Last Man Out Read online

  They were standing next to an ancient-looking stone wall that must once have been part of the fort here, looking down at a steep, paved road that led to a wider road below, where Tommy saw a man and woman go by on their bikes.

  Tommy turned to Mike, grinning.

  “Let’s do this,” Tommy said.

  “Had a feeling you’d say that,” Mike said. “I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

  “Show me the way.”

  No running start from up here. Mike just hopped on the Warrior board, crouching, arms out, picking up speed, a lot of speed, until he disappeared around a curve near the bottom. He reemerged on the biker’s path, still on his board, which he now held over his head. Then he put it under his arm like it was a football and sprinted back up the hill.

  When Mike got to him, Tommy was already reaching for the board.

  “I got this,” Tommy said.

  “Remember what we’ve been talking about all day.”

  “Balance.”

  “Exactly,” Mike said. “Don’t look down at the board. Just look where you’re going. There’s nothing for you to be worried about.”

  “Do I look worried?” Tommy said.

  Mike grinned. “Just worry about landing on the board instead of on your butt.”

  Tommy could feel the beat of his own heart, coming faster now, like it was about to explode. Maybe skiers in the Olympics felt this kind of excitement at the top of a mountain before they pushed off. It was like the feeling he got before a big third-down play on the goal line, when the game was on the line. But somehow it was even more than that. It was dangerous, too.

  Tommy looked down the hill and knew something that made his heart beat even faster:

  He was ready for it.

  Tommy put the board down, gave himself a slight push, and headed down the hill. Watching Mike, Tommy had felt as if he hadn’t really picked up speed until he’d gotten near the bottom of the hill. But Tommy felt like he was flying from the start, felt like he was in perfect balance, even as he could feel his heart trying to pound its way right out of his chest.

  But then his dad had already told him he led with his heart.

  Tommy Gallagher was doing that now as he came into the curve, leaning back on his heels a beat too late to get the board turned properly, knowing he was going off the road, that he was staying to the right as he needed to go left, hitting a rock, feeling the board come out from under him.

  Not leading with his heart anymore.

  A little too much with his head this time.

  TWENTY

  HE STASHED HIS BIKE IN the garage when he got home, but came around to the front door so he could go straight to his room without going through the kitchen. He wanted to avoid his mom for now. Her car was in the driveway, so he knew that she and Em were back from shopping.

  He went running through the front hall, called out, “Hey, Mom, I’m back” as he headed up the stairs, and heard her yell back, “Hey, honey” from the kitchen.

  He wanted to wash his face and get another look at his bruise before dealing with his mom. But first he opened up his laptop to get the latest info on the Pats game. He’d checked his phone before leaving Wirth Park and saw they’d been ahead 7–3 halfway through the first quarter. Now it was 14–3, with a minute left in the first quarter. Brady had just thrown a ten-yard touchdown pass to Gronk.

  He went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The bruise was an angry-looking strawberry, no doubt, the kind you’d get on your leg or arm on a turf field. It just looked way worse when it was on your face, where you couldn’t cover it up. Tommy knew there was no way he would be able to hide it from his mom. But he told himself that if he could make it down that hill, he could look his mom in the eye and tell her what happened.

  He washed his face with soap, felt the sting. There was some Neosporin in the cabinet and he spread a little over the bruise, enjoying the cool feel of the ointment. He knew he should get some ice on his wrist as soon as possible, but he’d worry about that later.

  As he passed Em’s room, he gave the closed door a quick rap with his knuckle.

  “You in there?” he said.

  “No.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

  “You’re not funny.”

  “Sometimes I am,” he said. “Can I come in?”

  “Not as funny as you think you are. And, no, you can’t come in.”

  “How was shopping?”

  “Mom shopped.”

  She was giving him nothing to work with.

  “Good times,” Tommy said to himself, and headed downstairs. He stopped in the living room long enough to see Brady driving the Pats again, now three minutes into the second quarter.

  He was in the kitchen when he heard his mom’s voice from behind him.

  “You and Mike have fun?” she said.

  “Mad fun,” he said.

  Then he turned around, and she got a look at him.

  “Thomas Gallagher!” she said.

  She pointed at him and said, “I can’t wait to hear what kind of fun caused that.”

  He said he fell off Mike’s skateboard.

  “You didn’t mention that you were going skateboarding.”

  “I didn’t know the deal until we got to Wirth Park.”

  She got close to him so she could inspect his face, looking like she was searching for clues. When she touched the bruise with her finger, he couldn’t help himself and winced, even as he tried to tell her that it wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked.

  “So you were skateboarding in that bowl next to the tennis courts?”

  “At first,” he said.

  “What does that mean, at first?”

  “I actually fell off on this little hill.”

  “A hill,” she said. “You were skateboarding down a hill even though you never wanted to skateboard in your life.”

  “Mom, it was fine. I’m fine.”

  “Please tell me you were at least wearing a helmet.”

  He knew there wasn’t any point in lying, because Tommy wasn’t a liar. He’d made a rookie mistake skateboarding today. But he wasn’t a liar.

  “I was not,” he said. “But I wasn’t doing anything crazy. I could just as easily have fallen off the board in that bowl. I just lost my balance for a second, is all.”

  She stared into his eyes. “How hard did you hit that hard head of yours?”

  “It wasn’t that hard, Mom, I promise. I got my arm out in time to break the fall.”

  “Gee,” she said. “There’s good news. You could’ve only broken your arm instead of your skull. Do you have a headache?”

  He grinned. “Because of all these questions?”

  “You’re not funny.”

  “Funny, Em just told me the same thing.”

  “Thomas, I want to know if your head hurts,” she said. “Because if it does, I’m going to call the doctor.”

  “Mom, my head does not hurt. And you do not need to call the doctor. I get hit harder in football games than I did when I fell off that stupid board.”

  “Stupid is a good word,” she said. “And don’t remind me about the hits you take in football games. If you’re going to get back on a skateboard, no more skateboarding without a helmet. It would make about as much sense as playing football without one.”

  “Agreed,” Tommy said.

  “I worry enough about head wounds in football, as much as you hear about them these days. You promise that you’re okay?”

  “Huh?” he said, exaggerating to make it seem like he was confused, playing around with her. “I didn’t understand the question.”

  “Now you’re being aggressively not funny. Concussions are no joke.”

  “Not even a little bit funny?”


  “You promise you’ll tell me if your head starts to hurt?”

  “I promise,” he said. “Mom, I really did have fun today, even if I fell off that one time. I didn’t realize how cool skateboarding is.”

  “As long as you protect your head, you can have all the fun you want.”

  Tommy thought they’d talked enough about head injuries and decided to change the subject. “How was shopping with Em?” he said.

  “It went about as well as your last skateboard jump.”

  “That bad, for real?”

  “It was like I was marching her into one detention room after another.”

  Tommy said, “She acts like her whole life is detention right now. Keeping herself all cooped up alone in her own room.”

  “You’re right.”

  She smiled.

  “But you’d rather watch the Pats than talk anymore with your old mom, I’m guessing.”

  “No offense, but kind of,” he said. “I missed most of the start of the game.”

  “None taken. Have at it.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “And, Mom? I promise I’m fine.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Grilled chicken sandwiches for dinner. Me on the grill.”

  He noticed her smile had disappeared. Grilling had always been Dad’s job. A dad thing. They both knew it.

  Tommy said, “Maybe I should start learning how?”

  “How about tonight?”

  “Deal,” he said. “After the game.”

  She reached over and mussed his hair, and he left the kitchen.

  As soon as he got into the room, the Patriots kicked a field goal. During the commercials Tommy ran back up to his room, grabbed his laptop, and made it back down to the couch before the next kickoff.

  He searched “skateboard” and “warrior” on Google. He clicked on a site that sold skateboards and the first board he saw was called the “Warrior.” Thirty-one inches. The product description talked about “double kick,” which meant nothing to him. The board looked very cool, a lot like Mike’s, only it was blue. He read the rest of the product description, about concave decks and ABEC-5 bearings and riser pads with cushions. Again: totally lost. Tommy would have to ask Mike later if he thought this was the right board for him.

  He had enough birthday money left to pay the $44.95 for the board. If he got his mom’s permission to buy it.

  The Warrior. Too cool, he thought.

  It was what he’d always wanted to be on a football field. A warrior.

  This board was made for him.

  He went back to watching the Patriots, who’d recovered a fumble and were driving again. He alternated between watching the game and checking out other boards online, some more expensive than the Warrior, some less expensive. Then, during commercials, he watched skateboard videos on YouTube and checked out guys not just flying through the air and twisting their bodies and landing cleanly, but also explaining what they’d done in a language Tommy knew he was going to have to learn.

  One thing he’d already learned today?

  Maybe there was more to look forward to on weekends than just football. Of course he still couldn’t wait until next Saturday’s game against Newton. Tommy Gallagher would always have his eyes on the next football game.

  But now he couldn’t wait to get back to Wirth Park, maybe on his own board next time.

  When he went back to watching the game, he tested his wrist, rotating it one way and then the other, even flipping it forward, like he was throwing a ball. It was still sore, no doubt. Just not as bad as he’d expected, even without ice.

  Those rides, though, they’d still been worth it. He did hurt a little, couldn’t lie to himself about that. But for today, he wasn’t hurting inside the way he had been every day since his dad died.

  • • •

  His mom allowed him to order the skateboard on her credit card. He went upstairs, came down with the cash for the board, but she told him to keep it. “I want to pay,” Tommy said. His mom said that it was her gift to him, on one condition.

  He asked what the condition was.

  She said that they were going right down to Sports Authority in Watertown to buy him a helmet and pads.

  “What did they used to say on that television show?” she said. “Deal or no deal?”

  “Deal,” he said.

  When he tried on a helmet in the store and checked himself out in a mirror, he said, “I look like a crash dummy.”

  “Don’t care,” she said. “Dumb is not wearing a helmet in a dangerous sport.”

  “It’s not dangerous if you know what you’re doing,” Tommy said.

  He knew as soon as he said it that it was something his dad used to say to her all the time. One more echo.

  He’d wanted to pay a little extra and get two-day shipping on the new skateboard. His mom said that’s where she was drawing the line, it was a waste of money, they were going for the free shipping and he could wait until next week.

  “Patience,” his mom said in the car on their way back from Sports Authority.

  “Not my strong suit.”

  “Boy,” she said, “I didn’t see that coming.”

  “I’m just trying to stay busy.”

  She nodded. “We all need that right now.”

  “Skateboarding takes my mind off stuff,” he said. “Like the way I played last week for example.”

  He still hated the way he’d let himself down, let his teammates and coach down. So he’d spent the week in practice working harder than ever on fundamentals, on being in the right place at the right time. Playing hard but smart. There hadn’t been a single time in scrimmages when he’d come close to a late hit. He blitzed when Coach told him to blitz and dropped back into coverage when that was his job.

  More than anything, though, he kept focusing on the two most important things he needed to do during the next game against the Newton Chargers: be a great player and an even better teammate.

  When he told that to Greck after Thursday’s practice, Greck said, “You’re already both of those things, you idiot. Why don’t you add a third goal for Saturday?”

  “What?”

  “Not being so hard on yourself.”

  His wrist was still sore from his fall at Wirth Park; he’d felt it all week in practice when a ball carrier would land on it. And he still felt the burn sometimes when his helmet would get turned a little sideways and rub up against the side of his face.

  But one thing hadn’t changed in the last week: He was going to do anything he could to make up for last week’s loss.

  TWENTY-ONE

  TOMMY WAS PRETTY SURE THEY wouldn’t play on a better field all season than the one they were about to play on at Mount Ida College. It was where the college’s team played its home games, under the lights sometimes. There was even a nice-looking press box up behind the Chargers’ bench.

  “How in the heck did we end up playing here?” Greck said after they’d finished stretching.

  “I think their quarterback’s dad is the athletic director,” Nick said. “So this is their house a bunch of times during the season.”

  “It’s going to be our house today,” Tommy said.

  “Okay, boys, Gallagher’s ready,” Greck said.

  “Been ready all week,” Tommy said.

  “Gee,” Nick said, “nobody picked up on that at all.”

  The Chargers won the toss and elected to receive. Before the kick, Coach Fisher gathered the team around him, behind their bench.

  “Play clean, play hard, play smart,” he said.

  What Tommy heard was: Please don’t play as dumb as Tommy Gallagher did the last time we played.

  He was glad the Bears were on defense first. There’d been a lot of good hitting at practice all week. But a good hit in practice, he knew, was never a
s good as one in a real game, putting somebody on the ground when it really meant something. He was ready to hit somebody now. Playing clean, hard, and smart.

  He’d heard an announcer say something interesting during the last Monday Night Football game: “The key on defense is staying in your lane.”

  Tommy was planning on staying in his lane today.

  Except that on the Chargers’ first drive, with their quarterback Kyle Barnum doing a good job of mixing runs and throws, showing off an arm as good as Nick’s, Tommy never seemed to be in the lane that led to the football.

  When the Bears blitzed, Kyle managed to get the ball away before Tommy got to him. When the Chargers would run the ball, they either ran away from him, or he was just a step too slow getting himself in on the action. By the time Kyle rolled out to his right from six yards out and ran it in for the Chargers first touchdown, Tommy hadn’t made a single unassisted tackle.

  The guy who always prided himself on always being at the point of attack for his defense felt as if he’d spent almost all of the Chargers’ first drive being a follower.

  And he knew why he was playing like a follower. He was doing the worst thing you could do in sports: playing afraid. He was more worried about making a mistake than making a play. Even on the touchdown play, when he’d felt like he was on the ball, he’d pulled up at the last second, afraid he might get called for a late hit on Kyle after he’d crossed the goal line.

  Kyle threw for the conversion, away from Tommy, to the other side of the field, like Kyle was doing everything he could to keep the ball away from Tommy, and it was 7–0.

  As the defense came off the field, Mike Fallon ran alongside Tommy and said, “We’ll get ’em next time.”

  “We would’ve gotten ’em this time if I’d done my job better.”

  “Be cool for now,” Mike said. “When we get back out there, then you can come out hot.”

  The score was still 7–0 when the Chargers got the ball back, the Bears’ offense producing just one first down before punting. Newton picked up right from where they’d left off, driving deep into Bears’ territory.