Page 148 of The Americana Playbook

“Abby’s family never appealed the wrongful death lawsuit because their lawyer felt they didn’t have enough evidence. I know theexactdays she was sick. I told them I’d testify if they filed a new lawsuit.”

His face remains unchanged. “And?

I take a deep breath. “And I’m involving Cam in it. Because two years ago, he cosponsored a bill in Congress about institutional child abuse. It got held up in a committee and died. I asked about it at the reunion. That’s why I was so insistent on going even though I originally didn’t want to. I was afraid if I tried to arrange meeting him through his office my parents would find out. I wanted to know from him what it would take to get that bill back to Congress.”

Fitz’s jaw tenses, as if he knows the answer before he’s even asked the question. “And what’s that?”

“Me.” I swallow. “Testifying in front of Congress.”

A storm brews in Fitz’s eyes. “Do you trust him?”

“I trust him wanting to make a name for himself, and this would be it. The soonest he could get it through would be in early September, which is after the convention and I have a feeling I can’t go through with that if I promise to work with Cam. He needs to meet to review everything we have. Your season will have started by then. I never wanted this to touch you. If you want…if you need an out?—”

Fitz drops his face to mine, and his voice is accompanied by an angry breath. “Do you thinkthat’s a reason for me to run from you? You trying to do therightthing?”

“It would be a big deal, Fitz,” I tell him. “And selfish, because?—”

“Making yourself vulnerable with purpose isselfish?” He shakes his head. “It’s the most selfless thing you can do. I’ve gone to war for people I don’t love an iota of how much I loveyou,” Fitz tells me. “I’d never hold you back from something like this, Parker. I’dhateyou if you didn’t because of me.”

A typhoon of relief whooshes out of me.

“I’ll be with you,” he promises. “Every step of the way.”

If I ever had a soundtrack tomy life, its melody would be written on the field and constantly punctuated by a whistle.

Start.

Stop.

Line Up.

Or, apparently,Fuck me sideways, that was god awful,which is an awful thing for a coach to say on a media day filled with kids and some of our families.

But if I’m being honest, I’m only hearing Coach halfway today, I’ll admit it. He can bust my balls for it too. When I woke up as the sun rose, looking at a sleeping Parker next to me, her head a mess of tangled brown waves and mouth parted slightly, I realized today was different.

Today,I’mdifferent, and I can’t quite explain it. It’s as if I’ve been changed on a molecular level, like my brain chemistry has been altered. Because everything I ever understood about the world seems to no longer make any sense after realizing what was done to Parker. I thought I knew, but her letters made me realize it’s so much deeper than the scar on her back.

I’m sick when I think I didn’t see it before—that this was so much more than a lock—not for any other reason than I can’t imagine her carrying this load—of abuse, of wrongful punishment—on her own for so long. And it kills me, literally steals my breath, that even for one second, she considered puttingmeand my reputation above herself, above Sarah, and god, I can’t even imagine how many other kids.

The whistle blows again. “Ball’s dead,” Coach says with the whistle still jammed between his teeth. “Run it again, Fitzy. Josh, you get that snapup. You know what direction that is or have you taken one too many hits to the head?”

I lift a hand. “That was my bad. Didn’t wipe off my hands,” I call out to Coach before clapping. But he doesn’t give the whistle to line up.

I swing my head toward Josh, wondering if I missed something.

“Fitzy!”

I turn, only to find a ball coming at my head. Aaron, one of my receivers intercepts it with a one-handed catch.

“Coach just try and nail you in the helmet, Fitzy?” he asks.

I palm the ball, staring at Foller, who stares me down and blows his whistle one more time. “Run it again.”

There’s nothing all too complex about this play, but I’ve been around long enough that sometimes it’s the simplest things you end up tripping over in practice. When something’s too easy, you don’t give it your all because it just doesn’t seem worth wasting the energy.

“Ready…” I step behind Josh, my hand on his hip, setting everyone before I back into shotgun and call the snap.

I keep my eye on my receiver, which is a rookie mistake. I fumble the ball.

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