Page 110 of Redemption
Tanner is already staring back at me, his face set in stone. I look away, keeping sight of him in my peripheral, and when he thinks I’m not looking, he lets that mask drop. His forehead crinkles like he’s in pain, and I wonder how often he is still having those headaches. Next time I see MJ, I’ll have to ask if he’s been coming to her during the day.
I won’t play him injured, but how can I prove he’s still having problems if the doctor gave him the all-clear and Tanner refuses to speak up?
A thought hits me, turning my stomach inside out.
What if Eric paid the doctor they saw to give Tanner the all-clear?
I wouldn’t put it past Eric, not after seeing how he was with Tanner and the pressure he puts on the kid. He could have easily gone out of town to get the all-clear, and as bad as this sounds, not all doctors have the ethics they should. I saw that time and time again playing football at the upper level.
Maybe I should ask Dr. Harrison if he’ll come in and do physicals for the whole team. That way, it’s not just Tanner being looked at.
But then again, after that disaster between MJ and her dad at the soup kitchen and Dr. Harrison’s complicated relationship with football anyway, I might be better off finding a different doctor.
It’s a problem to think about after practice.
Clearing my throat, I ask. “Who would like to tell me one story you took away from our trip?”
Heads swivel as they wait for someone else to step up and volunteer, but no one comes forward.
“I’ve got all night.” I cross my arms, waiting for someone to find their courage. I just need one kid to step up, and the others will follow.
A reluctant hand raises from the back of the group, and I look over, surprised to find one of our freshman linemen with his hand up.
“Go ahead, Isaiah.” At fourteen, he towers over most of the seniors, outweighing most of them too. But despite his size, he hardly talks. He has a pronounced stutter, and like most kids,he’s embarrassed by it—not that he should be, but telling that to a fourteen-year-old is like talking to a wall.
With his helmet in his hand, he stands. His fingers fidget with his chin strap, and red floods his face.
“I—I—I—” he starts, trying to force the words out.
Chuckles come from the other side of the group, and I slice my gaze that way, trying to find the culprit.
With my attention elsewhere, I don’t notice Tanner standing and placing his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder until he says, “It’s okay, Isaiah. You’ve got this.”
Pride pokes at my chest, but I keep my face neutral, afraid if I react too much, Tanner will take two steps back. I expect him to take a knee again after comforting Isaiah, but he remains standing, hand on the other boy’s shoulder, and offering comfort while Isaiah gathers himself.
And even though red still creeps into Isaiah’s cheeks, he doesn’t stutter nearly as badly this time. “I spoke with a ma-man that was probably your age co-coach. He was in a wh-wheelchair.”
“Probably got along faster than you can get a sentence out,” someone snickers.
My eyes zero in on the person it came from, and I can’t say I’m surprised—Morgan Ellis—a senior and a punk. Out of the two games we’ve played, he’s almost gotten kicked out of both for running his mouth, even the ones he was on the sidelines for.
Campbell steps forward to take care of this one, but before he can, Morgan is lying on the ground, with Tanner looking down at him.
“Oops, sorry, Morgan. I must have gotten tripped up there—didn’t mean to knock you down.”
Funny thing—Tanner hasn’t moved from beside Isaiah. He must have been just sneaky enough to hide a kick behind the other kneeling boys, effectively knocking Morgan to the ground.
Morgan glares up at Tanner, but Tanner’s face is blank, revealing nothing. I have to turn my head so the other boys don’t see me laugh.
Should I get on to Tanner for that? Probably.
Will I? Absolutely not.
Morgan, on the other hand, will be running laps until he pukes after practice.
When I’m sure I have my face under control again, I look back at Isaiah. “Did you learn how he ended up in the chair?”
He nods, glancing at Morgan out of the corner of his eye before he lifts his shoulders high and looks around at the other boys, finally coming back to me. “Yes, sir. He wa-was a war veteran. He st-stepped on an IED. He—uh—sa-said something I’ll never f-forget.”
