“Look, nobody here knows about that,” I said. “Clean slate. You don’t even have to do anything remotely athletic—just keep Lauren occupied while I talk to Dane.” I pushed him toward her.
As I jogged ahead to catch up to Dane, a bunch of Grimsbys passed, looking like they’d just been in a brawl. “Good luck,” a tall, gangly boy I recognized from the party last night grunted as he shook bits of matted grass and dirt from his hair.
“They’re going to get slaughtered out there,” his friend said as he wiped the blood from his ear on his sleeve.
What did I get us into? I looked down the field to see Rhys trying to talk to Lauren, and Lauren pointedly ignoring him. He was going to kill me for this.
I found Dane at the goal line, making sure the markers were in place—iron poles with loops at the top to hold the lanterns.
“Are these the same things they use to mark the perimeter of the corn at night?” I gave one of them a good shake, and accidentally pulled it out.
“Do you mind telling me what this is all about?” he asked as he took the iron stand away from me.
His change in tone took me by surprise. Maybe all of that was just an act back there. “I need you to take me into the corn.”
“Why?”
I wanted to tell him about Marie, but I didn’t know if I could trust him with an honest answer. “I just do.”
“First”—he stabbed the pole back into the ground with such force, it made me flinch—“you need to tell me how you walked into the corn by yourself last night.” His eyes settled on me—they were so full of light and life—I still couldn’t tell exactly what color they were.
“I . . . I don’t know. It must be a conduit thing. I don’t have any control when the memories come over me.”
“Dane?” Lauren hollered from midfield. Rhys stood next to her awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs.
Dane and I joined them.
“Angus here will officiate,” Tommy announced as he pulled some poor kid off the sidelines. “He’s a Hanratty—pretty neutral. Right, Angus?”
Tommy pounded his hand down on Angus’s shoulder and I could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“Are we all in agreement?” Tommy asked.
“Agreed,” Lauren and Dane answered in unison.
Rhys and I just nodded.
Dane started to take his shirt off. My voice rose about six octaves. “No need . . . there’s . . . we . . . I know . . . we don’t need to . . .”
Rhys saved me. “We don’t need to do shirts and skins—I doubt we’ll get one another confused. Unless of course, you just want to show us your abs.”
“Fine.” A smile eased across Dane’s lips. “But aren’t you forgetting something?” His eyes flickered to my waist and all I could think of was his thumb dragging across the top of my hip bone. A flash of heat rushed to my cheeks. Get a hold of yourself, Ash.
“You might need a stick,” Dane said.
“Right.” I nodded like one of those idiot bobbleheads.
As Dane led me to an old metal washtub at the end of the field full of shinny sticks, he leaned in. “I’ll make a wager. You win, I’ll take you.”
“And if we lose?” I glanced up at him.
“You’re on your own,” he said as he strode away.
I picked through the pile of sticks, looking for one with a decent grip. Each one had a natural Y shape at one end to balance the ball. I found a solid piece of oak. “Rhys,” I called out as I tossed it to him. He didn’t even bother trying to catch it. It dropped to the ground with a hollow thunk.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this for you.” He bent over to pick it up like an old man.
“All you have to do is stay on Lauren. I’ll take care of the rest.” I studied her as she tied her long skirt into a knot above her knees. “I bet she runs like a three-year-old.”
“No, Ash, I run like a three-year-old.”
I picked up another stick and whipped it through the air, pleased by the wicked sound it made. Dane took notice. Obviously, he’d never seen me play lacrosse or he would’ve thought twice about the wager.
“Let’s kick some ass,” I said to Rhys as we took the field with Dane and Lauren.
The whole community had left the other games and gathered for the spectacle. There were ladies twirling old-fashioned parasols to shield themselves from the sun and boys with hand-me-down trousers being held up by suspenders. Beth alternated between biting her nails and cheering. I spotted Brennon at the back of the crowd, talking quietly to Spencer, who never took his eyes off us. It put me on edge.
Dane and I faced off. The ref threw the ball high into the air; I waited for Dane to snag it, then knocked it away from him and ran it down the field. It was harder than lacrosse—harder to balance the flimsy beanbag on the end of the stick. But I got the feel for it quickly, and muscle memory kicked in.