Chapter 5
The engine of the F-150 didn’t so much roar as it wheezed, a metallic rattling in the manifold that Jace usually tuned out. Tonight, it was the only thing filling the cabin. Leo sat in the passenger seat, his knees pulled up to his chest, his small hands gripping the frayed edge of his seat cushion. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes wide and unblinking behind his glasses. Without the hearing aid, the world for Leo had become a muffled, underwater place. He couldn’t hear the truck, couldn’t hear the wind whistling through the cracked seal of the window, and he couldn’t hear Jace’s ragged breathing.
Jace kept his eyes on the road, but his hands were vibrating on the steering wheel. The adrenaline was beginning to drain, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache in his joints. He could still feel the phantom resistance of Hunter’s chest against his palm, the way the air had left the quarterback’s lungs. It was a clean hit. A professional hit. And it was the hit that had just ended Jace Montgomery’s life.
He turned off the main road, heading toward the outskirts where the streetlights were farther apart and the grass grew long and yellow in the ditches. He didn’t look back at the school. He didn’t have to. He knew the gym would be a hive of activity—security guards trying to manage a crowd that had just seen their golden boy dismantled, Coach Miller likely pacing the hardwood, and Mr. Sterling already on his cell phone, making the calls that would bury a foster kid from the wrong side of the tracks.
Jace pulled into the dirt driveway of the Gable house. The porch light was a sickly yellow, casting long shadows across the overgrown yard. Mrs. Gable was standing in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, her arms crossed over her floral-print housecoat. She didn’t look worried. She looked inconvenienced.
“You’re late,” she said as Jace killed the engine. Her voice was thin and raspy, the sound of forty years of menthols.
Jace didn’t answer. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for Leo. He touched the boy’s shoulder, a gentle pressure to let him know it was okay to move. Leo scrambled out, keeping his head down as he scurried past Mrs. Gable into the house.
“What’s wrong with him?” Mrs. Gable asked, blowing a cloud of smoke into the humid air. “And where’s his ear-piece? Those things cost a damn fortune, Jace.”
“It’s broken,” Jace said, his voice flat. He tried to push past her, but she stepped into his path, her eyes narrowing.
“Broken how? Did you get into it again? I told you, Jace. I told you if you brought heat on this house, I’d have you moved by morning. My contract doesn’t cover legal fees or social workers sniffing around my business because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
“Hunter Sterling crushed it,” Jace said, looking her directly in the eye. “Under his cleat. In front of the whole school.”
Mrs. Gable went still. The Sterling name carried weight in Beaumont, even in the trailers and group homes. Mr. Sterling owned the local Ford dealership and sat on the school board. He was the kind of man who could make a foster parent’s license vanish with a single dinner-party conversation.
“You’re lying,” she whispered, the ash from her cigarette falling onto her porch.
“I’m not. And I hit him. Three times. He’s probably at the ER right now getting his ribs checked.”
Mrs. Gable’s face didn’t soften with sympathy. It hardened into a mask of pure, self-preservationist rage. She reached out and grabbed Jace’s arm, her fingers digging into the bruise from practice. “You stupid, arrogant boy. You just threw it away. You think the state cares why you hit him? You think they’re going to look at that hearing aid and say ‘oh, poor Jace’? They’re going to see a violent kid with a history of ‘adjustment issues’ attacking the town’s hero. They’re going to look at your file, Jace. They’re going to look real close.”
“Let them look,” Jace said, pulling his arm back.
“They’ll find it, you know,” she hissed. “That clerical error isn’t going to stay a secret once the police start pulling records. You think you’re going to UT? You’ll be lucky if they don’t have you in a detention center by Friday, waiting for a bus to the border. And Leo? He’ll be back in the reception center. He won’t last a week in there without you, and you know it.”
Jace felt a surge of nausea. He pushed past her and went straight to the small, cramped room he shared with Leo. The boy was already in his bunk, huddled under a thin wool blanket, his back to the door. Jace sat on the edge of the lower bunk and reached for the hollowed-out dictionary on the nightstand. He pulled out the roll of cash—three thousand dollars. It looked like so little now. It was supposed to be his freedom. Now, it was just a down payment on a disaster.
He sat there in the dark for an hour, listening to the crickets and the distant sound of a train. He was waiting for the sirens. He was sure they were coming. Every time a pair of headlights swept across the bedroom wall, his heart lurched into his throat.
Around midnight, a car pulled into the driveway. It wasn’t a cruiser. It was a black SUV with a Beaumont High athletic sticker in the rear window. Coach Miller.
Jace stood up and walked to the front door before the man could knock. He didn’t want him waking Leo. He stepped out onto the porch, closing the door softly behind him. Mrs. Gable was in the kitchen, her silhouette visible through the screen, watching them.
Coach Miller looked older than he had two hours ago. He was leaning against the railing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He didn’t look angry; he looked exhausted.
“Is the boy okay?” Miller asked.
“He’s fine. He can’t hear anything, but he’s fine,” Jace said.
“Sterling’s dad is at the police station,” Miller said, looking out at the dark trees. “He’s pushing for aggravated assault. He wants your scholarship pulled by morning and a formal expulsion hearing on Monday. He’s also talking about your status, Jace. He’s been making calls to the county clerk’s office.”
Jace leaned against the house, the wood siding rough against his back. “I knew he would. He’s been looking for a reason to get rid of me since I took Hunter’s starting spot.”
“It’s not just about the spot anymore,” Miller said, finally looking at him. “You humiliated his son. In front of the boosters. In front of the scouts. You made him look weak, Jace. A man like Sterling doesn’t forgive that. He’s going to use everything he has. And he has a lot.”
“Why are you here, Coach? To tell me I’m off the team? You already said that in the gym.”
Miller sighed, a long, ragged sound. “I’m here because I’ve been coaching in this town for thirty years. I’ve seen kids like Hunter get away with murder because their last name is on the stadium scoreboard. And I’ve seen kids like you get buried because they didn’t have a name at all. I hate bullies, Jace. Always have. But I also have a mortgage and a wife with MS, and the boosters pay for my insurance.”
“I’m not asking you to save me,” Jace said.
“I know you’re not. That’s the problem,” Miller said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. “This is the name of a lawyer in Houston. He handles immigration and foster advocacy. He’s a prick, but he’s the best. I told him you might call. He doesn’t work for free, but he’ll listen.”
Jace took the paper. The ink was slightly smeared. “Why?”
“Because you were right,” Miller said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I watched him step on that hearing aid. I saw his face. And I did nothing. I let a ten-year-old boy get treated like trash because I wanted to win a state championship. I’m an old man, Jace, and I’m tired of being a coward.”
Miller turned to leave, then stopped. “The video is everywhere, by the way. Sarah… Hunter’s sister. She’s the one who posted it. Not the gym cameras. Her phone. She caught everything. The hearing aid, the insult, the whole thing. The town is split, Jace. Half of them want your head on a spike, and the other half… well, they’ve been waiting for someone to hit Hunter Sterling for a long time.”
“It won’t matter,” Jace said. “Sterling owns the board.”
“Maybe,” Miller said. “But Sarah didn’t just post the fight. She posted the lead-up. The five minutes before you hit him. People are seeing what he said to Leo. It’s hard to play the victim when you’re caught on 4K mocking a disabled kid.”
Miller got back into his SUV and backed out of the driveway, leaving Jace alone in the dark. Jace looked at the paper in his hand. He looked at the house where Leo was sleeping. He thought about the warehouse, the immigration lawyer, and the scholarship that was currently dissolving into the humid Texas night. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the wind was picking up.
He went back inside, past a silent Mrs. Gable, and sat on the floor next to Leo’s bunk. He didn’t sleep. He just watched the door, waiting for the sun to rise or the police to arrive, whichever came first.
Chapter 6
The Beaumont High administrative wing smelled of floor wax and old trophies. Jace sat on a wooden bench outside the superintendent’s office, his hands clasped between his knees. He was wearing his only suit—a cheap, charcoal-grey thing he’d bought at a thrift store for a foster system gala he’d never attended. It was a bit tight in the shoulders, but it made him feel less like a “project” and more like a man.
Next to him sat Leo. The boy looked tiny in the oversized chair, his eyes fixed on his lap. He had a temporary hearing aid that the Houston lawyer, a man named Marcus Vance, had somehow secured through an advocacy group. It wasn’t as good as his old one—it hissed and popped—but it meant he wasn’t underwater anymore.
“You okay?” Jace whispered.
Leo looked up, his glasses sliding down his nose. “I-I-I’m s-s-scared, Jace.”
“I know. Me too,” Jace said. It was the first time he’d admitted it out loud.
The heavy oak door opened, and a secretary with a tight bun peered out. “Mr. Montgomery? They’re ready for you.”
Jace stood up, adjusted his tie, and looked at Leo. “Stay here. Don’t talk to anyone but Sarah if she comes by, okay?”
Leo nodded, his small hand reaching out to touch Jace’s sleeve for a second before letting go.
Inside the office, the air was cold. A massive mahogany table took up most of the room. At the head sat Superintendent Watkins, a man who looked like he’d been carved out of a block of salt. To his right was Mr. Sterling. He wasn’t wearing a suit; he was wearing a casual polo shirt and jeans, the uniform of a man who didn’t need to dress up to show he was in charge. He didn’t look at Jace. He was staring at a manilla folder in front of him.
Marcus Vance was already there, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression. He was in his fifties, with a sharp jawline and eyes that looked like they’d seen everything and liked none of it.
“Sit down, Mr. Montgomery,” Watkins said.
Jace sat. He felt the weight of the room pressing in on him. This was the social hierarchy of Beaumont in its purest form. Money and tenure on one side, a ghost on the other.
“We are here to discuss the incident at the pep rally,” Watkins began, his voice dry. “And the subsequent discovery of some… irregularities in your enrollment paperwork. Mr. Sterling has brought some very serious concerns to the board’s attention.”
“Let’s skip the preamble, Superintendent,” Vance interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “We’ve all seen the video. My client was provoked. His foster brother was physically assaulted and his medical equipment was destroyed. Mr. Montgomery acted in defense of a minor under his care.”
“He attacked my son,” Sterling said, his voice low and vibrating with a controlled fury. “He put Hunter in the hospital with a concussion and two cracked ribs. That’s not ‘defense.’ That’s a violent criminal act.”
“Your son is a bully who targeted a ten-year-old with a disability,” Vance countered. “And if we go to court, we’ll have fifty witnesses and a viral video that proves it. But we’re not here to talk about the fight, are we? We’re here because you threatened to have my client deported because he hurt your kid’s feelings.”
Watkins cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Mr. Sterling’s concerns regarding Jace’s status are a separate matter of district policy. If a student is not legally documented in the system—”
“He is documented,” Vance snapped. “He was placed by the state of Texas. The ‘clerical error’ was a failure of the department, not the boy. I’ve already filed the injunction. Jace Montgomery is a ward of the state. If you try to move him or report him based on a filing mistake that you only discovered through a private investigation of his confidential foster records… well, that’s a civil rights lawsuit that will make this school district’s budget look like pocket change.”
Sterling finally looked at Jace. His eyes were cold, filled with a deep, personal loathing. “You think you’re smart, don’t you? You think you can just come into this town, take what you want, and walk away. You’re trash, Montgomery. You were trash when you got here, and you’ll be trash when you leave.”
Jace felt the familiar heat rising in his chest, the urge to stand up and end this the way he’d ended it in the gym. But then he thought of Leo sitting on the bench outside. He thought of the dictionary under his bed.
“I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Sterling,” Jace said, his voice steady. “I don’t want your son’s spot. I don’t want your approval. I just want to be left alone to take care of my brother.”
“Your ‘brother,'” Sterling sneered. “He’s not even yours. You’re just two mistakes in the same box.”
The room went silent. Even Watkins looked appalled.
“I think we’ve heard enough,” Vance said, standing up. “Superintendent, you have two choices. You can expel my client and face a massive lawsuit and a public relations nightmare that will destroy this town’s reputation. Or, you can accept Mr. Montgomery’s voluntary withdrawal from the football team in exchange for a clean disciplinary record and a quiet resolution to his paperwork issues.”
Jace looked at Vance. This wasn’t what they’d discussed. “Marcus—”
“Shut up, Jace,” Vance said, not unkindly.
Watkins looked at Sterling. The two men exchanged a long, silent look. Sterling knew he was cornered. The video had done its work. The town might love football, but they didn’t love seeing a ten-year-old humiliated. If this went to a public hearing, the Sterling name would be dragged through the mud for years.
“Fine,” Sterling said, pushing his chair back. He stood up, his face tight. “Withdrawal. But I want him out of this school by the end of the semester.”
“He’ll graduate in June,” Vance said. “And then he’s gone. You have my word.”
Sterling walked out of the room without another word. Watkins followed him, looking like a man who had just escaped a house fire.
Jace sat in the silence of the office, the adrenaline finally leaving him. He felt hollow. He’d kept his record clean. He’d kept his status safe. But the scholarship…
“The University of Texas pulled the offer this morning,” Vance said, sitting back down. “I’m sorry, kid. They don’t like ‘character concerns,’ even if the character being concerned is a prick like Hunter Sterling.”
Jace nodded. He’d expected it. He’d known the moment his foot left the floor in that push-kick that he was kicking away his future.
“What now?” Jace asked.
“Now? You graduate. You keep your head down. You work those shifts at the warehouse,” Vance said. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a card. “And you call this guy. He’s a scout for a junior college in Oklahoma. It’s not Austin. It’s a dusty little town with one stoplight. But they don’t care about your past, and they need a receiver who can catch overthrows.”
Jace took the card. Navarro Junior College. It wasn’t the dream. It wasn’t the big stage. But it was a way out.
He walked out of the office and found Leo sitting exactly where he’d left him. The boy stood up, his eyes searching Jace’s face.
“Is it o-o-o-over?” Leo asked.
“Yeah, Leo. It’s over,” Jace said. He reached out and took the boy’s hand.
They walked out of the administrative wing and into the bright, blinding Texas sun. The parking lot was full of students, the same kids who had watched Jace in the gym. Some of them looked away. Some of them nodded. Sarah Sterling was leaning against her car, watching them. She didn’t wave, but she gave Jace a small, sad smile before getting in and driving away.
Jace led Leo to the rusted F-150. He helped him into the seat and climbed in behind the wheel. He looked at the school one last time—the stadium lights rising over the trees like metal giants. He had spent his whole life trying to belong to something, to a team, to a school, to a system. He realized now that he never would. And that was okay.
“J-j-jace?”
“Yeah, Leo?”
“Where are w-w-we g-going?”
Jace started the engine. The manifold rattled, the truck shook, but it held together. He put it in gear and backed out of the space.
“We’re going to work, Leo,” Jace said, looking at the road ahead. “We’ve got a lot of saving to do.”
As they drove away from Beaumont High, the sounds of the afternoon practice began to drift across the fields—the whistles, the pads clashing, the shouting of the coaches. Jace didn’t look back. He kept his eyes on the horizon, where the refinery flames flickered against the blue sky, a tiny, determined light in the vast, unforgiving dark of East Texas. He had lost his ticket out, but as he felt Leo’s head lean against his shoulder, he knew he had finally found his home.
