Chapter 12

The weather begins to clear. Emergency responders work feverishly to help the players, anyone who can pass a field test of clear vision and walk double up in ambulances. Those transported are quickly transferred to emergency care and rushed back to the scene. One of the final players to be escorted to an ambulance is Hector. He's guided to the rear of an ambulance when he sees the coroner arrives.

Speaking in Spanish, Hector looks to the EMT, offering him a hand into the rig, "Who died? Don't lie to me! Is it anyone I know? Dallas, Clarke, Jamal, Randale, or any of the coaches?"

"Right now, that isn't my concern. You are my patient and main concern."

Tensing up, Hector looks around, annoying the EMT trying to help. When he looks at the closed body bag, Coach Sparks's baseball cap sits on the road, upsetting Hector.

"NO!" He screams.

"I'm sorry, my friend. May God and Mother Mary be with him, but I need to get you to the hospital to have your arm checked out."

Once the doors shut, the ambulance pulls off with no sirens. A dry blanket is given to Hector after he begins to shiver. Soaked to the bone, Hector sits there holding his left wrist. His arms are scraped up with road rash, but he doesn't appear injured anywhere else. Hector doesn't take long to arrive and receive x-rays on his wrist.

As physicians and nurses request help for the massive load to tend to the team, news of the crash finally reaches Brighton. Everyone waits for the local news field reporter to mention which hospital the team has been taken to. Phone calls from law enforcement begin to parents who feel their hearts drop from their chests to their stomachs.

"Hello," Daisy says, answering the phone.

"Mrs. Harbor?" A deep male voice asks.

Instantly feeling the weight of the world collapse on her shoulders, Daisy places a hand on her stomach, "Um, yes."

A moment of silence falls over the line before the officer speaks, "I'm a Captain with the Texas State Troopers, Alvin Murphy. Is Clarke Harbor your son?"

"Oh, God, yes. What happened?"

"Ma'am, the bus transporting the team back to Brighton was involved in a traffic accident. Your son has been taken to McLennan County Hospital. I'm not sure of his current condition, but one of my officers found a roster with contact numbers. If you need a ride to the hospital, I will arrange for someone to pick you up."

"No. I can make it there. You said McLennan County?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm on my way," Daisy says with fear.

Hanging up the phone, she nudges Steve, "Get up! I need you to stay with Amber and Casey. Clarke's bus was wrecked!"

Steve sits up without wasting a breath, "Go! I'll stay here, go! GO!"

On the other side of town, Tracy's scrolling through Facebook. A live video from the scene of the crash appears and grabs her attention. She gently taps the screen, pulling up the live feed.

With a bright light from the news camera shining on the mixed-race reporter's face, she's replying to the news castors back in the studio, "That's right, Ronald. I'm on the scene here, and the situation is serious. Several players of the Brighton football were injured when the bus they were traveling on flipped on its side. Law enforcement won't comment on fatalities or release names as parents and others are being contacted. For now, I can say that the highway will be closed for several more hours while state troopers attempt to piece together the incident. Back to you and Tishna in the studio, Ronald."

The report returns to Channel Five News studio with a mocha-colored background with the channel logo behind the anchors.

"Thank Chanel and God's speed to those involved in this sad moment. Our thoughts and hearts go out to all those hurt on what was supposed to be a happy night. Again, the charter bus carrying the Brighton football team wrecked along Highway 77. We'll bring you updates as they develop," The tanned dark-haired male anchor says before the broadcast shifts to commercial.

"AH!" Tracy screams, holding a hand over her mouth, "CLARKE!"

Quickly she calls his cell, but it goes to voicemail. Tracy's body starts to shake, but she fails to notice. Gracie Lynn charges into the bedroom to see Tracy's face has lost all color.

"Tracy, what's wrong?" She asks, out of breath.

Unable to form and nearly hyperventilating, Tracy stares at her phone.

"TRACY!" Gracie Lynn shouts, finally getting her daughter's attention.

"Mom! Mom! The team bus wrecked, and Clarke ain't picked up his phone. What if he is hurt really badly?"

Frightened, Gracie Lynn goes to Tracy, hugging her and attempting to calm her down, "I'm sure Clarke is fine. Try to relax. Maybe his phone is dead, or he lost it or something."

Tracy sniffles with tears streaming down her cheeks, "He could be dead. Mom, I love him. I can't lose him!" She pulls her head back to look at her mother, "Can I go wait at his house? Please?"

"Do you want me to go with you?"

All Tracy answers with is a head shake.

"Be careful, and I want you to check in every hour. If I don't hear from you, then I will show up in a bad mood." Gracie Lynn states, walking out of the bedroom,

Tracy slides off the bed. With no bra, she quickly brags a pair of blue running pants to cover her booty shorts and a regular black v-cut t-shirt over the spaghetti strap, runs downstairs, slips into a pair of flip-flops, grabs her keys from the dish on the end table and her purse. Once she's out the door and shoves her phone into the purse. The Soltice fires up, and headlights shine over the driveway, with Gracie Lynn watching from a second-floor window.

From the front door, Brent stands with his arms crossed, ready to argue. He tugs the end of his gray muscle shirt before stomping to the base of the stairs, "GRACIE! WHERE THE BLUE BLAZE IS OUR DAUGHTER GOING?"

Without leaving the window, Gracie Lynn doesn't waste the chance to piss off her husband, "She's off to make a man out of Father Mulcahy! She'll be back when she's damn good and pregnant!"

"That's nowhere near funny! You need to check that attitude. Ever think that may be part of the problem?"

Gracie Lynn doesn't pay attention to Brent's outburst and walks into the master bedroom, slamming the door.

Over at the hospital, parents gather in the emergency room waiting area. Daisy waits with Jamal's mother and father. Dallas's mother stands nearby; she doesn't take the time to change from the dark blue full-length nightgown. Rubbing her right arm up and down along her left arm, her nerves stand on end.

Everyone gets loud when three doctors walk from behind the heavy wooden doors with state troopers.

"Where's our kids?" Daisy yells over the crowd.

The tall chocolate-haired female state trooper waves her hands in the air for the crowd to move back, giving the doctors more room.

"Parents, bare with us! Most of the team has some minor abrasions. A few young men have suffered concussions, but unfortunately, I need to speak to the parent or parents of Jamal Jefferies."

Instantly Daisy feels a boulder slam into the pit of her stomach, "Oh dear lord let him be okay," she whispers, watching Mr. and Mrs. Jefferies cut through the crowd.

The doctors and Jamal's parents vanish behind the door, but it isn't long after it shuts that a death scream followed by a loud thud is heard.

"NO, LORD! NOT OUR BABY!" Mrs. Jefferies screams.

Nearly an hour ticks away before Dallas's mother sees him walk through the doors with bandages covering his left arm and a brace on his left knee.

Again Daisy stands and waits for what feels like hours, feeling her nerves unravel. Sometimes she finds it nearly impossible to breathe as her heart pounds harder and harder every time she watches another player come out bandaged. Some come out from behind the door on crutches. A couple of players come out after having an arm or leg placed in an air cast.

When Clarke finally walks through the door, Daisy loses control. Crying uncontrollably, she runs to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, "OH MY GOD, I WAS SO AFRAID!"

Grunting when he's pulled down, Clarke pats his mother on the back while they hug.

"Mom. Mom, please let me go. I have a terrible headache!" Clarke expresses with his eyes shut, "Mrs. Foxe, Randale shouldn't be much longer. He was in the same exam room with me. They're checking him for a concussion, but he said to tell you that he'll be okay."

A sandy blond woman approaches Clarke. She takes a wrinkled hand, taking Clarke's hand, expressing, "Thank you. God bless you, boys. Go home and rest."

Sauntering through the crowd, Clarke's met with quick pats on the back and handshakes. Once he and Daisy walk through the sliding double doors, they enter her Lincoln SUV, heading home.

"Do you need anything? I can stop by Steak N' Shake or Waffle House. Hell, I'd even get you McDonald's if you're that hungry," Daisy offers in a soft tone.

Clarke doesn't feel like eating. Using his left hand, he motions, uninterested in food, let alone greasy fast food, "I just want to get home and go to bed. I feel horrible."

Daisy peers at him from the corner of her eye, "I can't even imagine, sweetie. What happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it yet. For now, I just want to sleep and forget about the world."

"Yeah, that sounds like the best idea. I think Tracy is waiting for you at home. You don't have to spend any time with her if you're not up for it. Give her a hug and kiss, then I'll help you to bed."

The only response is a nod. Clarke keeps his eyes shut to avoid the street lamps and ignore the road noise. It doesn't take them long to arrive home. Tracy shoves off the wall by the front door. She rushes to the passenger side door, opens it for Clarke, and speaks softly.

"Hey, are you okay?"

With tears in his eyes, Clarke sends shockwaves through his mom and Tracy, "No. Everything is wrong right now. My body feels like I've been thrown in a meat grinder. My arm and head are throbbing."

Draping an arm around his shoulders, Tracy feels the weight in the air fall around them like an iron curtain. Daisy walks ahead to hold the door. Tracy tries to walk away after Clarke enters the house, but she's waved inside.

"Pst," Daisy begins, "I'll let you help him to bed. I'll stay here until you help him settle in."

Tracy mouths, "thank you."

Slowly walking back to his bedroom, Clarke doesn't bother flipping on the light. As he stumbles across the floor, Clarke groans the moment his head hits the pillow.

"Can I tell you something?" Tracy whispers.

"As long as you keep it a whisper," Clarke replies, face down on the pillow.

Gently gliding her hand through his thick, soft hair, Tracy leans close to Clarke's ear, "Not only do I love you, but I want us to move to the next level of things after you feel better. I was so worried. I realized tonight that anything can happen. I need you to be my first. That's how much I love you, baby."

A bit of light snoring is all Tracy hears. For only a split second, she feels guilty about expressing her most intimate feelings but understands the trauma Clarke experienced shouldn't be the driving force to reveal such powerful emotions and desires. After gently stroking her fingertips along his cheek, Tracy gets up and returns to Daisy.

"He fell asleep almost immediately," Tracy says.

"Good. God, this has been such a shitty year. I'm glad you were here for him. Clarke's always thought the world of you. Now, get home and be careful getting there."

Tracy nods and walks out the door. She breaks down in her car with crocodile tears falling like rain until she regains her composure. When she's ready, Tracy takes her time driving home, finding her father waiting for her on the bottom step.

"Not tonight, daddy. Nothing happened, and Clarke is okay. I love you, but I need some sleep," Tracy clarifies, walking up the steps.

"That's all I wanted to know. Goodnight, love ya too."

Settled in for the remainder of the night, Tracy has issues sleeping. She dreams about the bus crash. This time Clarke is thrown from the bus and sees the bus rolling at him from his eyes. Once the bus lands on his body, Tracy sits up, clutching her chest, drenched in a cold sweat. Breathing hard, she hears her phone buzz on the nightstand. She notices the sky is clear with plenty of sunshine.

Tracy opens the phone and sees dozens of notifications about a live video feed from the Texas State Trooper depot near the crash scene. She clicks on the video to see the news conference still in progress.

"That's correct, Ms. Jackson. Unfortunately, Brighton lost two people in the wreck last night. One was all-state running back Jamal Jefferies, who died. Also, Brighton football head coach Mack Sparks. Behind me is the Patriot Conference commissioner. Please welcome Andre Millerson to the stand."

A large chubby bald African American man gets to his feet and fastens a button to his navy blue suit jacket. His shoes clack against the concrete, and he clears his throat before speaking in a baritone voice.

"Thank you, Sergeant King. Ladies and gentlemen, today is a solemn day. Since last night's tragic accident news, my colleagues and I have worked closely with medical staff and law enforcement. It is unwelcome news to share that the conference committee and I have agreed and informed the principal that the Brighton Grizzlies have been removed from the playoffs. Most of the team was injured, and we feel at this time, it would be best for friends and loved ones to focus on mourning and grieving their loved ones. Losing a young talented all-star like Jamal Jefferies is tough enough. Now the team must deal with the loss of Coach Sparks. This decision wasn't easy to confirm, but for everyone affected by this tragedy in Brighton, you are in our thoughts and hearts through this trying time. Thank you!"

Gasping, Tracy can't believe the news. She's shocked even more seeing students from Midland Prep High School using derogatory comments. Others from Brighton get into a keyboard debate stating they won't be so lucky next season. The bickering and taunting continue until the new conference ends.

Immediately texting Clarke, Tracy doesn't wait for a response. She dashes to her dresser, taking out a lacy black Victoria's Secret Pink bra, a black shirt, and a pair of blue jean shorts that barely cover her asscheeks. Without socks, Tracy slips into her favorite pair of pink Puma's. Rushing down the steps, Tracy's unaware she's alone at home. With keys in her hand, Tracy rushes into the car, where she ignores the speed limit, red lights, and stop signs pulling into Clarke's driveway.

From the front porch, Clarke and Hector stop their conversation. Hector intends to inform his best friend about moving, but like clockwork, Tracy arrives to postpone the news.

"Hey, hombre, your better-looking half is here," Hector states with a chuckle.

Pushing through the lingering headache, Clarke pushes the sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. He stands there in a white tank top and the usual pair of basketball shorts and leans against the back of the chair, "Yeah. She can't get enough of big daddy love," Clarke jokes, making Hector laugh.

When she steps onto the porch, Tracy stands there, waiting to be invited over to the empty chair.

"You can sit if you'd like," Hector says.

Finally taking a seat between them, Tracy takes Clarke's hand, "How are you both feeling?"

Hector and Clarke raise a hand and wiggle it side to side, indicating they've had better days.

"I'm surprised you're in a good mood with the news that the season is over."

Shockwaves explode within the boys. They weren't informed of the news about the season, but Hector sums it up, trying to ditch his Spanish-English accent after the shock settles, "It sucks, but it's for the best. Yeah, all our hard work goes unrewarded, but we lost more than we could've gained with a state title."

Clarke leans forward, "There's always next year to go out as seniors with a state title. Once we're cleared to work out, I'm going to have Coach Childers push me in the gym. It pisses me off that Jamal and Coach Sparks died. It's pathetic that everything we played for is just ripped away."

Tracy feels horrible giving Hector and Clarke the news about the season. She sits there, feeling her heart crumble. Nothing is said until Hector speaks up, getting to his feet.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to head home to get ready for work. Stay safe and be good, but just don't name it after me if you're not. Adios, mi amigos."

The smart-ass comment leaves Clarke laughing, holding his ribs. Tracy sits there, silent and waves as Hector walks away. When he pulls away from the curb, Tracy looks at Clarke with a soft glare in her eyes.

"You wanna take a ride?" Tracy asks.

Surprised, Clarke notices the expression she's giving him, "Yeah. Is everything okay?"

Nodding yes, Tracy reaches both her hands out for Clarke's. When Clarke's helped to his feet, he walks to the front door with Tracy. Barely cracking the door open, he calls out to anyone close by, "Hey! I'll be back. I'm heading out for a bit!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatevs!" Amber yells back with her gaze locked on her phone.

Tracy leads the way down the walkway to her car. She drops the convertible top before she shifts to Reverse. Once she makes sure it's clear to back onto the road, she drives home and sees her parents are gone, "Alright! We have the place to ourselves," she shares with a smile as her hair flies everywhere.

After they park, Clarke laughs with a hand over his mouth at Tracy's whipped hair. The sound of him laughing assures Tracy that what she's decided to do makes it well worth the chance she's about to take, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up! Hurry up so we can get inside before we're seen."

Suddenly, Clarke stops laughing with his expression going from trying to enjoy a relaxing moment to being stunned, "Say what?" he says, feeling his palms begin to sweat and ignoring the sun soaking into his skin.

"You heard me. Let's go inside before we're seen. I'm guessing you don't really remember last night, but I told you that I'm willing and ready to take things up a notch."

With his jaw dropped and making a low audible noise, Clarke can't get his mind to follow the command to get out of the car. Once Tracy notices that he isn't budging, she fumbles out of the car, feeling the leather stick to her skin. Her heart begins to pound harder with every step, fearing they're about to get seen or caught by her nosey elderly neighbor, Ms. Blackwelder.

"Hurry the hell up!" she begins, flinging the passenger door open. She yanks and tugs on Clarke's upper arm confirming his thoughts, "C'mon! If you want to get laid, you need to take me to my bedroom."

Everything within Clarke finally slams back to reality. He lunges from the Soltice, nearly sending Tracy to the pavement, "Oh! My bad!" he says, helping Tracy maintain her balance.

Tracy's nearly dragged to the front door with the house keys in her hands. Clarke's enthusiasm soars like a kid on Christmas morning. The adrenaline pumps through his body so hard that any pain he's feeling is ignored once they enter the house.

Going from the humid early afternoon air to the climate-controlled air conditioning doesn't matter. Both teenagers continue to feel the heat of the moment as their bodies begin to sweat. Tracy guides Clarke upstairs and back to her bedroom, where she shoves him on the bed so she can shut and lock the bedroom door.

With each deep breath, Tracy feels her body wanting to go limp. She swallows hard, feeling the moment's weight add more than she imagined. Shuttering with every exhale, Tracy gingerly makes her way to Clarke. She takes the end of his shirt, lifting it up and tossing it onto the floor.

"Relax," Clarke whispers, seeing her hands shake.

"Sorry," Tracy replies, feeling her cheeks heat up.

Clarke reaches out, gripping his hands flat on Tracy's lower back. He pulls her onto the bed, over his hips, where she feels his hardened cock under his satin shorts. Before she can wrap her arms around his neck, Clarke grabs her shirt, takes it off, and reaches up, unsnapping her bra as it falls down, landing between their bodies. Half naked on his lap, Clarke's speechless, seeing how flawless her body looks. Her skin glows from tanning with no tan lines, "My God! You're more beautiful than I imagined."

The compliment melts Tracy's heart. She stares at Clarke's toned and cut body without anything to say. Her mind wanders until she feels Clarke kiss her. As the kiss causes their bodies to react and passion swells higher, Tracy's body takes control. She slides off Clarke's lap, unbuttons her shorts, grips them tightly, and slides them down along with the thong she has on, fully exposing herself to Clarke.

Afraid that Clarke's lying, Tracy stands there staring a hole through the floor. Easily picking up the hint that she's close to shutting down, Clarke pulls himself to his feet and slides his shorts and boxers off.

"Look at me," he whispers with heavy breathing.

Nervous, Clarke reaches out, taking Tracy's shaky hands, "You're so far more beautiful than I ever thought. Don't be scared or embarrassed. We ain't gotta do this right now."

"I want this. I need this, but I feel like part of me isn't good enough for you," Tracy mumbles as she lifts her head, looking eye-to-eye with Clarke.

The intensity surges. As Tracy stares deep into Clarke's dark chocolaty brown eyes, she feels their heartbeats get in sync. Clarke returns the gaze to Tracy's dark brown eyes, feeling his body surrender to her desire. Instinct kicks in when Clarke raises his arms, taking Tracy by the shoulders and switching their position beside the bed.

Only reacting, Clarke guides Tracy onto the bed. She scoots into position, resting her head on the silk-covered pillows allowing Clarke to glide between her legs, kissing up beginning at her midsection to her breasts, where Tracy arches her back as her body tingles.

"God, yes!" She murmurs, gripping her hands into the comforter.

Unwilling to rush to what he wants, Clarke takes his time transitioning from light kisses and licking Tracy's nipples. The reaction he gets from the gentle nibbling teaches him what Tracy enjoys after a sustained gasp. Finished with experimenting, Clarke resumes kissing further up Tracy's body.

He stops at her neck, softly pecking from side to side with light biting, forcing her to inhale more as she wiggles beneath him. With the friction of wanting more, Tracy tightens her fists so much her knuckles turn white. Pheromones running wild, Clarke feels it's time to push to the final stage. Unbeknownst to Tracy, he sits up and leans over, picking up his jeans. She watches when Clarke pulls out a leather Tommy Hilfiger wallet, taking out a condom. Nothing is said after he rips open the package with his teeth and rolls the thin sliver of latex over his hardened penis.

Repositioned between her legs, Clarke locks eyes with Tracy as he guides himself into her soaked opening.

"Tell me you love me!" Tracy whispers out of nowhere.

Immediately, Clarke replies, "Tracy Wilcox, I've loved you for a long time. I never knew how to say it, but I'll do anything to prove it."

Startled when she feels Clarke's cock enter her body, Tracy closes her eyes, moaning until there's a bit of pressure when he nearly inserts all ten inches. In a single thrust, Clarke pushes through her hymen, forcing tears from Tracy's eyes, "Be gentle!"

"Sorry!" Clarke expresses, lying motionless for a moment.

Once the pain subsides, Tracy opens her eyes and grabs Clarke's hair, "I'm okay. Keep going, please. Just go slow and easy."

With a deep breath, Clarke gently begins pumping his hips, allowing Tracy's body time to acclimate to feeling him pull and thrust from tip to hilt as the first orgasm develops. Her breathing quickens after wrapping her legs around Clarke's hips, matching his slow rhythm.

"Dear God, this feels better than I dreamt!" Tracy admits, "Yes, Clarke, oh fuck yes, a little faster. It's okay, I promise."

Once their eyes lock again, it doesn't take long for Tracy to reach the only orgasm she experiences seconds before Clarke pushes and stops, groaning with his climax.

"Dear God!" Tracy says, shutting her eyes and seeing bright colors flash all around her.

Clarke swallows, huffing and covered in sweat, "I'm sorry about that. I wanted it to be longer."

Tracy shakes her head and tells him, "Don't be because it was perfect. I love you."

"I love you too. I promise this isn't what I'm about."

Glowing with emotion, Tracy says, "I know. Let's get dressed and go out. I want to spend the rest of the day with you, baby."

Sluggishly withdrawing to hold onto the sensation, Clarke hears Tracy react with quick breathing and her body quivering until he's out of her body. When he gets to his feet, Clarke grabs the end of the condom, slides it off, and plops it with the wrapper in Tracy's trashcan.

"No! Don't leave it to be seen in there. Flush it!" Tracy nearly yells, afraid of her parents seeing it.

"Right! I wasn't thinking; sorry, sweetie." Clarke says, picking up his clothes before he retrieves the used latex protection. He walks into Tracy's small bathroom, flushes it, and gets dressed.

Walking back into the bedroom, he sees Tracy sitting on the bed. She's now wearing a pair of blue jean jeggings with the same bra and shirt.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. I'm seeing it all in my head again and enjoying how it feels. C'mon, let's go get something to eat. I want us to spend the day together before I have to be at my accent class."

Clarke takes Tracy by the hand. They make their way down to the front door. Tracy walks out first, ensuring it's clear for Clarke to walk out without getting caught. They hurry into the car and pull away when the coast is clear.

Things between Clarke and Tracy remain a bit uneasy. He tries to show her through actions that he's more committed, but in the back of Tracy's mind, she's worried that Clarke may want to have sex more often or even leave if she refuses to give it up at every request.