ankle,” I told her.
“Where you headed?” she said. “Can I walk with you?”
I shrugged my shoulders. If I got caught up in this web, all the good stuff that was happening could fall apart. My head was saying no. Something else was going along with her.
“That was a pretty cool catch,” she said. “Thorn was trying to kill you.”
“Just somebody else who wants to turns me into meat,” I said.
“That’s what your sport is all about, right?” she said. “Who can outdick the other guy?” I didn’t say anything, even if she’d nailed it. “So are you and me ever going to hang together, or not?”
They were ten of the longest seconds I’ve ever lived.
“Probably not,” I said.
In the back of my head I saw a curtain falling on something. Or like I’d just closed a door made of lead.
Maybe I was stupid, but I was goddamned smart too. And that seemed to be happening a lot lately.
But damn, I thought, as she tossed that ponytail and walked away. For the last time. Which felt shitty. And somehow, at the same time, good. Like I’d won a game.