Page 137 of Saving the Halfback

It wasn’t long before a body bag on a stretcher went into the trailer empty and came out full. Ethan didn’t react at all.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him.

“I’m not,” he breathed.

It wasn’tlong before the police said we could go home, and they would contact us when they needed us. I went home with Dad, and Ethan and Chase took the truck back. Dad reassured me that our family lawyers would take care of Ethan if anything were to happen; he didn’t believe it would, though.

When we got home, Ethan and Chase both showered, then disappeared into the guest room. After I showered, I found theirbedroom door closed, so I went straight to my room, crawling into my bed.

“How many is that for your body count?” Ed asked. He stood by the window, looking out to the garden shed.

“Leave me,” I grumbled. In my head, though, I answered him. Two. Ethan’s dad was number two.

“Three,” he corrected. “Have you already forgotten about the mutt?” As if on cue, the haunted sound of a dog howling in the distance pierced Ed’s now silence.

I cried. Because no matter how far ahead we got, there would always be something to pull us down, pull us back, hold us down. Through the night, in the short blips of sleep I succumbed to, I saw his head get bashed in, over and over again. Only, instead of Ethan doing it, it was me.

That night, I made the choice that it was me. It would be me. I was going to go down for Ed’s injuries or death, whichever happened. I, too, would go down for Ethan’s dad’s death. At least Ethan worked for his life, tried hard, despite all the shit he went through. He didn’t deserve this. I would give my life before I let him spend one day in a cell.

50

Bailey

Sunday

Iwas up before anyone else, sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea, hoping it would calm me down. No such luck. Dad was next up, with Mom close behind. “Ethan and I will be going to the police station today, to answer a few questions,” Dad said.

“Do they want me too?” I asked.

“No. They didn’t ask for you.”

I leaned back in my chair. “It was me, Dad.”

“What?”

“Art was running at Ethan, I tackled him to the ground. He was fighting back, and that’s when Ethan hit him with the crowbar. I caused it. It was me.”

Dad shook his head. “Bailey, you’ll keep your mouth shut about it.”

“John.” My mom gasped. My dad had never talked to me in such a way.

“No, Shelly. Bailey, if you want to help that boy, you will keep your mouth shut about it all. I’ll do the rest. They won’t charge him.”

My bottom lip wobbled a little. “Promise?”

“He’s family, Boo. More now than before,” Dad said before moving to make himself a coffee.

“We’ll keep busy here,” Mom promised, but that wasn’t what I wanted to do. Was there a way to convince Ethan to shift the blame to me? Maybe if he knew I was headed to jail, anyway. She must’ve seen the forlorn look on my face, because Mom added, “I’m going to head out and finish the chores this morning, okay? Just take it easy inside today.”

Chase walked down the stairs and entered the room, his hair a mess, face still pale. “Get something to eat, son. We have an early morning. Stuff needs to get done before I have to leave,” my dad said to him.

Chase nodded and moved to the kitchen toward the coffee, using it to chase down a couple of pills.

“Is Ethan awake?” I asked.

“No. I wasn’t sure if I should wake him?” Chase asked my dad.

“He’s fine for a bit. Let’s get going.”

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