—you remember or don’t you?

—weekend of torture? not easy to 4get. fuk that.

—no shit fuk that. 2 many push-ups 2 count. 2 many sprints. Thought I would die.

—wrists wrapped on meat hooks? booster dads slinging cow guts @ us? no thanx

—don’t 4get the hose-down.

—Maybe U R right. Bridge prank well worth it.

—Fuk those J-rabs anyway.

—shouldn’t b talkn’ on it. our asses if caught.

—tru … All 4 now.

“A weekend of torture at the hands of their own booster club? Just for losing a game?” Cole folded up the sheet. “Jesus. And I thought we had it rough when your dad made us do forty-five minutes of calisthenics immediately following our loss to Lamar. They really are breeding monsters over there in Elmwood.”

“Sure explains how Booker got the rest of the team to join in on his plans. Probably didn’t take much convincing, given what happens when the team loses. Oh, and a final footnote: Guess who’s the majority owner and general manager of the Brackenwall Meat Processing Company.”

Cole looked at her. “I’m gonna go with Booker’s old man.”

“You got it. Floyd Martin Flamont. Elmwood Badgers defensive captain, nineteen seventy-one. Big shoes to fill.”

“Still doesn’t justify what those assholes did.”

“No. It most certainly doesn’t.”

Cole nodded ahead. “This is it. Pull off onto the shoulder.”

“Here? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah. Come on. We walk from here.”

CHAPTER 21

SHALL I let you know when I start enjoying this?” Savannah asked.

“We’re almost there. Here, hold this, it’ll be easier.” Cole handed over the flashlight and switched the gym bag into his good hand.

“The smell of that thing is going to make me puke.”

“Just keep walking. It’s not much farther.”

They continued downward through the woods. The grade grew steeper the closer they got to the riverbank. The temperature was colder than it had been in town, probably below freezing. Slick mud shifted under their boots with each step.

Savannah shoved a tree limb away from her face. “If I’d known we were going to do this I would have brought my dad’s machete.”

“You know how to handle a machete?”

“That surprises you, Logan? For your information I know how to handle lots of—”

She slipped, her backside hitting the mud with a wet splat.

“You were saying?”

She shined the light into his eyes. “You gonna help me up or stand there and smirk.”

He offered a hand and hoisted her up. “It’s a damn shame, you know?”

She wiped the mud from her jeans. “What’s a shame, Logan? Go ahead, rub it in.”

“That’s my favorite pair of jeans on you.”

“Excuse me?”