Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I jump up onto the tailgate of the truck to get a better view. I scan the ocean of corn, but there isn’t another soul in sight.
If Scott had that kid send me on a wild goose chase . . .
My phone buzzes with a text from Reece. Boone just showed. Where r u?
Jesus. Relief washes over me and I exhale deeply. Be there in ten.
Maybe the game won’t be a shitshow.
As I’m reversing direction, Reece sends another text. It’s bad.
Anxiety comes roaring back to the surface.
Is Boone drunk? Did he get beat up?
My stomach pitches as I think back to the night I helped Julia.
Parker is a vindictive dick. He’ll want to get even. The question is, did he?
Ten minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of the arena, jump out, and jog to the locker rooms. As I swing open the doors, guys greet me with worried faces.
They look as if the game is already lost.
I throw my things down on the bench and peer into Coach’s office. He isn’t there.
“Where’s Coach?” I ask the room. “Where’s Boone? Reece?”
One of the second line players points to the showers.
I make a break for the shower room and find a small group of guys standing around someone under the stream of water.
Pushing guys aside, I see Coach, who’s kneeling next to a naked Boone.
My breath stops. I swallow thickly.
Boone’s curled in the fetal position as he rests against the corner of the shower wall. His head is dipped as shudders rack his body. I think he’s crying. There’s some yellow muck that looks like vomit in the drain.
Our team doctor kneels next to him, getting soaked as he works with an IV.
Hot steam hits my face, and with it the stench of vomit.
My mouth opens but I can’t find words.
“Possible alcohol poisoning,” our team doctor says as he looks at Coach. “He’s conscious, which is good. His skin isn’t pale or blue.” He pauses. “Still, I’d call an ambulance. His lungs need to be checked to make sure he hasn’t aspirated.”
I lick my lips. “How . . .”
Coach glances at me, then back at Boone, the lines on his forehead deepening. “He showed up like this. Barely coherent.”
“How did he get here?” I ask.
“Some pledges dropped him off. They got him out of their truck, banged on the locker room doors, then drove off,” Reece mutters.
I crouch next to him, uncaring about the spray of water that gets on my face and clothes. “Boone, bro. We’re here. You’re safe.”
He cracks a single, weary eye. His wet hair is plastered to his skull. “Hansen?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “You’re in good hands. Doc is here.”
He nods, swallowing. “I got this. I’m good. Need my uniform.”
He starts to move around then sees the IV in his arm. His forehead creases, and he shakes his head. “No. No. Please don’t. Coach, I wanna play. My parents are here—”
His chest lurches forward as he gags. Nothing comes out but dry heaves. He falls back, his cheek pressing against the tile wall. “Eric,” he breathes. “Don’t tell my parents, yeah? I’ll be fine. Make something up. Say I have a fever or something.”
Damn, he probably does have a fever.
I groan inwardly. His parents need to know. They’ll want to be at the hospital with him.
Coach and the doctor have stepped back a few feet, and I hear them discussing getting his parents’ cell numbers from the records they have in Coach’s office.
Boone hears them, defeat settling on his face as his eyes water.
I want to fix this. Fix him.
He’s just a kid. I mean, he’s only two years younger than me, but he’s like a baby compared to me. He’s so damn trusting. And nice. He didn’t deserve this shit.
I kneel closer, my clothes getting soaked. “What happened to you?”
He shivers violently. “They took us to the fields. Told us some creepy story about a girl with an axe. They let us loose to get through the maze, and every time we hit a dead end, we had to do a shot and remove a piece of clothing. It was pitch black and they didn’t give us flashlights. I-I wasn’t very good at the game. I got trashed, then couldn’t think straight . . .”
My lips tighten and Reece lets out a string of curses. The guys around us grumble, anger flashing on their faces.
Boone makes a fist with his hands. “At first it was fun, but I got separated from my friends. Maybe they made it out, I don’t know. I stayed there all night, freezing, and they still didn’t come for me. After that, I don’t know, man. I passed out.”
I exhale. “We’ve got you now.”
“I want to play. Please,” he begs, his voice cracking.
Two emotions ripple over me: worry for him and rage for the Kappas.