The Weight of Blood (72)

“Naw,” he said bluntly. “We’re gonna head out early. But hey, catch up with y’all later.”

Kenny pulled Maddy back onto the dance floor, leaving his friends speechless.

On the opposite end, with the coast clear, he spun her around and eased into the music.

“Sorry about that,” he sighed. “Are you okay?”

“I thought you said you had a party to go to?”

He shrugged it off. “It’s a nice night out. We can go for a drive, see some real stars. Then I’ll get you home before curfew. Don’t want your dad hating me without getting to know me first.”

Maddy glanced at the floor. “Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his back tightening. Damn, he really was nervous. He couldn’t believe it and almost laughed out loud at the exhilarating, cathartic feeling.

“You don’t have . . . I mean, you can go and—”

“No! No, I’d rather be with you. I mean, I want to be with you.”

She frowned. “What about all your friends?”

“Fu—I mean, screw them.”

“And . . . Wendy?”

He held his breath for a beat. “We’ll . . . face her, together. She’ll understand.”

Maddy nodded, her eyes glassy. He pulled her close, and she melted in his arms. He didn’t care who saw them. In fact, he wanted someone to see. He wanted someone to ask, “Do you love her more than football?”

And the answer would be yes. I love Maddy more than football.

What the hell was happening to him?

Wendy had just finished microwaving dinner when her phone buzzed with a text from Charlotte. A picture of Kenny and Maddy . . .

Your boyfriend and his date look mighty cozy.

Wendy zoomed in on the photo, examining the placement of his hands, his gleaming smile, and the gaze in Maddy’s bright eyes.

A thought wiggled, jerked, and wormed its way up to the surface, its teeth bearing down on her dream. But she was doing the right thing. Wasn’t she?

Your boyfriend and his date look mighty cozy.

Her chest tightened and she slammed the phone down on the counter.

“Mom! I need to borrow your car!”

I’ll just . . . stop by prom, make sure everything’s running like it’s supposed to, she reasoned to herself as she jumped into the shower. Then, she and Kenny would take Maddy home together before heading to Greenville. They could go early, order room service in the suite she’d reserved . . . a snapshot of what their life would be like on the road when the season started. Maddy probably wanted to be home anyway. Not like prom was her scene.





Nineteen


May 31, 2014

“HEY, HEY! HO, ho! Racist students have got to go!”

Sheriff West sat in his truck, parked facing the country club with the windows rolled down, sipping a cold cup of coffee to take the edge off his hunger.

Missed dinner again.

But he had to check on his boys’ formation for the evening.

It wasn’t much of a protest. A mere ten or more students with painted signs marched in a circle at the country club entrance. And there weren’t as many cameras as they had estimated. Just two from local affiliates, not even a live feed. But that was one too many, and he had strict orders from the mayor to keep a cool, level head while they were nearby.

“Hey, hey! Ho, ho! Racist clubs have got to go!”

His youngest son, Deputy West, had insisted they should wear riot gear, citing safety concerns, but Sheriff West had shot down the ludicrous idea.

“They’re carrying goddamn posters, not AK-47s,” he’d barked during the team huddle earlier that evening.

The boys had been watching footage of riots from all over the country . . . buildings set on fire, rocks lobbed at cop cars, stores looted, and monuments vandalized. He also saw how his brothers in blue manhandled protestors, throwing tear gas like they were in the middle of a war. West didn’t care what other cities did to their citizens, but he wasn’t about to let his own men treat their fellow neighbors as anything less than human. Springville had been a peaceful town until all the gossip from the high school spread into the streets. Blacks and whites always got along just fine—everyone knew their place. Now, he couldn’t even grab a cup of coffee without tasting the tension in it. It stank up the air, and he had had just about enough.

But as the mayor had warned, he had one goal—get through the night without incident. Then, when all the attention died down and the seniors headed off to college, the town would go back to the way things were, including separate proms.

West stepped out of his truck and slogged over to the caution tape.

Aside from Officer Jessup Brooks, who’d stayed behind at the station, almost his entire force stood in front of the country club, their squad cars parked like a wall. They’d been tipped off about the protest and spent days deciding their best course of action.

Deputy Chip West led as commanding officer, along with Officer Eric Sawyer, Officer Avery Channing, Officer Heath Marder, and newcomer Officer Jacob Ross, a transfer from Athens.

“I said back up!” Officer Ross barked, his hand on his belt.

“Sheriff,” Mrs. Morgan huffed, utterly exasperated. “The students have been in the same spot for the last hour, yet this man seems to have a problem with his eyesight and thinks the students are somehow moving closer to him.”