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“It’s my boy, Cray!” Garrett immediately grabs him in a bear hug. “Get out here, so we can win this thing!”
I don’t bother pointing out Jack, Hendrix, and I make two and a half pro players versus their one college athlete and two dancers.
“We call Jack!” Hendrix yells, and our oldest brother shakes his head, looking down.
“Pretty sure that was always the plan, Einstein,” Garrett quips.
“Last play,” Jack calls. “It’s sudden-death overtime.”
As the oldest, Jack slid easily into Dad’s role. He has both the patience and the natural leadership qualities that make him a good team captain.
While I tend to be more of a loner, Jack steps up and checks on everybody, makes sure we’re all okay and gives us advice if we need it.
Hanging back, I watch our small clan laughing and rough-housing as they approach the line, and I think we’ve made it. I think we’re going to be okay.
Just goes to show what I know.
We line up for the snap, and Hendrix and Dylan are practically nose to nose. “Don’t go soft on me, Zane.”
I shake my head at his ferocity. “It’s only a game.”
The snap is made, and Jack falls back, his eyes scanning Garret hulking over Hendrix and Dylan skipping around me.
Craig makes a beeline for him, and he’s forced to throw it. My eyes are on the brown pigskin spiraling like a bullet straight to me. It’s a perfect pass, and I seem to be wide open. Dylan’s not in my sights as I reach for the ball.
It’s higher than I expected, forcing me to jump. Hendrix yells, but I’ve got it. The only problem is I’m a kicker, not a runner, and I’m not used to calculating how fast I’m moving. As I’m flying through the air, I realize I’m going to hit the ground hard.Shit.
Clutching the ball to my chest, my muscles tense as I brace for impact. It all happens so fast, yet so slow at the same time. I feel her small body under mine. My chest seizes, and I try to twist away from her.
It’s too late, and all my weight comes down hard on my little sister. Throwing out my arm, I try to fight my velocity, but at six-two, I can’t stop it. She screams, and I lose the ball, doing everything I can not to hurt her.
We hit and bounce, and I hear the crunch of bone. Another scream, and I know without looking I’ve broken something that can’t be fixed.
I’m on my feet fast when we stop moving, but Dylan doesn’t get up. She rolls to the side, holding her leg, her foot bent unnaturally.
Her cries echo in my ears, and it’s not just the physical pain. This injury changes everything, but not only for Dylan.
It’s the first in a series of breaks that will change my life.
1
Zane
“Give me your hand, and I’ll help you.” I place my hand over Benji Maxwell’s small one and guide the plastic brush in smooth circles along the horse’s side.
We repeat the process gently, moving the brush slowly along the shiny, chocolate-brown coat, over powerful muscles until the tension eases from the boy’s shoulders.
His brow is furrowed, and his eyes are focused on our motion. I’ll give him a few more strokes, then I’ll let him do it by himself.
The old thoroughbred blows air through his nostrils, and his large head hangs over the door of the stall. It’s early morning at Second Chance Stables on the outskirts of Newhope, Alabama, and dust hangs in a beam of sunlight streaming through the door. It’s warm for the first day of November.
“You’re a natural with these kids, Zane.” The owner Gloria Fruit stops at the door, cupping her arm around the horse’s neck. “I wouldn’t object if you decided to hang around here full time.”
She’s dressed in knee-length shorteralls and a black tank,and her mousey brown hair is in a ponytail under a tattered baseball cap.
Beat-up, dusty work boots complete her outfit, and her dark eyes crinkle at the corners with her smile. I’ve never seen Gloria dressed up or wearing makeup as long as I’ve known her.
“Look, Ms. Fruit.” Benji’s voice is focused. “I’m doing it.”
