Russ’s face darkened at her response. “It’s Gabe, isn’t it? It’s like everyone’s been saying. You really are sleeping with him.”

  Hannah glanced quickly at Brent, relieved to find him too preoccupied with his cousins to be listening to their conversation. But Patti leaned close, obviously hanging on every word.

  Hannah almost denied it. Then she remembered what Gabe had said when he was lying next to her yesterday. If they say we’re sleeping together, we say, damn right, as often as possible. Where can they go after a response like that? Hannah was fairly certain Russ would go ballistic, but she didn’t care. She was tired of restraining her own emotions, tired of caring too much about what everyone else thought and felt. “I am,” she said. “And, man, is he good.”

  It was the most blatantly truthful thing she’d ever said to either one of them—and she could tell they knew it when Russ’s jaw went slack and Patti’s eyes turned into saucers.

  “You’re telling me the mother of my children, the woman I’ve known most of my life, is really a cheap slut?” Russ growled.

  “Russ…” Patti warned, obviously torn, and nervous about the children overhearing.

  Hannah met his eyes and smiled faintly. “No. I’m telling you I’m in love with Gabriel Holbrook, and I don’t care who knows it.”

  “He’s using you, getting back at you for what you did to him,” Russ said.

  “You’re making a mistake, Hannah,” Patti warned. “You’ll never be able to keep him.”

  Hannah gazed down at the empty football field. “That doesn’t change anything.”

  * * *

  KENNY SAT SLUMPED against the lockers while Coach Owens chewed out the whole team. “What the hell happened to our front line during the first half of this game?” he yelled. “Where were our blocks? Do you want to let Oakridge make fools out of us all?”

  Some of the guys shook their heads and mumbled in response, but most sat in depressed silence.

  After Owens, it was Blaine’s turn to address the team but he had little to say. Kenny couldn’t even look at him. He hated Blaine, resented how he’d divided the team—especially because the bad guys seemed to be winning. Kenny couldn’t make a difference in the game no matter how hard he tried.

  “It’s been a difficult few weeks what with losing Coach Hill,” Blaine said. “It’s not unusual that we’d suffer a setback…” He droned on, keeping up pretenses by saying a lot of nothing.

  Finally, Gabe took the floor, but he didn’t talk right away. He sat in his wheelchair, waiting until everyone was looking at him. When Kenny could hear a faucet drip in the bathroom, he said, “How many of you think this is just a game?”

  Several members of the team glanced at each other, obviously confused. Even Buzz, the new consultant, seemed surprised by the question.

  “How many?” Gabe repeated more insistently.

  When everyone finally figured out that he actually expected an answer, a few boys raised their hands, then a few more until everyone had a hand up, including Kenny. Somehow Kenny knew it wasn’t the answer Gabe was looking for, but it was what his mother always said, and Hannah tended to be right about things in general.

  “Well, I’m here to tell you that it isn’t just a game.” Holbrook drilled the players who made up the Spartan front line with a pointed, steely gaze. “Not tonight. Why? Because life is all about the little things, the decisions we make every day. That’s what builds us into who we are.” He eyed the twins, who’d done such a halfhearted job keeping Kenny safe in the pocket. “It’s about having courage and always holding up your end. It’s about making an honest attempt. Nothing else matters. Do you understand?”

  No one said anything.

  “Do you understand?” Holbrook repeated.

  Kenny couldn’t help nodding.

  “Price, why don’t you explain it to the others.”

  Kenny cleared his throat when he found everyone watching him. He didn’t like being put on the spot, especially when he felt guilty for having been tempted to fail his team. But the victorious glint in Blaine’s eye told Kenny that Blaine thought he had Holbrook by the throat, and Kenny knew he had to say something.

  “This is our defining moment,” he said, thinking of Tuck. “This is where we show ourselves and each other who we really are, what we’re made of.”

  “There’s no shame in losing once in a while,” Blaine said. “Oakridge is a tough op—”

  “It isn’t about winning or losing,” Holbrook interrupted. “It’s about character. There are two kinds of men—strong men, who remain true to their internal compass regardless of all else; and weak men who are easily misled and wind up cheating themselves of all they can be.”

  “That sounds like something I once heard Coach Hill say,” Brandon Joseph said, sitting up straighter and taking note.

  Gabe’s teeth flashed in a smile. “I heard him say it too, Brandon, twenty years ago. And I know if he were here today, he’d deliver the same message. He certainly set the example, didn’t he? Coach Hill lived a life he could be proud of. So what do you think? What kind of men do you boys want to be? Will you remain true to your team, to each other, to Coach Hill and to me?”

  “I will, Coach!” Dookie Howser yelled.

  “Me, too!” someone else called, and the response soon turned into a chorus.

  Kenny saw the twins cast each other, and Coach Blaine, an uneasy glance. Finally, Moose stood up. “I’m sorry, Coach,” he said, hanging his head. “I don’t deserve to play because I haven’t been giving you an honest effort. But I hope you’ll put me in second half and let me make it up to you.”

  Blaine went beet red at the defection of his own cousin.

  “No one should get past you. You’re too good, Moose,” Holbrook said and turned back to Kenny. “Kenny, you’re the team leader. What can we expect from you this half?”

  Kenny met his coach’s gaze. Maybe Holbrook would be gone next year, maybe it’d mean that Kenny would never play football again. But for here and now, he was playing for a man he could respect. And he was going to walk away from this game being able to respect himself. “Leave me in, too, Coach,” he said. “You’ll get nothing but my best.”

  “I believe that,” Holbrook said. “I believe you’ll all give me your best. Now get out there and show me what you’ve got.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  AFTER HALFTIME, the feeling on the field was completely different, but Kenny’s job still wasn’t easy. Most of the guys on the team seemed to understand what had happened in the locker room. They seemed to be committed. But there were a few, like Sly, who didn’t care about internal compasses, respect or team loyalty—which meant those who did care had to work twice as hard.

  Midway through the third quarter, the Spartans finally came within scoring range. When Lonny missed his block on third and seven, the defense rushed in. But Kenny managed to roll away from the pressure and head downfield to score the Spartan’s first touchdown. A rush of adrenaline shot through him as he saw the referee’s arms go up. But then someone flew at him, hitting him when he wasn’t expecting it. He landed hard on his left arm, and the resulting pain momentarily paralyzed him.

  “Kenny, you okay?” Moose shoved the Wildcat who’d hit him out of the way.

  The guy hurried off the moment he saw the size of Moose, and Kenny tried to nod, but he could scarcely breathe.

  “You hurt?” Moose pressed.

  Kenny had never felt so much pain in his life. But he knew he couldn’t show it. He had to stay in the game. The momentum was just beginning to shift—he wasn’t done yet.

  “I’m fine,” he managed to say, but he didn’t object when Moose grabbed the front of his jersey and set him on his feet.

  “Thanks,” he said, trying not to grimace.

  Worry showed in Moose’s meaty face. “You don’t look good,” he said. “You’re out for the rest of the game. Maybe even next week’s game.”

  Kenny scowled. “No way, man. I’m fine!”

  “The hell you are.”

  It wasn’t until Moose glanced at Kenny’s left arm that Kenny realized he couldn’t move it. “I throw with my other hand,” he said. “Don’t say anything to the coaches.” But he should’ve saved his breath because the stands were deathly quiet, and Owens and Blaine were already trotting out onto the field, along with the team’s trainer.

  “Come on,” Kenny said from between clenched teeth, and he and Moose started for the sidelines. When they met up with the coaches, Kenny blinked the sweat out of his eyes, which felt mysteriously like tears, and tried to brush past them. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

  Owens didn’t seem convinced. “You took quite a hit out there.”

  “Did we get the penalty?” Kenny asked, struggling to absorb the pain, to act normal, to think beyond it.

  “Fifteen yards.”

  “Good.” Kenny finally reached the bench. He wished he could sink onto it and rock back and forth in misery, but he turned to watch the second-string kicker instead. “That’s it,” he said when they made the extra point, but Owens wasn’t listening. He was frowning over his clipboard.

  “You’ve got to come out,” he said. “We’ll go with—”

  “Is Kenny okay?”

  Owens glanced at Coach Holbrook, who was making his way down the sidelines with that Buzz guy. “He’s hurt.”

  “No, I’m not!” Kenny said.

  Owens ignored him. “Who do you want to go in for him?”

  “Greer,” Holbrook answered.

  “But I feel fine,” Kenny insisted.

  Surprise registered on Holbrook’s face. “Kenny, if you feel good enough, sit down and watch the game. If you don’t, let’s get your mother down here and have her take you to the doctor.”

  “I can play,” he insisted.

  “What if something’s broken?”

  Kenny thought that was probably the case. “We’ll get it X-rayed after the game. It won’t hurt anything to wait.”

  “Kenny—”

  “Come on, Coach. I need this,” he said softly and grabbed Holbrook’s arm.

  Holbook glanced pointedly at the spot where Kenny held him. Kenny let go but couldn’t apologize. He could focus only on keeping himself together long enough to finish the game.

  “Please, Coach,” Kenny said. “I have to do this.” He had to know that he wasn’t going to turn out exactly like his father, always searching for the easy way out and blaming everything and everyone else for what went wrong in his life.

  “You could get hit again,” Holbrook warned.

  Only a few feet away, the defense fought to hold the Wildcats to their own side of the field. Kenny winced at the rough tackles. The thought of simply jarring his arm nearly made him faint. But he had to finish what he’d started. This was his Thomas More moment. “If I do, you can take me out.”

  “Are you feeling much pain?”

  “My arm’s a little numb, that’s all,” he lied, even though his whole body felt like it had just been through a meat grinder.

  Blaine had come up from behind. Now he suddenly jumped into the conversation. “He’s trying to be a hero, letting his ego get in the way. Don’t listen to him. Of course he should come out.”

  Kenny opened his mouth to plead with Holbrook some more. The Spartans weren’t going to lose because some fool took a cheap shot and knocked him out of the game. Blaine had already done enough damage to the team. But Kenny didn’t need to say any more. Blaine’s involvement seemed to be just the thing to get Holbrook to give in.

  “You can play,” Holbrook said. “But you have to stay in the pocket, do you understand me? If you get sacked or try to run even once—”

  Blaine’s hands clenched. “You’re making a mistake, Holbrook,” he said. “This kid has a head as big as yours.”

  Holbrook ignored him. “Don’t run,” he said to Kenny.

  Kenny put his helmet back on with his good hand. “I won’t.”

  “You’re going to get fired for this,” Kenny heard Blaine warn Holbrook.

  “It’s a possibility,” Holbook said. “But the fact that you won’t be here next week is a foregone conclusion.”

  Kenny couldn’t tell which one of them was right. It was too much to think about. All he knew was that Tuck was watching and so were his mother and brother. He was going to show them, and himself, what kind of man he wanted to be.

  Determination surged inside him like floodwater tearing through a canyon.

  It was the only thing that kept the nausea and blackness at bay.

  * * *

  “HE’S HURT,” Hannah said, watching Kenny attempt another pass.

  “No, he’s not,” Russ said.

  Hannah considered the way Kenny held his left arm. It didn’t look natural. He didn’t seem to be moving quite as fast as normal, either. Had that late tackle done more damage than she’d thought?

  “He just completed another pass,” Patti said. “I think he’s fine.”

  “Can you keep an eye on Brent for a minute?” Hannah asked Russ.

  “Take him with you,” Russ grumbled. Ever since she’d admitted her feelings for Gabe he’d had very little to say to her. And although Kenny had begun to play brilliantly, Russ didn’t seem pleased. Considering how much Russ cared about Kenny’s football success, Hannah couldn’t work out what his problem was.

  “Russ!” Patti said, her tone full of reproach. “He’s your son, too. Of course you can keep an eye on him.”

  “So she can use Kenny as an excuse to get in front of Gabe, hoping he’ll invite her over again tonight?”

  “Oh, grow up!” Hannah snapped. “I’m worried about my son.” Getting up, she hurried down to the fence, so she could see better.

  Kenny backed up to throw again, but couldn’t get the pass off. A defender broke through the front line. Kenny shifted to the left to avoid the tackle; then, in an amazing feat of strength, Moose Blaine threw off another guy and managed to protect his quarterback well enough for Kenny to toss the ball a few short yards. After the play, Hannah thought she saw Moose check with Kenny to be sure he was okay and watched her son nod.

  Was she wrong? Her sixth sense told her no, but…

  “Hi, Hannah.”

  Hannah glanced over to see that Mike Hill had come up next to her and greeted him.

  “Kenny’s playing quite a game. That kid’s something special.”

  “I’m proud of him,” she said absently.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Kenny’s hurt. Do you think Gabe knows that?”

  “I’m sure he does.”

  “Then, why isn’t he pulling him out?”

  “I don’t know, but he must have a good reason, don’t you think?”

  She wasn’t sure. Did she trust Gabe that much? She wasn’t used to relying on other people to look out for her boys.

  “I’m sure Kenny’s going to be okay, Hannah,” Mike said gently.

  She nodded, and he put his arm around her to give her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Do you need to go down there?” he asked.

  She gazed at Kenny, then Gabe, and drew a deep breath. Gabe was different from Russ. He wouldn’t let her down. “No.”

  “Would you like to come sit with me and Lucky?”

  Hannah had never had much of a chance to speak to Lucky. Lucky was younger, so they hadn’t attended school together, and she’d left town for several years. Now that she was back, they only passed on the street occasionally. But Lucky was Gabe’s half sister, and Hannah couldn’t help being drawn to anyone even remotely connected to him. Certainly sitting with Mike and Lucky would be better than watching the rest of the game with Russ.

  “Okay,” she said and let Mike lead her back into the bleachers.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, Gabe sat on the empty football field and stared up at the scoreboard, which, like the lights, would probably be shut off any second. The glowing numerals read twenty-one to twenty.

  “Can we go yet?” Brent asked, finally growing bored with playing in the mud over by where the team’s water cooler had been.

  “In a minute.” Gabe had met Hannah at the door to the locker room when she came to check on Kenny and insisted she leave Brent with him. She had to go to Dr. Hatcher’s to have Kenny’s arm X-rayed and, evidently, Russ wasn’t speaking to her, so she would’ve had to take Brent with her or ask someone else to watch him. Gabe had volunteered for the job because he wanted to help—but he also liked the fact that if he had Brent, he’d definitely get to see Hannah tonight.

  Brent followed the line of his gaze to the scoreboard, looking puzzled that Gabe could still be interested in what was posted there when everyone else had gone home. “We won, didn’t we, Coach?”

  “We won,” he said. “Thanks to Kenny.” It had come down to the final few seconds, but on third and twenty, Kenny had thrown a long bomb that resulted in a spectacular, game-winning touchdown. The other team got the ball back after the extra kick, of course, but there hadn’t been enough time to do anything. It was over. The clock wound down to the cheers of everyone on the Spartan side, with the band playing the fight song, while the dejected Wildcats dragged themselves off the field.

  “How’d Kenny win the game?” Brent asked.

  Gabe wasn’t sure how Hannah’s oldest son had even managed to jog out whenever the offense took the field, but Kenny wouldn’t let Gabe pull him. Every time Gabe tried, Kenny rounded on him with determination so fierce it bordered on defiance, letting Gabe know he needed to keep playing.

  Obviously, this game meant far more to him than just another matchup against Oakridge. Basically, Kenny had been trying to prove something and, right or wrong, Gabe had given him the opportunity.

  “He played with heart,” Gabe answered, then added more softly to himself, “He remained true to his internal compass.”

  Before Brent could question him further, Gabe heard someone call his name. Surprised that anyone besides the groundskeeper and he and Brent were still around, he turned to see Mike and Lucky walking toward him.