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“Give us the season,” Kai chanted, raising his beer.
“Remind us what’s necessary,” someone added.
And then everyone chimed in.
“For the team.”
“For the family.”
I moved the camera around the circle, taking everyone in.
“Give us the season,” they called out.
“Give us the season.”
And again.
And again.
Some poured a beer onto the grave, and all over her dress, the candles spread out in devotion flickering in the light breeze.
We didn’t explain this to anyone ever. It was kind of like the people who didn’t really believe in God but still went to church.
There was something to be said for tradition. Ritual.
It was good for the team.
The basketball team had been coming here for decades at the beginning of every season. We would never not come.
An hour later, a small bonfire burned inside the ruins of St. Killian’s, the keg already half-empty and laughter and shouting coming from down in the catacombs.
Damon sat in some dilapidated lawn chair, staring at the flames as two girls talked and kept an eye on him from near the sanctuary.
Waiting.
“I wish he’d gotten to grow up,” I said, tossing a stick into the fire. “I wonder what he’d be like now.”
“McClanahan?” Damon asked.
“Yeah.”
He waited, the flames glowing in his eyes. “He wouldn’t be special if he didn’t die.”
“He was special before that.” He was a captain, like Michael. He was a leader, selfless, a fighter…
No one really knew what happened that night.
“He wouldn’t be special,” Damon repeated. “Everyone changes. We all grow up.”
“Not me.”
He breathed out a laugh. “You’re going to have to be someone someday.”
“I’m going to be Indiana Jones.”
He just smiled, but kept his eyes on the fire. He never tried to drag me into reality as hard as Michael and Kai did. I had no clue what I wanted or who I wanted to be. I just wanted my people, and I wanted the girl of my dreams.
The girls giggled again, and Damon’s eyes flashed up, seeing them.
