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Toby and his other spotter, big safety Luis Spiegel, took the bar and set it back on the rack.
Hud unstrapped the wrist braces and stepped away, breathing hard. Caught a view of himself in the warped wall mirror. Gray wells under his eyes betrayed last night’s sleepless wrestle with his sheets, and a few of the scratches remained on his shoulders, fading but still reddened. He’d worn a T-shirt today, and the cutoff arms revealed the wounds from that night.
Shoot, if he let himself, he could be right back in the cave, feeling Iris’s arm around his neck as she treaded water next to him.
“Hud? Give me a hand?”
Toby waited to add more weight onto the bar, then helped lift the bar onto Luis’s back.
No more Iris! “Right. Sorry.” Hud pulled the pin, added another five pounds onto the bar, then resecured the weight and helped position the bar. He stood to spot as Luis readied himself for back squats.
“You okay?”
He glanced over at Toby. Behind him, on a large turfed area, Coach Max was drilling Felix on catches. The wideout lay on the ground, eyes up, while Max tossed footballs over his head.
He had missed quite a few, and Max had started to yell.
“Yeah. Just, you know, focused.”
“I hope on the game this weekend against the Thunder. I know it’s an exhibition game, but rumor is that you have a tryout with the MN Vikings lined up.”
Luis blew out as he stood up, then grunted and started back down.
“Of course. What else would I—”
“The whole team saw the Instagram picture with that official.” Toby raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? Iris Marshall, of all people? Hud, what are you thinking? That girl nearly wrecked your entire life.”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Don’t know what?” Luis stood at the top of his squat, breathing hard.
Hud shook his head, but maybe Toby ignored him, because, “Iris Marshall was the official who caused Hudson’s TBI.”
“She didn’t cause it. It wasn’t like she was the one who targeted me.”
Luis was mid-squat now, paused at the bottom. He pushed up, breathed out. “You got targeted?”
“Head-on collision,” Toby said. “He lost his helmet and hit the deck, hard. Had to be carted off the field. That’s five. Give me five more.”
“That’s whack, man.” Luis went down again, grunting.
“He missed Combine because of it. He would have gone first or second round, for sure.”
Luis came back up. “I’m shot.”
“Gimme one more,” Toby said. Luis stood, panting.
Behind Hud, Felix was still missing catches.
Luis lowered for the last squat, his legs shaking.
“She really doesn’t know? Even after the lawsuit?”
“She wasn’t involved. I’m not sure she even knows about it.”
“It was a groundbreaking lawsuit—no one had ever sued the NCAA for a targeting hit.”
“I wouldn’t have, but I was in a coma for a week. The hospital bills were brutal. They settled out of court, so my guess is that they didn’t even contact her. She was just a back judge, anyway—the responsibility fell on the referee, and ultimately Bryce Smalls, the guy who hit me.”
