Snatched

“I deleted them,” Finn says, voice hard. Whoever this is, he’s no probation officer— no way would a sane person speak to their probation officer like this.

“Let’s just talk. I hear you’re doing really well on the team. Got the NFL looking at you. Gonna make yourself draft eligible or wait another year?”

“Fuck off,” Finn says, and spins around.

He sees me— though it clearly takes him a moment to process that it’s me. A smile toys at the edges of his mouth, but it’s so firmly locked in a scowl that toying is the best it does.

“Kenley,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” I say, confused about what’s going on. “Who is – “ I take a few steps forward, and am almost to him when the silver-haired guy calls out, interrupting me.

“You can’t ignore me forever, Finn!”

“Watch me,” Finn calls over his shoulder.

The man makes a flustered noise, and grabs for the gate— but the freshman player stops him easily. The man shouts over the freshman’s shoulder, “I’m your father! No matter what, I’m still your father.”

My eyebrows narrow; Finn shuts his eyes and shakes his head. There’s rage emanating from him, a stronger version of the rage I saw just before he punched Adams. Before he can do something he regrets, I shoot my hand forward and grab his wrist.

“Let’s get out of here?” I say.

He squares his shoulders, and I can tell he’s a to fight me.

“Finn…”

“There’s an exit through the back,” Finn answers, and wraps an arm around me as we hurry away.

Chapter 14

We walk in stony, hard silence from Football House, Finn avoiding my eyes, his hand firm in mine. He feels more robot than human, almost, with the way he’s taking stiff steps and appears to be forcing himself to blink. I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t ask; the farther we get from Football House, the less worried I am about admitting to him that I was spying, and the more worried I am about that man— his father— appearing.

I cycle through what Finn’s told me about his dad, which isn’t much. That he walked out on Finn and his mother. That he drank, and was a mean drunk. That he hasn’t seen him in ages. Before now, I’d gotten the impression that Finn was over whatever damage his deadbeat father caused, but seeing him like this proves that the damage was loosely covered up, at best.

At first, I think we’re headed toward his dorm room— we’re going in the direction of the stadium. At the last moment, however, we veer off. Finn leads be down a series of steps, to the stadium’s loading docks, which are dark and spooky at this hour. He grabs for a door and tries to pull it open; when it’s locked, he immediately reaches into his pocket for his keys, and uses a large brass one to unlock the door. It opens into a corridor, wide and long with concrete floors and painted brick walls. Finn walks briskly down it, so briskly that given our size differences, I’m nearly stumbling to keep up.

“Finn, slow down. Please?” I ask.

He does so, then stops and turns to me.

We stand in the hall, like by a scattering of emergency lights and little else. It’s a little horror-movie-esqué, to be honest. “Where are we going?”

Finn squeezes my hand. “You’ll see.”

I nod, and Finn turns, then leads me farther down the corridor at a much slower pace. We take a few turns, then appear in a long tunnel. Suddenly, it’s clear what’s at the other end— the football field. The stadium’s emergency lights are on, but they’re dim enough that I can see stars upon stars in the open night sky above.

“Wow,” I say as we step onto the field. It looks enormous when there’s a crowd in it, but right now, empty, it looks almost mythical. Bleacher soars upward, the decks they added just last year tacked on to the very top and looming like birds of prey over the others. The field itself is cut so short that the grass feels like carpet, and the lines are freshly painted with paint so white they almost glow in the dark.

Finn tilts his head toward the sky, like he’s absorbing the grandeur of the space. We stand in silence for a few moments.

“Do you want to talk about what happened at Football House?” I finally ask, gently as I can.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I know why he’s here. He’s hoping to repair our relationship. Get in good with me before the NFL drafts me and I’m rich.”

“I didn’t know the NFL was definitely going to draft you,” I say.

Finn shrugs. “It looks like they are. But I’m not interested in any kind of relationship with my father. He’s one disappointment after another, and I’m over it.”