MB is still staring after him, even with the car gone. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah well, lots of fun memories have been kind of thrust on both of us these last two days, and that’s another one he’s been trying to forget.”

“His brother being gay?”

“Nah, his brother being dead,” I whisper. “Nobody really talks about it in his family, the funeral was small, and most kids at school aren’t even aware. It’s none of their business anyway.”

MB gasps next to me. “What happened to his brother?”

“Overdose.” I shake my head. “He was away at NYU and, from what we can gather, was recreationally using, and whatever pill he took was laced with fentanyl, killed him almost instantly.” My hands flex and tighten into fists. “He was like the coolest guy on campus when he was here; he slayed the ladies, then one day just realized that wasn’t who he was. Quinn and him got in a lot of fights with other people, but eventually, things calmed down. Some people are still giant dicks though.”

“Like that one who fell?”

I laugh. “Yeah, like the one who fell, let’s go; I gotta get my shit from the locker room.”

As expected, by the time we make it back, practice is ending, coach is doing his typical pre-game prep talk. He gives me one look once he dismisses us and crosses his arms. He’s a burly guy with a shaved head, two whistles just in case one breaks, and played collegiate lacrosse. His eyebrows rise. “Let me guess, the second half of the zombie apocalypse practice squad?”

“Coach, we just want to prepare. You always teach us practice makes perfect, right?” I smirk.

He looks heavenward. “Don’t let it happen again. You’re the leader; act like it, even if Xander’s talking shit, got me?”

“Got you.” I nod as he turns away. “Oh, and coach, we’re taking auditions for the rest of the zombie team if you’re interested.”

He stares me down, blows his whistle, then yells. “Fifty pushups, practice makes perfect, right?”

“Fuck.”

“Twenty-five more.” He blows his whistle.

MB snickers next to me.

“You think that’s funny?” Coach widens his stance.

“Er, um, no, I’ll just go wait… over here.”

Coach literally stands over me, sunglasses and all, staring down like a prison guard while I finish all my sweaty pushups. When I hit the last one, he grunts, grabs his iPad, and says, “See you for Saturday’s game. If you dress up like a zombie because you think you’re a comedian, it’s death by burpees.”

“Got it.” I’m breathing hard and ready to pass out from the practice, but I do feel good. I get up on shaky legs, realizing my arms are ready to fall from my shoulders.

MB walks over. “So that was sexy.”

“Me teasing coach?”

“Oh no, not that, him making you work out for opening your giant mouth.” She grins. “I like him.”

“No.” I point my stick at her. “Off limits. Plus, he’s married. Sometimes we pray for his wife before practice, light a candle, you know every little bit helps.”