But this guy was different. He didn't look like one of the undergrad athletes. He looked a little older, in his late twenties or early thirties, close... to my age, and somehow that had made him a safer place to rest my eyes. He looked more like a peer, a buddy, someone I could have a beer with. I could see us talking about all the girls we couldn't have because we were married--or, after a few more drinks, all the boys.As I ran, the early winter light faded from the sky and the window in front. “Make him stop,” Cassidy told her dad.“Do you want to stop?” Coach Hope asked me.I gave him a determined look.“No,” was my one-word answer.“How about you, Bud? You want to stop?” Coach Hope asked.“No. I’m good,” Bud said.“He’s going to hurt him,” Cassidy pleaded.I think Coach Hope thought that she was talking about Bud hurting me. She needed to work on her communication skills. I hadn’t been this pissed since I learned Brandon had raped Tami.This time when Bud charged in, I hit him with two. More

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