Carter nodded. “Like I said: good arm.”
The kid snorted. “Yeah. If I’m trying to throw it into the stands.”
Carter offered a sympathetic smile. “You can work on accuracy.”
“I can run the ball. I am damn good at running the ball.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“And I can throw. But.” He made a face that betrayed his nerves. “If I can’t make the deep pass by the time the scouts come around.” He shook his head, face creased by a momentary hopelessness.
“You’ve got some time.”
“Coach just keeps saying–” He bit his lip, and shook his head again.
“Coach thinks yelling about it more will make it better,” Carter said, remembering all too well. “He’s not exactly about the nuance.”
“Forreal.”
Ghost’s words from earlier came back to him. The assertion that they were going to have to ingratiate themselves more with the community; make connections with people in a way that didn’t rely on dealing or intimidation – so that more people would turn to them in times of crisis.
He took a breath – and a chance that, even fifteen minutes ago, he wouldn’t have thought he’d take. In typical fashion, lately, he made it awkward and distinctly un-biker-like. “Hey. Um. If you want – I mean, there’s private coaches out there. You could hire somebody. But if you just want some pointers, I could…I could help. Maybe. If you want.”
Damn it, he thought, after. That was a real winning offer.
The quarterback stared at him a long moment, expression inscrutable. His voice had gone careful again when he said, “You a biker or a coach?”
“Not really much of either, honestly. I know a few things, though. Or, I used to. The arm’s busted, but the brain still works. If you’re interested.”
The kid wet his lips, started to respond – and hesitated. “Lots of people say lots of things about the Lean Dogs in this city,” he finally said, and Carter had been a Dog long enough to pick up on that particular note of fear, no matter how small or well-hidden.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “They do.”
The kid nodded toward his cut. “Why’d you join?”
In the moment, the true answer was also the easiest to voice. “Because I had absolutely nothing. My dad was shit, my job was shit, my future was shit. And a friend gave me a chance to be a part of something.”
Though what his own part in that something was, he still sometimes wondered. He wasn’t a killer; wasn’t a spy; wasn’t especially good with money, or business. He brought no ideas to the table; he didn’t serve a single function that someone else couldn’t serve. He was a body in a cut. The realization wasn’t a new one, but it hit him hard and sudden now, standing in the half-dark, talking to a kid with the kind of bright future he’d always wanted.
He sighed. “Look. I know what gets said about the club. I’m in it. I know that things aren’t always–” He offered a vague hand gesture. “On the up-and-up. But I’m not talking to you right now as a Lean Dog. As a former state champ who got a full-ride football scholarship to an SEC school: I can help you. If you want. If you don’t, it won’t hurt my feelings.”
The quarterback studied him another moment longer – so long Carter nearly cut his losses and walked away. But, finally, the kid adjusted his backpack and stuck out his hand. “Elijah Henry.”
Carter accepted his shake – as firm and strong as expected. “Good to meet you, Elijah.” He realized he was smiling.
Nine
Dear Ms. Cook, While you certainly are a strong applicant, at this time…
Leah exited Gmail without bothering to open her latest email. She would go back and read the whole rejection later – “Sometimes they ask you to reapply later,” her mom would say – but right now, she didn’t feel like being told she yet again wasn’t a good fit.
“Any luck?” her dad called from over behind the counter.
She shook her head.
“Next time, tiger. You’ll get it.”
She offered a half-hearted smile, but didn’t turn her head to see hisgo get ‘emsmile. She just couldn’t right now.
