Page 39 of 40-Yard Line

“Yes, sir. He said to do it and just leave. I tried. I swear to God I tried,” he sniffed. “I cut his wrists, and then I dropped the blade in the tub. He was pissed about that, but I couldn’t find it, and water and ice was sloshing everywhere. We thought Coach might hear us and find us. He told me to leave him there, but I couldn’t let him die alone. I just couldn’t.”

“You were there the whole time?” asked Trevon.

“I asked him about football and why he loved it so much. He said mostly because of all of us, the players. He said he felt like it was his family. He talked about Carigan and how much he loved her. Then he told me that he’d seen a doctor out of state. He didn’t want anyone to know until this was all over with. The reports are with the doctor.” He pulled a business card from his jeans pocket and slid it across the table.

“He’s in New York City. Supposedly one of the best neurologists in the world. Butch definitely had advanced CTE trauma, but he was also suffering from the effects of the asbestos in the locker rooms. He said when they did the autopsy, all of that should show up, and hopefully, Glenda would be found guilty.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Trevon.

“Because I killed him!” he said, openly weeping now. “I cut his wrists.”

“You did it at his request, son. He was dying anyway, and he didn’t want to die in pain and suffering. He didn’t want his daughter to see her father deteriorating a little bit every day. You did what he asked. I’m not saying it’s right. I’m just saying you did something that a lot of men couldn’t do,” said Ian.

“We all made pacts with one another,” said Ghost. “Each of us. If we reached a point in our lives, in our careers, if our injuries were so severe, end it for us. End it or we would do it ourselves. I agree with Ian. It’s not right, but it was his choice.”

“I’m sorry, Trevon,” he said, hiccupping as he spoke.

“I-I don’t know what to say to this. You did what Butch asked of you, but why wouldn’t you tell me? Why wouldn’t you come to me so we could figure all this shit out together? Why didn’t he come tome!?”

“I didn’t think you liked me very much, and then you left the team too. I think he thought you wouldn’t be able to do it, that you were too close.”

“I didn’t leave the team,” said Trevon. “I was asked to move on by Glenda.”

“She’s such a fucking bitch,” said Kurt. “I thought I would get a chance with her, but all I’m getting is sicker by the day.”

“You have to leave, Kurt. Leave and get out,” said Gaspar.

“I have to win that championship so I can get my bonus. If I do that, I can leave and, hopefully, go to another team.”

“Kurt, I don’t think there’s going to be another team,” said Trevon. “The league is close to shutting down. They’re not making money, and the NFL wants nothing to do with any of us.”

“Great,” he said, shaking his head. “Just great. Am I going to jail?”

Trevon looked at his four mentors and shook his head.

“No,” said Nine. “I don’t think there’s a reason to put you behind bars. You did something not a lot of men could do for a man who was suffering more than we’ll ever know. No. You’re not going to jail, but we might need your help.”

“Anything. Anything I can do, I’ll do it,” he said, looking at them. Gaspar nodded at him, waving Jackie over for refills of coffee.

“I’m glad to hear that because this is going to be fun.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“You want me to do what?” said Coach, staring at Kurt and the men around him. He’d called him to ask him to meet them at the diner out on River Road. At first, he refused, but when Kurt said he was desperate and in trouble, Coach dropped everything and came.

“Coach, you and I both know this league is done after the championship game. She’s going to take her money, dump all of us, and try to do something else. We will all lose. I think we should give her something memorable as an exit plan.” Kurt grinned at the coach, turning to Trevon and the others, who were smiling as well.

“Alright, I’m listening.”

For an hour, they spoke about their plan, and the coach seemed reluctant, unable to comprehend how this could possibly work. These men weren’t professional football players. They looked like it. Hell, they looked better than some he’d seen, but given how old they said they were, he was seriously reluctant.

“I think we need to show you who we have in mind as your replacements,” said Nine. The coach heard the back door open and Jackie laughing, welcoming everyone. As men filtered into the room, the coach’s eyes grew wider and wider.

“What in the ever-loving, fucking hell are they?” he asked.

“See, that is what people see when we walk in the room,” smirked Tailor.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, but where the hell have you all been hiding?”

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