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“I’m getting it.” He raised his hand with the I
V port. “It still hurts.”
“Any permanent damage?”
“The surgeon says there shouldn’t be. If I do my physical therapy.”
“Yeah, well, I wish him luck. You always shirked on that.”
“She.”
“Huh?”
“The orthopedic surgeon is a she.”
“Oh.” Coach looked around the room, took note of the TV suspended from the ceiling, the wide window. “Nice room.”
“Can’t complain.”
“Food okay?”
“All I’ve had is beef broth and lime Jell-O.”
“You hungry?”
“Not really.”
Having run out of small talk, they were quiet for a time. Then Griff said, “Thank you for not calling the cops on me the other night.”
“I did.”
Griff looked at him with surprise.
“Despite Ellie’s yammering, I put in a call. But not to Rodarte. After being passed around to several detectives, I finally landed one who sounded like he had some sense. I told him what was what, where you were headed, and that the situation had all the makings for becoming dangerous, possibly lethal to somebody. He got in touch with the police department in Itasca and mobilized them immediately.”
“So you believed me.”
“I believed her.”
“Laura.”
“I believed every word out of her mouth. You, I still know to be a liar.”
“I was not lying! I did not—”
“Hell, I know you didn’t kill Foster Speakman or that Bandy lowlife. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Then give me a hint.”
“You lied about that game against Washington.”
Griff’s heart skipped a beat or two. He hadn’t seen that coming. He stared at Coach for a moment, then averted his head and mumbled, “What are you talking about?”
“You know goddamn well what I’m talking about.” His face red with anger, Coach bent over him until Griff was forced to look him in the eye. “That pass to Whitethorn. That game-throwing pass that got you sent to prison.” Coach jabbed the edge of the hospital bed with his index finger. “I know the truth, Griff, but I want to hear you say it, and then I want to know why.”
“Say what? Why what?”
Coach fumed. “I’ve looked at the video of that play till I’m cross-eyed. From every possible angle. In slow motion and fast forward. Time after time after time. A thousand times.”
