Blackout by Jason Elam, Steve Yohn Read Free Book Online Page B

moving into counterintelligence or even high-tech private security. But now that the Mustangs were being taken from him rather than him leaving the Mustangs, he was devastated.
    The Mustangs had been his team from the time he was a small child in Wyoming. He’d grown up wearing orange and blue pj’s and T-shirts and undies and jerseys and ball caps. He’d drunk his hot chocolate from a Mustangs mug and celebrated his birthdays with Mustangs cakes. He’d painted his body, colored his hair, and even considered getting a homemade tattoo with a few of his high school buddies until a friend’s dad had told them a tattoo horror story that had scared some sense into them.
    Now he was going to play for the Washington Warriors. The Warriors? Really? They’re not a rival. They’re not a contender. The Warriors just kind of fall into that “who-gives-a-rip” category of PFL franchises. They’re paragons of mediocrity.
    Riley struggled with feelings of loss and betrayal as he packed his day bag and left the locker room for his car. They may think they hold all the cards and can play them however they want. However, I still hold one big ace in the hole. There’s nothing that says I have to be anywhere but in my living room when the next season starts. And the farther Riley walked away from that locker room, the farther it felt like he was walking away from his football career.

Tuesday, July 21, 5:45 p.m. AKDT
    Kiirauraq Bay, Alaska
    â€œLook out for the rope, Pach!” Skeeter yelled. “You got that one there? There’s another one. What about the boulder at twelve o’clock? You see that?”
    â€œWhy, Mr. Dawkins, I’ve never heard you talk so much,” Riley laughed as he watched Skeeter clutching the v-bar with a death grip. Riley sat directly behind Skeeter in the tandem aircraft, manipulating the controls.
    This was something Riley had looked forward to for a long time. That last day of minicamp had been tough—physically and emotionally. And the emotional struggles went far beyond just the final meeting with Coach Burton.
    Every time he stepped onto that practice field he had been reminded of his former best friend, Sal Ricci, who had turned out to be his worst enemy. He was reminded of Khadi’s bloody body and Sal’s blown-out skull. He was reminded of Jim Hicks and Billy Murphy and Chris Johnson and Jay Kruse—all members of his band of brothers, all dead in this past year.
    But mostly he remembered his dad. All the afternoons playing catch, all the hours spent coaching his teams, all the love and support and encouragement—all now gone.
    And now my team has been taken away from me too. I still . . . I just don’t understand! Burton said he had nothing to do with it, and that might be true. But Salley? What was he thinking? More than once, Riley had mollified himself with the thought that this could very well be the stupidest move since the Twin Cities Norsemen had notoriously bankrupted their future by sending three number-one draft picks, three number-two draft picks, a couple of lower picks, and five players to the Texas Outlaws for Henry Walters and a smattering of lower-round picks. Sure, Walters was a great player, but come on!
    Stop thinking about football, you idiot! Take a look at the beauty around you! Live in the here and now!
    Alaska was an outlet for him—a way to relax, unwind, and at least for a time, forget. When he was flying this little plane, his mind cleared, and he felt truly peaceful.
    Skeeter, on the other hand, looked like he was feeling an emotion as close to terror as Riley had ever seen him express. Riley couldn’t help laughing. That this very large, very dangerous man who had been involved in countless military special operations was acting so much like a scared little girl was something Riley would not soon let him forget.
    Over the past months, Skeeter Dawkins had become more than just