“Where’s Jim Tom?” she said again. “Where’s my husband? He was with them! He was driving the bus … but I don’t see him now.”

Cole recognized the woman now as the wife of Jim Tom Grady, the retired Marine who had volunteered his service as the Jackrabbits’ bus driver for as long as Cole could remember.

This part Cole hadn’t had the chance to prepare for. He couldn’t very well tell the woman the truth, which was that her husband—as well as the entire assistant coaching staff—hadn’t come back as the players had. He certainly couldn’t tell her that he had sent their bodies back down to the bottom of the river.

Pained by every word, he looked the woman in the eyes and lied. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen your husband, ma’am. I can’t comment on that. I’m sorry to say that goes for the assistant coaching staff, too. I cannot speak for their whereabouts.”

The can of worms had been opened, and the barrage of questions began.

“Where’d you find ’em, Logan?”

“Did you actually find them, or did they come to you?”

“What saved ’em, some kind of underwater air pocket or something?”

“They’ve been through a lot,” Cole said, sidestepping the inquiries. “There’ll be plenty of time to answer the questions that are on everyone’s mind.”

He needed a diversion, and fast. He looked at Savannah, who could only spur him on with a roll of her hands.

“As, uh … as the quarterback of this team, I think our primary focus should be on the well-being of these guys here. Which is why I think we should immediately get them back to doing what they do best … and that’s playing football.”

A hush swept over the crowd.

Cole felt the stab of every eye on him. “What’s more, I’d say it’s also time we got back at the ones that did this to us. And I’m here to tell you right now … it was the Elmwood Badgers.”

“No shit,” a voice called from the crowd. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

Cole cut his eyes back to Savannah. Her thrown expression matched his own. They were unaware that this news had been made public.