Cleatus thought about it, then shook his head. “Not unless he needs money.”

“See? It’s the same with my boy. They’re teenagers, Cleatus. They don’t want to talk to us. Let me ask you somethin’ else: What does Wyatt do most times around the dinner table?”

Cleatus shrugged. “I suppose he just sort of … stares off into space, eats.”

“So there you go. Wyatt’s right as rain.” Farley gave Cleatus a healthy slap on the shoulder. “Those boys have been through a lot, Cleatus. Best thing we can do now is just steer clear, let ’em eat, and let ’em reacclimatize to society. Did you try the dip?”

Cole watched Cleatus Musgrove move away from Farley Butler. Cole had overheard most of their conversation from his seat at the table a few feet away. With the exception of Coach Hickham’s inexplicable exit—which had left Cole feeling more angry than worried—he
felt confident about the way things were going. The Jackrabbits seemed calm and content, and so far the parents had taken his advice and were keeping their distance. Most of them were mingling around the swimming pool, smoking, eating, marveling over their sons’ return, and talking about football.

Cole returned his focus to the team. Cleatus Musgrove had been right about one thing—the boys were ravenous. Clearly, Thedford Blunt’s horse hadn’t done much to quell their appetites. The Jackrabbits were devouring burgers like desert scavengers with a fresh kill. Their chewing, slurping, and groaning had put Cole off his own meal. He pushed his burger away and sat back in his chair, wondering what the hell was wrong with Coach Hickham and wishing he could smoke.

“Oh, my god . . .”

He turned. Savannah was standing behind him, a hand over her mouth.

“That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said.

“Where the hell did you go?”

She stepped back, picking up the hostility in his tone. “I went to the bathroom, if you must know.”

“I’d hoped that maybe you’d gone to talk some sense into your father.”

“No, Logan. I didn’t. I’m not sure I’m the one who should—”

“What the hell’s the matter with him?” he snapped. “How the fuck could he just turn his back on us?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I can’t answer that question, Logan, but I’d appreciate it if you’d take your anger out on him and not me. Anyway, can we talk about this later?” She indicated the team. “I think we’ve got more pressing matters at hand right now.”

Farley Butler stepped in to drop another plate of patties onto each table. “Come and get it, boys!” he said, wiping greasy hands on an apron that read Who pissed in the gravy?

The Jackrabbits dug in with abandon.