When the game ends, the teams file out onto the field in a traditional display of good sportsmanship—each player high-fives the other team one man at a time, muttering, “Good game,” as they move on down the line. The coach says Rob can sit it out, if he wants, given what happened earlier; the fact that the Rebels won eleven to six certainly doesn’t make the Waves any nicer. But Rob lines up with his teammates and keeps his gaze on the stands as he slaps hands with the visiting team. He sees Mike in his peripheral vision but doesn’t look at the guy straight on.
Still, there’s an undeniable spark between them when their hands touch. Then the line moves on, and the spark fades like the afterimage of a camera flash.
He toys with the idea of calling Mike—they need to talk, if only to clear th
