Devils T-shirt he wore under his pads while he played, he peeled back his football pants to stare down at the bruise forming on his hip. That hit had been hard, but he couldn’t blame the injury for his poor performance. During the game, he’d had so much adrenaline pouring through him he’d barely felt the pain.
He regretted that was no longer the case. His hip felt like it was on fire.
“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning forward and hanging his head. Not only was he upset by his performance, he was worried. When he hadn’t been able to get hold of Aaron before the game, he’d called Aiyana Turner, the woman in charge of the boys ranch in Silver Springs. She’d told him Aaron wasn’t doing well, that he couldn’t keep any food down and was back in the hospital. She’d been scared—he could hear it in her voice—and that had scared him.
Would the news be even worse now?
He was afraid to find out, but he pulled his cell phone from his gym bag and called her, anyway. “Hey. How is he?”
“Better.”
The pain in his hip eased a bit as he drew in a deep, hopeful breath. “Yeah?”
“They’ve got him on an IV to make sure he’s getting the fluids he needs.” Aaron, like Hudson, didn’t have any parents, at least not reliable ones; Aaron had a mother in a halfway house somewhere. Aiyana did her best to look after him, the way she’d tried to look after Hudson when he’d been at New Horizons. With nearly three hundred students at the school, however, many of whom came from tragic situations—and eight boys she’d officially adopted over the years—one person could do only so much. That was the reason Hudson had finally purchased a home on the edge of Silver Springs three months ago, even though he already owned a place in LA—so during his off-seasons, he could mentor the boys at the ranch who needed someone most.
“Bet he loves having another needle in his arm,” he said. The poor kid had been through so much...
“So far, I’ve convinced him not to tear it out,” she said.
“Stubborn as he is, I’m sure that hasn’t been easy.”
“No. But we can talk later. He’s sitting right here, asking for the phone.”
“You’re at the hospital?”
“Yeah. I had some things to do earlier, but I came back around three.”
“Okay. Let me hear what he has to say.”
Aaron didn’t bother with hello. “Seriously, man? Two interceptions? What happened?”
The relief Hudson felt at the pique in Aaron’s voice—irritation he wouldn’t feel if he was too sick—put the loss, and his own poor performance, into perspective. Maybe the kid really was doing better. “Had a bad game, dude.”
“I saw that. I hope you know you owe me twenty bucks.”
Hudson straightened. “I do? Why?”
“I bet a friend the Devils were going to win, damn it!”
“Watch your language.” Although he wasn’t upset by a few curse words—he said and heard worse on a daily basis—he was the kid’s mentor.
He couldn’t inject any real sternness in his voice, though.
“Damn? You think that’s a swear word?” Aaron asked.
Perhaps he was being a little ridiculous, but he had to send the right signals. “It is a swear word. And Aiyana’s sitting there, too.”
“She doesn’t care.”
“Yes, she does. Show some respect. You shouldn’t be betting on games in the first place.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Because you’re not old enough to gamble!”
“But I may not live until my seventeenth birthday!”
Those words pulled Hudson back to reality, helped check his emotions. Aaron sounded better today, but what would tomorrow bring? “Don’t say that. You’re going to be fine.”
“Chances are I won’t be fine. You need to be prepared.”
“I’m not listening to that.”
“Just because you don’t want to face it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Sometimes I think you’re more afraid of death than I am.”
Hudson wasn’t afraid of his own death, but he was afraid of Aaron’s. He was more than afraid; he was terrified. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“If you say so. Anyway, about that twenty bucks...”
“Forget it. I’m not paying that.”
“Why not? You’re loaded.”
Hudson had to smile. “Gambling often means losing. You need to learn what that’s like so you’ll think twice about doing it again.”
“I wouldn’t have to know that if you’d been yourself out there today. I still don’t understand how you let the game get away from you. What was going through your mind when you threw that last pass, man? What did you think you were going to be able to do while you were falling backward?”
He’d been trying to take control of something—trying too hard, in retrospect—because he couldn’t control what was happening to Aaron, couldn’t even be with him when the boy needed to go to the hospital. “We all have bad days.”
“Yeah, well, give me a heads-up when you’re out of sync next time so I can bet on the opposite team, will ya?”
Hudson promised himself he’d never self-destruct in another game, especially one Aaron was watching. The boy needed something to smile about. Instead of giving him that, he’d panicked and let fear undermine his concentration. “You’ll never get a call like that from me, because it’s not going to happen again.”
“Good. So when will you be home?”
“Team’s flying out tonight at eleven-fifteen.” They had a chartered flight via one of the major airlines, with the Boeing 757 reconfigured to contain half as many seats as usual. It even had eighteen beds to fit the large bodies typical of football players, plus massage therapists, big-screen TVs for gaming and a smorgasbord of food catered by a local restaurant.
But since they’d lost, the mood on this evening’s flight would be subdued. Hudson wasn’t looking forward to spending five hours cooped up in a plane with his teammates, especially since he was to blame for today’s loss.
“Hey, are you going to get showered? The bus is waiting.” Bruiser was back, all six feet eight inches and 370 pounds of him. No one else would dare try to roust Hudson. The fact that Hudson had done his interviews before he’d even taken off his uniform told them he was in no mood to be bothered.
“Be there in ten,” he muttered.
Bruiser looked as though he was tempted to stay until Hudson proved his words
