Chapter 6
Archer
Ten years ago (after that night)…
Up at four to help with farm chores. Classes all day, including studying in the library during my free period. After the bell rang, I headed straight to the field for football practice. It had been grueling.
Any other coach would have just called it or told us to work out in the gym before going home. Not our coach, though. No. What did we get?
“The rain and mud will make you better players.” And, “If you can play a good game in these conditions, think of how easy it will be in nice weather.”
Except no one thought of that. All we could think about was how miserable it was to have wet mud in our jock straps. Don’t ask me how it got there. Some things are better left unexplained.
I didn’t even need to be at this practice.
I was a senior, and our season was already over.
But the coach liked to have occasional practices after winter break just to “keep the team conditioned.” I tried to get out of it, using that very reasoning, but Coach just said, “You’re still on the team until you graduate. ”
I didn’t argue as hard as I could have. Football seemed like as good an outlet as any to get out some of the frustration that practically lived in me these days.
My muscles ached, and the joints in my fingers were stiff from the cold as I stood beneath the hot spray, watching mud and grass swirl around the rudimentary drain in the tile beneath me.
Water saturated my hair and pulled the long strands over my face, creating a curtain over my eyes. It was the kind of day that I was worn out and weary, my body as battered as my spirit.
Usually, on days like this, only one person had the ability to recharge me. But that person was gone. Yanked from the very fabric of my life, leaving a gaping hole and an overwhelming sense of anger.
Why couldn’t he be happy with the way we were?
Were you?
The question felt mocking, and an odd sort of resentment against myself built in my gut. YES! I shouted to the voice that heckled me. I was happy with how things were. Deliriously happy.
Why does everything have to change?
Grunting, I shoved my head farther under the spray, drowning out everything. Water slid into my ears and stung my nose, but I remained, letting it distract me.
Eventually, I lifted my head to reach for the soap.
Out in the locker room, a door slammed.
“See ya later, Hodge!” one of the guys yelled.
“Later!” I hollered back.
A few more slamming lockers echoed into the showers, and I knew the whole place would be empty by the time I forced myself from beneath the spray.
I was in no hurry, ignoring my rumbling stomach and taking my time to suds my entire body up. I spent a little extra time on my calves and quads because they were tight as hell and then washed the rest of me until there was no trace of a hard practice left.
By the time I turned off the water, the locker room and showers were quiet.
After shaking out my hair, I grabbed the towel I’d left on the hook just outside the stall and rubbed it over the damp strands and then roughly dried the rest of me.
Wrapping the towel around my waist, I walked to my locker, wondering what Mom had made for dinner.
The locker door opened with a squeal, and I reached inside, fingers grabbing for my clothes. When they didn’t instantly close around them, I tried again.
Pulling back, I stared into the metal container and realized it was empty.
All of my clothes, even my gym bag, were gone.
Confused, I pushed the door around, checking to make sure I had the right one. I even checked the lockers on each side and under the bench.
No clothes.
No gym bag.
Not even a stray pair of socks.
It was cold in here. I was still damp and in nothing but a towel. All I wanted was to put on my sweats, go home, eat dinner, and pass out.
Just to do it all over again tomorrow, the voice chimed in.
Yeah, well, routine is comforting, I bit back.
“Hello!” I hollered, the boom of my voice echoing in the empty room. “Ha-ha, guys, very funny.” I went on. “I’m slow, and you got me. Now bring back my clothes.”
You’d think after a practice like we’d had, no one would be in the mood to do anything extra, even if they thought it was funny.
The room stayed still, the cold air pinching my nipples and making the joints in my fingers ache again. Or maybe that was the way I clutched the towel around my waist.
“I’m serious!” I roared and stormed over to the door. More cold air gusted at me when I pulled it open and stepped out into the hall. “Give me back my shit!”
Something squeaked at the other end of the hall, and I spun, towel flapping around my hips. We both startled when we came face to face, the custodian looking more surprised than me.
I crossed my legs just because I was embarrassed and wrapped my free arm around my waist. “Have you seen anyone running around with my clothes?” I asked.
“Nope. Place is empty,” he said and continued on, the wheel of his cart squeaking obnoxiously. “Kids these days,” he muttered as he went.
I went back in the locker room and searched the entire thing—even the coach’s office. My clothes and bag were nowhere to be found.
I did find the keys to my truck, though. They were beside the water cooler in the back.
With those clutched in my hand, I debated. I could call my mom. Have her bring some clothes. But then I’d have to explain this situation.
Pass.
I left the locker room, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor and hesitating at the back door leading out to the sidewalk.
My only solace was that most everyone was already gone for the day.
Pushing back my damp hair, I took a breath and stepped outside into the bitter air. It was cold, but at least the drizzling rain wasn’t snow.
My skin recoiled almost immediately, tightening around muscle and bone like shrink wrap.
Sucking in a breath, I hurried down the sidewalk to the lot where my truck was parked.
A car came down the road behind me and laid on its horn, and I leaped so high my feet left the pavement and lurched into a nearby bush.
The car continued by, and I lay there on my back on the damp grass, breathing heavily and staring up at the gray sky. It was then that I felt a breeze.
A breeze where there should be no breezes.
Lifting my head off the ground, I stared down my body to find the towel no longer covering what it should have been covering.
Cursing, I whipped the towel over my lap and scrambled up. Once it was secure and I was certain no breeze could get in, I peered around the prickly green bush to the sidewalk.
No one was there.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I stepped back out, heading toward my truck.
Seconds later, the side door opened, and two students stepped out. Girls. Girls from a few of my classes. One of whom I was considering asking to prom.
“Uh, Archer? What are you doing?” she asked.
I swallowed, gripping the towel tighter around my waist. “Heading to my truck.”
“I think you forgot to get dressed,” her friend said.
Both girls giggled.
“Didn’t forget. Someone thought it’d be fun to steal my clothes.”
“Boys are so immature,” the friend said. My would-be date nodded emphatically.
Forget prom. I’d just stay home.
“Well, gotta go,” I said and sprinted past, the towel flapping.
Behind me, the girls erupted into laughter, and I ran faster.
The moment my truck came into view, I sighed in relief. The gravel under my feet was painful and made me walk like an old man, but I picked my way across it and lifted the key to unlock the door.
Except it was already unlocked.
Frowning, I pulled it open.
My clothes were on the seat, my bag beside them.
Letting out a relieved grunt, I grabbed my hoodie and quickly pulled it over my head, grabbing at the hem to pull it down.
Except… where the hell was the hem?! Confused, I glanced down, thinking it was caught inside itself. It wasn’t.
Someone had crudely hacked it into a crop top.
I let out a curse and climbed into the truck, the towel pulling as I sat down. Grunting, I grabbed my duffle to lay on my lap and cover what the towel was not. It was then that I noticed the yellow sticky note stuck to the zipper.
Plucking it up, I looked at the note written in a handwriting I knew far too well.
Tit for tat.
I glanced down at my ruined hoodie, noticing one of my pecs was out. I balled the note into my fist, tossed it onto the floorboard, and started my truck. Was this about the cream puffs? He’d gone too far.
If he wanted war, I’d give him one.
Present Day…
The Yuletide bonfire was something I started about six years ago as a way to bring more business to the farm.
The season was already our busiest. I mean, we primarily grew Christmas trees, but why not capitalize on it even more?
Even if people didn’t want a fresh-cut tree, they could visit for something from Hodge Podge or just to enjoy a holiday night out.
I personally thought of the bonfire as sort of a pregame for the mistletoe raising and tree lighting in the town square.
I guess even after all these years, there was still a little football left in me after all.
Or at the very least, the art of strategy I’d learned on the field.
It was a good thing, though, because since we’d started it, our profits and foot traffic had increased.
So that was why I was splitting wood even as the sun started to lower in the afternoon sky.
Despite it being near-freezing temperatures, I was sweating from the constant swinging of the axe.
I’d already shed the quilted black vest and toboggan I was wearing and rolled the sleeves of the flannel up to my elbows.
“If you keep chopping at that pace, we’ll have enough wood to last us until next year’s bonfire,” Johnny said, pushing a wheelbarrow over to collect the mountain of wood I’d split to haul it over to where the bonfire was set up.