“A-TRAIN, A-TRAIN, A-TRAIN…!” Jeff Anderson would have given anything for a place to hide.
Reluctantly taking the microphone, he raised his hand in what he hoped was a gesture of gratitude. When the noise died down, he began. “It’s great to be back in Castlewood,” he lied. The crowd erupted again. Then his mind went completely blank. “Thanks.” It was the only thing he could think of. Jeff dropped the microphone into Principal Montega’s hands and hurried off the field. Thankfully, Blake caught his eye and nodded. Jeff whipped off the letter jacket and tossed it to his son. They exited the stadium, almost running.
As they made their getaway, Blake ran with his dad for a while. Eventually, he gave up and slowed to his own, less paranoid pace. Once the sounds of the stadium had faded, Jeff stopped and waited for his son to catch up. Laughing, Blake chided his dad a little. “What’s the matter, hero? I thought you’d eat this stuff up.”
“Oh hell no. Jesus, I can’t breathe.”
Blake wrapped an arm around his father’s large shoulders and squeezed. “It’s over, Dad. You did good.”
When the motel came into view, Jeff headed straight for their old Jeep, keys in hand. Blake stopped. “Dad, we have the room for the night. I’m tired. It’s late. Come on.” Jeff took a long look behind him now, searching the shadows and the trees for followers. There didn’t seem to be any.
“Okay, but I’m locking the door.”