Shit. Where is Boone?
I want to charge the house again, but fans have appeared on the street as they walk to the arena. The last thing I need is a viral video.
I pace on the curb, raking both hands through my hair, trying to think.
I’ve got to start considering Donaldson on the line.
I send a text to him and Reece: Can’t find Boone. Donaldson, b ready 2 start. Reece—run sets with him.
As I’m throwing open the door to my truck, someone comes down the Kappa steps. It’s a preppy looking kid in a hockey jersey and a cap. He starts to walk past me, and I’m set to ignore him, when he coughs to get my attention.
“Hey,” he whispers in stealth-mode. “You looking for O’Brien?”
“Yeah.”
He glances back at the house but keeps walking, slowly. At first, I think he’s going to pull an asshole Kappa practical joke, but then he mumbles. “They took the pledges down to the cornfields.”
My stomach drops.
There’s a giant cornfield outside of town. Supposedly, it’s haunted by a little girl that was murdered there over a hundred years ago. Locals say she wears a white dress and chases people through the stalks of corn with an axe.
It’s exactly the kind of thing that would make Boone’s skin crawl.
The property is owned by a Kappa alumnus. Every fall, he cuts it into a giant maze and charges admission. Adults only. The place is too eerie for a kid. The corn is around seven feet high and it’s easy to get turned around and lost.
But it’s three in the afternoon. Something’s not adding up. “Is he still there?”
He shrugs and jogs away.
Dammit. This means I have to make a pit stop at the fields, which happens to be nowhere near the arena.
Unease grips me. I’m going to be cutting the game close.
I speed off. Saturday traffic is shit with everyone trying to get in for the game, so it’s a crawl. By the time I make it to the fields, the sun is low in the sky, giving an orange glow to the brown stalks. I speed up the long dirt road and pull into an area cleared out like a small parking lot. The admission office—really a tent—is empty. They aren’t open today.
I jump up onto the tailgate of the truck to get a better view. I scan the ocean of corn, but there isn’t another soul in sight.
If Scott had that kid send me on a wild goose chase . . .
My phone buzzes with a text from Reece. Boone just showed. Where r u?
Jesus. Relief washes over me and I exhale deeply. Be there in ten.
Maybe the game won’t be a shitshow.
As I’m reversing direction, Reece sends another text. It’s bad.
Anxiety comes roaring back to the surface.
Is Boone drunk? Did he get beat up?
My stomach pitches as I think back to the night I helped Julia.
Parker is a vindictive dick. He’ll want to get even. The question is, did he?
Ten minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of the arena, jump out, and jog to the locker rooms. As I swing open the doors, guys greet me with worried faces.
They look as if the game is already lost.
I throw my things down on the bench and peer into Coach’s office. He isn’t there.
“Where’s Coach?” I ask the room. “Where’s Boone? Reece?”
One of the second line players points to the showers.
I make a break for the shower room and find a small group of guys standing around someone under the stream of water.
Pushing guys aside, I see Coach, who’s kneeling next to a naked Boone.
My breath stops. I swallow thickly.
Boone’s curled in the fetal position as he rests against the corner of the shower wall. His head is dipped as shudders rack his body. I think he’s crying. There’s some yellow muck that looks like vomit in the drain.
Our team doctor kneels next to him, getting soaked as he works with an IV.
Hot steam hits my face, and with it the stench of vomit.
My mouth opens but I can’t find words.
“Possible alcohol poisoning,” our team doctor says as he looks at Coach. “He’s conscious, which is good. His skin isn’t pale or blue.” He pauses. “Still, I’d call an ambulance. His lungs need to be checked to make sure he hasn’t aspirated.”
I lick my lips. “How . . .”
Coach glances at me, then back at Boone, the lines on his forehead deepening. “He showed up like this. Barely coherent.”
“How did he get here?” I ask.
“Some pledges dropped him off. They got him out of their truck, banged on the locker room doors, then drove off,” Reece mutters.