Page 6 of The Embers That Remain

“After everything.”

“That poor Massey boy.”

I rubbed my palms against my jeans and opened the car door. It was now or never, because if I thought about it too much, I’d puke. Was it dumb to pull the ball cap down even farther, knowing it would do nothing to hide who I was? Yes, but maybe I could just play pretend for a little longer.

Four

Lane

“Are you ready for football practice to fully get started tomorrow?” Soren asked, tossing a perfectly crisp fried-pickle chip into his mouth.

We’d shoved two tables together to make room for all of us at Ronnie’s Diner. The original 1950s decor felt more like home than my childhood house did. Jonah’s infant carrier contraption held his niece, Hope, who was gnawing on a soggy fry as if it were a lifeline.

“Yeah,” I said, drowning a fry in local barbecue sauce before tossing it back. “I think so.” I lifted my water and took a long drink. “Are you still planning to help with Thursday’s practices?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Soren said.

“What about you?” I asked Jonah. He nodded once, quiet as ever.

“Any solid freshmen coming up?” Soren asked.

“That Albright kid,” I said. “And the Lunden boy. There were a couple of new kids today. A couple of names I didn’t recognize. Sign-ups are online now. Alicia Lunden emailed me the list, and it looks like a solid group of kids.”

“That Albright kid’s fast. I remember him making the local newspaper regularly in middle school,” Soren said. “The question is whether he’ll play like it’s a team sport.”

I huffed softly. That was always the question—whether it was high school, college, or the pros. Talent could only carry you so far, but being able to recognize the strengths of your teammates along with your endurance and teachability as an athlete could make you one of the best.

We’d all played together on teams for football, baseball, whatever was in season. For a while, I thought football was my future, and deep down, if I’d had a choice, it was my first love. A college scout showed up to one of our baseball games, and three months later I committed. Baseball had been the exit ramp I didn’t know I was searching for. Four years later, I was pitching in the MLB.

It was easier on the body, I guessed. Mostly. My shoulder throbbed on cue, as if it knew exactly what I was thinking. Two surgeries to repair my torn rotator cuff had made the choice for me—or so I told myself. The truth was messier. I’d been chasing his dream, not mine. Even if it had been a once-in-a-lifetime experience. It was hard to look back on two consecutive World Series wins and not feel guilty that it wasn’t my dream, when so many players would have killed for the opportunity.

When I came back to town, everyone assumed I’d end up involved with the baseball team. Coach Walder still ran the program with military precision. She scared the hell out of me; she’d always been about five feet tall and built like she could knock down walls with her bare knuckles. So when the high school football coaching spot opened up, I took it. Football had been my dream, but baseball had found me first, and now, after all these years, I had a split affection for both. Practices had always been my escape growing up. As long as I performed, my dad stayed pleased, smiling and quiet.

“Yeah,” I said, shifting my glass from side to side. “That’s always the thing.”

I glanced across the table, meeting Sawyer’s gaze. “How are the self-defense classes going?”

Jonah, Sawyer, and Landry had teamed up to teach classes at the gym; the fees were covered by the foundation Soren, Jonah, and I ran in memory of Soren’s brother, Abel.

“We had seventeen sign up,” Sawyer said, eyes bright.

Soren’s mouth tugged into a small smile, because Soren Roberts had a soft spot for her that was as big as the Kansas skies. Sawyer fit in here as if she were always meant to be, and he liked that.

“We’re kicking butts and taking names,” Landry said, swiping a limp fry out of Hope’s fist to hand her a sippy cup. “Right, Hopie?”

Hope answered by babbling as if she were part of the conversation.

“I connected two single moms with the center,” Sawyer offered.

“That’s great,” I said.

Sawyer blushed, and she ducked her head as if she wasn’t sure what to do with the attention. We’d made the right decision in hiring her as the director for The Hope Center. She had the experience, but more than that, she had a deep compassion and strength that clung to her like a warm cardigan. My phone rattled against the tabletop. I flipped it face down without looking. It vibrated again, and I already knew.

“Sorry,” I said, standing. Jonah gave me a knowing look. “I’ve gotta take this.”

The bell on the diner door chimed as I stepped outside, the sound far too cheery. Leaning against the building, one hand braced on the metal frame of a window, I answered.

“Hello.”