We huddle up. First play of the night.
I know what they’re expecting, I’ve always played it smart, but I don’t want to take this slow and steady. We need to show them what it’s gonna be like—set the pace. “We’re not going for a first down,” I say to the team. “We’re going for the touchdown. Miracle Whip, for Ben. Are you guys with me?”
They answer in unison without the slightest hesitation. They trust me out here.
“Who’s my runner?” I ask.
“I got this.” Tyler nods.
“You sure? Because I’m going to deliver that ball right into your hands. If you drop it, that’s on you.”
“I’m sure.”
Tyler’s putting up a good front, but he looks nervous.
“Okay. After the first pushback, I want all eyes on Neely. Protect him out there.”
We break and get into position.
“Walleye 24. Trent 43. Pine 22. Hut.”
The offensive line is gunning for me—coming at me from every angle. After the initial hit, I send my guys down the field. Fake to the left, fake to the right. I spin out of a tackle, giving them as much time as possible to get into position. A guy’s coming at me—280 pounds of pure pain—but I stand my ground, waiting as long as I can before I let go of the ball. I take the hit; it knocks me clean off my feet, crushing the wind right out of my lungs. I lift my head, but all I see are blurs of light moving in the inky darkness. I hear the crowd going crazy. I look up into the stands, but they’re empty now. I clench my eyes shut and when I open them again, hundreds of people are walking onto the field. They’re smiling, but their eyes are pure black orbs—inhuman and hungry.
“He’s coming,” they chant as they crowd around me. “He’s coming,” they say as they reach out to touch me.
Not now. Not here.
“Tate!” A hand reaches through the wall of bodies, pulling me to my feet and away from the darkness.
“We did it!” Tyler grabs onto my helmet, forcing me to look him in the eyes. The other guys ram into us, whooping it up. I stagger back and look around the stadium—everything’s back to normal. I must’ve blacked out for a minute … that’s all.
I glance over at Ali cheering on the sidelines, beaming with excitement, the end of her red and black ribbons grazing her shoulder blade. She has no idea what’s coming for her. For all of us.
Tyler jerks my face mask. “Are you with us, Tate?”
“Yeah.” I pull away from him and get my head back in the game. I shut it down, all of it, until it’s just me and the ball again.
Play after play, touchdown after touchdown, I let go of everything I’ve been holding inside of me. The anger, the hurt, the fear, the violence, the lust, the confusion, the rage, until there’s nothing left of me, until we’ve annihilated the Sooners, brought them to their knees. I’ve sent them off this field in humiliation and I’m not sorry for it. I did what I came out here to do and now it’s time to move on.
I sign the ball. R.I.P. And that’s the last time I’ll touch a football.
And I can finally live with that.
52
THE RIDE to Harmon Lake is like something out of a dream: the ache in my muscles from a hard-won battle out on the field, the feel of Ali’s warm body nestled against me, her hand on my thigh—dangerously close to everything I wanted before all this happened.
It’s probably a mistake giving her a ride like this, being this close to her before the exorcism, but I want to protect her. I know Miss Granger says it doesn’t matter, that it’s still Ali, but when I’m with her, in that way, I want it to be for real. For keeps. Mind, body, and soul. Nothing clouding our judgment. It’s probably corny and maybe I’m kind of corny, but I think we both deserve that much.
But she’s certainly not making it easy.
Ali’s kissing my neck, running her hand over my chest. “We don’t have to go to the lake, you know. We could just get lost,” she says, gently biting down on my ear.
“Lost, huh?” I laugh. “In this two-stoplight town?”
She slides her hand down to unbutton my jeans. I almost hit the mile marker sign for Harmon Lake.
I barrel into the makeshift lot and slam on the brakes. There’s a ton of cars already here. I can see the glow of the bonfire in the distance.
“Ali…” I put my hand on top of hers to stop her, but she’s not listening to me.
“I can tell you want to,” she whispers.
I let out a shuddering breath as she frees me from the rest of the buttons. I start to say something when she lowers her head.
I want to stop her, I know I should, I will. “Ali,” I say as I pry my hand off the steering wheel and pull back her hair so I can see her face, but that only makes it worse.
“Pioneers!” A guy screams as he passes the truck, raising two twelve-packs above his head.
Ali giggles, but she doesn’t stop.