The Finall Play novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Midnight Throw

Tanner sneaks onto the indoor field to throw and Elliot catches him, and the ball, one-handed.

At twelve-forty at night, Elliot's phone lit up with a text from the security guard.

Someone swiped into the indoor field. Left shoulder, right-hand badge.

Elliot read it twice.

Then he pulled on a hoodie over his sleep shirt and ran.

The indoor field smelled like rubber and old turf.

Only the emergency lights were on, so the long green floor lay mostly dark.

At the far end stood Tanner in a gray T-shirt, with his sling dangling around his neck.

He had a football in his right hand.

"Don't," Elliot said.

His voice echoed down the whole field.

Tanner froze with the ball cocked behind his ear.

He did not turn around.

"It's just a toss," Tanner said.

"It's a torn labrum and a separated joint. Put it down."

"I can't sleep." The words came out raw. "I lay there looking at the ceiling, and I could feel the ball in my hand."

"I know."

"You don't."

"Tanner."

"You don't know."

He spun around, and the football dangled from his fist.

"Nobody knows what it's like to have it taken. The whole team looks at me like I'm made of glass."

Elliot walked toward him across the turf.

He did not hurry, and he did not raise his voice.

"Then show me," he said. "Throw it."

Tanner stared at him.

"What?"

"You want to throw so badly. Go ahead."

Tanner blinked, and for a second he looked younger than twenty-one.

Then he drew back his arm, and pain tore across his face before the ball had even left his fingers.

The pass flew crooked, wobbled in the air, and died fifteen yards away.

Tanner dropped to one knee with his hand clamped on his shoulder.

"Okay," Elliot said gently. "That's why."

He crouched down in front of him.

Tanner's chest was heaving, and his eyes were wet, and he looked furious about it.

"Look at me," Elliot said. "Breathe out."

Tanner breathed.

Elliot put his palm flat over the top of the joint, and under the cotton he felt the heat of inflamed muscle.

"You strained it again," he said, too quiet. "Right there. It is swelling."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine, you idiot."

"Then fix it!"

The shout bounced off the far wall and came back to them twice.

Elliot realized his other hand had risen to Tanner's jaw.

His thumb rested on the corner of Tanner's mouth.

They both went very still.

Tanner's green eyes searched his face.

His lips parted just slightly.

Elliot pulled his hand back.

"Get up," he said. "Ice. Now."

"Erickson..."

"Now."

Tanner got up.

He walked a few steps toward the bench, then stopped.

"Throw me the ball," he said.

"What?"

"The ball. It's by your foot. Throw it to me."

Elliot looked down at the football lying in the turf.

He had not held one in two years.

He had not touched one since the surgeon said he would never lift his arm above his shoulder again.

"No," Elliot said.

"Please. With your left."

Elliot's throat tightened.

He picked up the ball with his left hand.

It was heavier than he remembered, and the laces fit into his fingers with a familiar bite.

Tanner backed up ten yards and held up his good hand.

"Right here," he said. "Go."

Elliot threw.

It was a bad pass, short and spinning wrong.

Tanner lunged and caught it one-handed against his chest, and a laugh broke out of him, loud and startled.

"That was terrible," Tanner said.

"I'm left-handed with a torn right arm."

"Do it again."

"We are not playing catch at one in the morning."

"Why not?"

"Because you're my patient."

"Then I'm your patient," Tanner said, and tossed it back with an easy underhand. "Throw."

Elliot caught it.

He caught it, and something old and aching and happy cracked open in his chest.

He hated that more than anything.

"This is the last one," Elliot said.

He threw it again, and this time it spiraled almost right.

Tanner caught it and grinned, the first real grin Elliot had seen in two years.

For one second, it was just two guys in the dark.

Then Tanner's smile slowly fell away.

"Why do you hate me?" Tanner asked.

Elliot looked at the ball in Tanner's hands.

Then at the sling hanging around his neck.

"Put the sling back on," Elliot said.

"You haven't answered."

"Put it on. Then I'll walk you out."

Tanner did, with a grimace, and they went toward the exit side by side.

At the door, Tanner stopped.

"Report me," he said. "You can tell Coach I broke in."

"I'm not going to report you."

"Then tell me why."

Elliot pushed the door open, and cold air hit them both.

"Day ten," he said. "Ask me on day ten."

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