Page 173 of Eight Years Gone

Following closely behind, he stopped in the doorway next to Grace, watching a long-ago private football practice on the large desktop screen, where Hal called out plays to Jagger and Logan while Steve filmed.

“West right slot eight three X bingo,” Hal yelled.

Logan chucked the football, and Jagger ran down the field like the turf was on fire behind him to meet the ball where it was supposed to be. He booked it back up the field ten yards to dive for a good catch when Logan underthrew the play.

“Jagger was right where he needed to be,” Steve said behind the camera.

Logan turned his head, and his crystal-blue eyes stared into the camera lens while he still wore his pads and helmet. “My arm’s tired. Practice was over an hour ago.”

“Jagger has probably sweated off five pounds, but he’s saving your game.”

Logan’s gaze grew cool as he turned away. “Call another play, Hal, so we can get out of here. I have this thing called homework that I need to do.”

Hal called the same play.

Logan threw a perfect ball, and Jagger caught it, bringing it into the endzone.

Steve gave a hoot of appreciation. “That’s the effort you need to bring, Logan. Every. Single. Time. That’s what champions are made of.”

Logan pulled off his helmet, revealing sweat-soaked blond hair. “Yeah. Got it. I’m done.”

Jagger came jogging over with his helmet in his hand, looking just as soaked and exhausted in his practice gear, fist-bumping Logan. “Forty-five yards, man. Giving me the good stuff with your pads still on.”

“The I-formation needs some work before Friday,” Steve added. “Hal was talking to Coach Brighton about it. I’m sure it will come up at practice tomorrow.”

Logan exchanged a glance with Jagger before they walked toward the locker room where their friends and teammates had long since showered and left.

Colton paused the video, doing a double take and jumping as he glanced over his shoulder. “Shit, you guys scared me.”

“Sorry,” Grace said as she stepped farther into the room.

Colton swiveled in the chair to face them. “I was over at Aunt Maggie’s, helping her and Asa move a couple of the bookshelves in one of the old guest rooms—the one Logan usually slept in. Aunt Maggie said I could take some of his stuff.”

Grace nodded. “I think that’s great. I want you to know who Logan was.”

Colton turned to look at the screen again. “It was never enough. Even when Logan made the plays, Steve didn’t let up.”

Jagger sighed, easily remembering how tense Logan became every time Steve attended a practice. “No, he didn’t.”

Colton ejected the disc from the drive. “You were good. But so was he.”

Jagger nodded. “Logan made me better.”

Colton shook his head. “You made each other better. But he hated it—being there.”

Jagger shook his head this time. “Logan liked football just fine when Steve stayed in Philly.” He wished that Colton could have seen how much fun they’d had more often than not. It wasn’t until Thursday afternoons that Logan hated to play—when Steve came in for practices and the Friday night games.

Colton turned to face them again. “What did he want to be? Because a football player wasn’t it.”

“He wasn’t entirely sure,” Grace told him. “But he always had an easy way with just about everyone. You remind me a lot of Logan in that way.”

Colton stood. “You know, I was always pissed that I meant nothing to him. That I was just Dr. Dad’s mistake. But it’s starting to click that I was the lucky one.” He grabbed his water glass off the coaster. “I’m going to finish my paper.”

Grace sighed as Colton walked into the hallway. “I’m sorry, Colton. That he couldn’t be someone you could count on.”

Colton stopped and turned. “I’m not sorry that I didn’t know him. I spent so much time hating all of you when I should have been feeling sorry instead. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Jagger waited for Colton’s door to close before he looked at Grace, slightly shaken after they’d unexpectedly taken a walk down memory lane. It had been odd to see Logan again—to hear his voice.

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