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“What now?”
A sip, so his brother was drinking something, probably coffee, and it just made Hudson’s gut tighten.
He should be in a restaurant, eating.
“What do you mean bynow?”
“Sorry.”
Hudson dodged another couple headed toward him, holding hands. They didn’t even look at him, but he cut his voice low. “I’m exploring other job opportunities.” Silence.
“What job opportunities? Uber driver?”
“Oh, you’re hilarious.” But yes, that could be an option if the doctor meant his wordsOne more concussion and it could kill you.
C’mon, Doc, calm down.Guys like him had so many concussions their brains practically rattled around loose in their heads.
Besides, he hadn’t had a concussion in…at least one season.
“So, what are you into?”
“Just…you know, doing a little…thing. For my country.”
Silence. “What, are you aspy?”
“No.” Yes. Sort of. “Not really. I just…you know—”
“Hud, don’t do anything stupid.” His brother had taken on that, well, Harrington-the-Big-Brother tone, and shoot, he should have kept his mouth shut.
“I’m only a courier. Nothing big. Just meeting someone, helping out our country. Being a patriot.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“It’s nothing. About a year ago I met this guy named Roy who wanted me, sometimes, to help courier information around Europe. Not all the time, but whenever they needed to deliver sensitive material that, you know—”
“Could get people killed? Hud!”
“Issensitive.He called it old-school.”
“Dadis old-school. He works in the mud every day, herding and roping cattle, fixing fences, and keeping away pests. You, brother, are not old-school. You’re fancy cars and European selfies and—”
“I’ve got one year left at best!” Oh, he didn’t mean to shout, although in the rain, no one could hear him anyway. Still, he schooled his voice despite the clench of his chest. “I’m just trying to do something right here, Harry. I’m not you. I didn’t spend a year in Australia saving lives. All I have is football. So yeah, I’m standing out in the rain, freezing my backside off, waiting for a guy—”
Of course, that’s when the wind whistled against the bridge, nudged the bell near the tower, and it emitted a long, low moan.
And with it, like an eerie movie, a body came walking out of the fog at the other end of the bridge. Head down, wearing his hood up, and a red jacket.
Bam.
“Gotta roll, bro.”
“Oh, for—”
Hudson hung up and watched as the man walked by the couple, dodging them as they did some sort of dance move. Then he passed the man with the umbrella, moving out of his way too—nearly hitting him, his head still down.
Hudson took a breath, ready to edge out when, suddenly, the man stumbled. Pitched forward.
What?
