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  “I do care.”

  She knelt in front of him and took his hands in hers. “Do I matter more than football?”

  He looked away. “Do you want me to quit coaching?” he said. “Is that what you want?”

  She took his face in her hands and made him look at her. “I don’t want you to quit coaching,” she said. “I know you love it.” She paused and said, “I just want you to love me more.” She gently kissed his forehead and went to bed.

  “You had your chance, Max,” he said quietly to himself.

  Chapter 7

  Wednesday, September 4

  Michelle was in the shower when he left the house. He could feel her slipping away and there was no one to blame but himself. And yet he wasn’t sure where to even begin repairing the damage or if he even had the energy to try.

  Through the ups and downs, the wins and losses of the past two seasons, he’d always been there for his team. He’d given everything he had to keep them focused, to keep their spirits up, to keep their eyes fixed on the goal. He was there for them. He just hadn’t been there for his wife.

  He’d let her grieve alone. She kept reaching out, but he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t go there. He couldn’t relive the year Sarah was sick. And no amount of talking or feeling or processing would bring her back.

  He rounded a curve and saw it up ahead, the scene of Dante’s accident. Dante wasn’t coming back either. Sarah wasn’t coming back. His marriage wasn’t coming back. And if he was being honest, he didn’t see his faith coming back either. Where was God when you really needed him anyway?

  There wasn’t time to go there now though. He tried to focus on the task at hand—beating Fayetteville. Several minutes later, as he waited at the traffic light to turn into the school, a police car pulled up behind him. When the light turned green, it followed him to the fieldhouse. What now?

  He got out of his truck and watched as two Lakeside policemen got out of their car and approached him. “Coach Henry, I’m Terry Cook,” the older of the two said. “We’ve got a situation.” Max had met Terry once before and recognized him from the news report on television. “Do you mind if we go inside and talk?”

  He took them to his office, shut the door behind them and closed the blinds. “Can I get you guys some coffee?”

  Both men declined. “This won’t take long, coach,” Terry said.

  “Must be important to have the chief involved,” he said.

  “Like I said, coach, we’ve got a little situation we need to bring to your attention.”

  “Whatever I can do to help.” Max poured a cup of coffee left from the night before and set the microwave for one minute.

  “Well, we arrested a couple of your boys last night. They broke into a house and set off the alarm. They were picked up thirty minutes later with some cash, jewelry and electronics in their car.”

  I really don’t need this right now. “Who was it?” he asked.

  “Blake Collins and Jared Wilson.”

  Max slammed his fist on the table. Some of his coffee overflowed from the styrofoam cup. The officers exchanged a glance.

  Blake was a junior and his starting tight end. Jared was a senior and the starting right tackle. In their offense, both positions were critical if they were going to have any success running the ball.

  “They’ll appear before a judge later this morning. He’ll set bail. They’ll be out by 10:00 this morning.”

  “What were they thinking?” Max said to no one in particular as he felt his forehead.

  “We could have taken care of this quietly, but the lake house they robbed is owned by a couple from Fayetteville,” Terry said. “I’m sorry, coach, but there’s nothing we can do.”

  “Yeah, I understand. I appreciate the heads up.”

  “I know this isn’t what you needed this week,” the younger officer said. “Good luck Friday night, coach.”

  He walked the two men out to their car. Just before they left, he said, “Chief, are you familiar with the investigation into Dante’s accident?”

  “What about it?” His eyes were narrow. His head slightly cocked.

  “I was just wondering about the cause of the accident,” he said. “I heard on the news that Dante lost control and hit a tree.”

  “Yeah, that’s what happened,” Terry said. “Must have fallen asleep. A real shame.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Max said. “So the damage to the rear bumper didn’t mean anything?”

  Again, the officers briefly made eye contact. “I’m not sure what you mean,” Terry said. “He fell asleep and hit a tree. Cut and dried case.”

  Max didn’t press it further. He watched the two men drive off, then pulled his phone from his pocket and found the picture of Dante’s car. He studied the image as intently as if he was watching game film. The rear bumper had extensive damage.

  He fell asleep and hit a tree. Cut and dried case.

  He kept staring at the picture. One cop. Two paramedics shutting the doors on the ambulance. Jimmy writing on a clipboard. Dante’s new car wrapped around a tree.

  He fell asleep and hit a tree. Cut and dried case.

  Then it clicked. The skid marks. How could there by skid marks unless Dante had hit the brakes? And how could he brake if he’d fallen asleep?

  They’re lying.

  Chapter 8

  Max had no choice but to suspend both players. They hadn’t been convicted of anything yet, but he couldn’t play them knowing they’d been arrested for burglary. How would it look? How would he have any chance of maintaining discipline on the team if burglary got you nothing more than a slap on the wrist?

  It would look bad to the team and to the community. He always stressed integrity and representing the team well on and off the field. That had to include his starters.

  He called both players to his office at noon and informed them of the suspension. At a minimum, they would miss the first four games. Depending on the outcome of the legal proceedings, they might be off the team permanently. They’d be lucky to even stay in school. Both boys apologized and understood the decision. They were instructed not to come to practice until they heard from him.

  After school, while the rest of the players dressed for practice, Max met with the coaches to begin adjusting the game plan to account for their starting tight end and right tackle not being available.

  Most of the team had heard already, but Max needed to talk to them himself. They’d overcome adversity before and this time would be no different. Getting knocked down was part of football and part of life. Staying down was a choice. So was getting up, getting stronger and moving forward.

  He pulled the team together in the locker room before heading out to practice. As he was about to address the situation, the door at the back of the room burst open. Every head turned.

  Jack Murphy stood in the doorway with a grin on his face. “Got a minute, coach?”

  “We’re in the middle of a meeting, Jack, and then we have practice. It’ll have to wait,” Max said.

  “Sorry, coach, this can’t wait,” Jack said.

  “And I said...it’ll have...to wait,” Max said, his eyes locked on Jack.

  “Well, alright then, I thought I’d let you inform the team, but you leave me no choice. I’ll just have to do it myself,” Jack said. “The charges against our boys were dropped thirty minutes ago.” He paused, winked at Max, then held the door open. “Come on in boys.”

  Blake and Jared stepped into the room to wild applause from their teammates. They looked a little sheepish at first, but were soon enjoying the attention like they were returning war heroes rather than two criminals who’d been arrested for burglary.

  Max looked at his coaching staff. They were as stunned as he was. When the room settled down, he ignored Jack and led the team outside to the practice field. Blake and Jared followed five minutes later. Practice went on as if nothing had ever happened. And even though he felt conflicted about playing them, without any actual charges, he didn’
t have grounds to suspend them.

  Practice was average at best. The team was too loose. There was too much joking around. Too much laughing. And too many missed assignments. When Blake and Jared both missed their blocks on a run to their side, Max lost his cool. He threw his clipboard, hitting a sophomore who just happened to be in the way. He stomped the ground and let fly a string of expletives he hadn’t heard come from his mouth in a long, long time. The stunned looks on the players’ faces told him he’d gone way too far.

  He retrieved his clipboard. “Line up for sprints!” They were scheduled to go another thirty minutes, but there was no point now. He made them run until several of the linemen threw up. Only then did he dismiss them.

  An hour later, as was usually the case, he was the last one left in the field house wrapping up the plan for Thursday’s practice. As he wrote out the schedule on the white board, he felt lightheaded and grabbed the arm of the chair to steady himself.

  He felt his forehead breaking out in a sweat. His chest felt tight. He closed his eyes and took several slow, deep breaths and wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like.

  Ten minutes later he didn’t feel any better but was pretty sure it wasn’t a heart attack. He tried to think calming, relaxing thoughts, but his mind was swirling. It was almost eight o’clock when he summoned the strength to make his way to his truck.

  Sliding the key into the ignition and turning it to start the engine seemed to take every ounce of his strength. “You’re a failure, Max,” he whispered as he exited the parking lot.

  Chapter 9

  Thursday, September 5

  Dante’s funeral was at noon and was held in the school auditorium where normally there would have been a pep rally. The room had seating for six hundred people and Max didn’t see an empty seat anywhere.

  Even though he’d only been on the team for a year, Dante had made an impact. A dozen teammates talked about what a great friend and role model he’d been. When it was his turn, Max talked about the great attitude and work ethic Dante had consistently displayed at practice and in games.

  After the service, as he walked back to his office, he saw Jack Murphy and Bill Jackson, the athletic director, in a heated conversation with Donnie Black, the executive director of the Northern Arkansas State Athletic Foundation. They were across the parking lot so he couldn’t hear what they were arguing about, but it looked serious. Bill even had to step between Jack and Donnie.

  Donnie had come to represent the university since Dante had already given a verbal commitment to play football there. And Jack would never miss an opportunity to work a crowd. He just couldn’t imagine what problem Jack and Donnie could possibly have with each other.

  Chapter 10

  Friday, September 6

  Like every head coach he’d ever known, Max adhered to a certain schedule and rituals on game day. A local restaurant always catered the pre-game meal. Tonight’s meal was from Noodles, his favorite Italian restaurant. If his stomach wasn’t so upset, he would have enjoyed the pasta with meatballs, bread and salad.

  The meal always wrapped up at 4:30. Players started dressing at 5:15. Kickers and kick returners took the field at 5:45. Backs and receivers at 5:55. Linemen at 6:05. Everyone stretched and warmed up as a team from 6:10 to 6:20.

  During the stretching period, Max shook every player’s hand and offered them a piece of Big Red gum, something he’d learned from his high school coach. After running through their offensive plays and defensive alignments, they returned to the field house at 7:00. At 7:20, the game officials brought out the captains for the coin toss with the rest of the team following at 7:25 for the national anthem. Kick-off was at 7:30.

  Tonight though, everything was moved up ten minutes to allow time for the stadium dedication ceremonies and a moment of silence for Dante. The school board, principal, athletic director and of course, Jack Murphy, as the booster club president would take their places on the field and be recognized. It was only a change of ten minutes, but it made the entire pre-game routine feel wrong.

  Half way through the Star-Spangled Banner Max glanced over his shoulder to look for Michelle in her usual seat, but she wasn’t there. He quickly scanned the nearby seats but didn’t see her.

  Despite all they’d been through, she’d never missed a game. Through the heat and the cold, the rain and the snow, and even Sarah’s illness, he could always count on Michelle being in her seat at every game, home and away. As he mouthed the words “and the home of the brave,” he turned to look again, but she still wasn’t there.

  The home stands were about three-fourths full. For such a small town, Max thought it was a great turnout. They might have had an even bigger crowd, but Bentonville, who was ranked #1 in the state pre-season poll, was playing Bergen Catholic, one of the top teams out of New Jersey. And Northern Arkansas State had their home opener the following day against Southeastern Louisiana University.

  Unfortunately, Max knew Jack Murphy wouldn’t be content with three-fourths. Surely he’d hear all about it on Monday, if not before.

  The Fayetteville fans had certainly turned out, as Jack had predicted. The visitor stands were standing room only. And their student section was already loud. Fans don’t mind traveling when you win. It was what he wanted for his program. With a win tonight, it would be a major step in that direction.

  He wiped his forehead with a towel and gave last minute instructions to his three team captains before sending them out to midfield for the coin toss. He looked again for Michelle, but she was missing.

  Fayetteville won the coin toss and deferred to the second half. Lakeside would get the ball and go on offense first. The kick return team ran onto the field and took their positions.

  He looked for Michelle one more time, but still couldn’t find her. He didn’t blame her for not coming, but without her, it didn’t feel right. The thud of the kicker’s foot meeting the ball caught him off guard. He quickly turned back to the field as the ball sailed deep to the two-yard line where Joe Taylor stepped under it.

  Maybe it was the new stadium lights. Or first game jitters. Or maybe it was the inexperience of a sophomore playing in his first varsity game in front of ten thousand people. In the end, it really didn’t matter why it happened, it just did.

  Joe was perfectly positioned to field the kick-off, but the ball sailed straight through his hands and hit his facemask. It knocked him off balance enough that he stumbled and fell. He scrambled around on his hands and knees trying to find the ball, but it wasn’t on the ground. It had bounced high in the air and seemed to hang in there just long enough to allow one of the Fayetteville players to catch it in mid-air at the eight-yard line and run it in for a touchdown. If the video was clear enough, Max knew it would end up on Sports Center.

  Exactly three seconds ticked off the clock and the score was 6-0. The deafening roar from the home stands just seconds earlier was now stunned silence. Across the field, the Fayetteville players and fans were going crazy.

  Max encouraged his guys as they came off the field and reminded them it was early in the game and they could get that one back. It was a devastating way to start the game, and the truth was that he only half-believed his own words.

  Fayetteville lined up to kick the extra point, but ran a fake. The holder flipped the ball to the kicker, who started to run right, then stopped and threw a short pass into the end zone to a wide-open receiver. And just like that, the scoreboard read 8-0.

  And that was as close as Lakeside would get. By half-time, Fayetteville led 29-0. Max and his staff made some adjustments for the second half, and Joe Taylor settled down by the third quarter, ending up with seven catches for over a hundred yards and two touchdowns. But it wasn’t nearly enough. Lakeside lost, 50-21. He couldn’t blame it all on Dante’s death, but they had surely felt his absence.

  The post-game talk was tough. It always was after a loss. He tried his best to focus on the positives and point them ahead to the Siloam Springs game, but again, even
he had trouble believing what he was saying. They’d gotten whipped. Fayetteville was clearly a better team, but his team made them look even better than they were. They’d been out-played and out-coached in every facet of the game.

  After shaking the hand of every player as they left the field house, Max told his assistant coaches goodnight and walked to his truck. He couldn’t stand the thought of being the last one in the building again. Someone else could lock up. Or not. He didn’t care.

  Of course, leaving early meant having to face the fans who hung around outside, most of whom were family and friends of players. He walked fast and kept his head down to avoid getting into a conversation with anyone. A few people saw him and offered words of encouragement. He thanked them and kept walking.