The Champion (79 page)

But neither thing had happened.

“Thank you,” Pine said. “Thank you, Q.”

All the animosity toward Pine vanished. Just like that. Quentin would never forget, but — surprise — he
could
forgive.

“Q, that was my last game,” Don said quietly. “I’m done.”

Heartbreak in those words, but also finality. It seemed impossible to believe the league would go on next year without Don Pine on a roster. All things come to an end, it seemed, even living legends. Quentin thought of reminding Pine he’d come one score away from winning the Galaxy Bowl that night
and
the year before, but knew it wouldn’t make any difference.

“Hell of a run,” Quentin said. “You know you’re a first-ballot Hall of Famer, right?”

“Yeah. I know. I also know someday that will mean something. Just not today. How about you, kid?”

“How about me what?”

“Retiring,” Pine said. “I’m guessing you don’t have a sudden love for the fullback position.”

Quentin most certainly did not. He never wanted to play that spot again. He never wanted to play
any
spot other than quarterback, but especially not fullback. He had no idea how Becca did it week in and week out.

“Hurt my arm in the bombing,” Quentin said. “I’ll be back next year.”

He wondered if Doc Patah would contradict him, but the Harrah stayed silent, kept working.

“I hope so,” Don said. “I do. But I’ll tell you what, kid — I’m a first-balloter and all that, and I have two rings, but you? If you are hurt, and you can’t win another title, you could retire now and go out
on top
. Two-straight Galaxy Bowl wins, then you walk off into the sunset.”

“I’m not even twenty-five, Don. I’ve got years left.”

“Like I said, kid, I hope so. Now if you don’t mind, those ribs you broke and that title of mine you stole have worn me the hell out. Doc Falory? Do me a favor and put me out, will you?”

“With pleasure,” the Jacks team doctor said. “Barnes isn’t the only one that never seems to shut up.”

Seconds later, Pine was out, leaving Quentin alone with his thoughts and the smell of burning flesh. His flesh or Don’s? He didn’t know.

A dagger of pain lanced from his shoulder down to his stomach, through his leg all the way to his big toe.

“Dammit, Doc! What the hell are you using up there, a needle and thread?”

“Do not mock me by comparing my skill to the barbarous practices of your home system, young Quentin. You really should be unconscious for this process.”

“Just do your job, Doc.”

Quentin breathed deeply, tuned out the pain’s echo.

Don was right: Quentin could walk away a legend. If the arm was really gone for good, was there any better way to go? Instead, would he rehab all off-season, look for a doctor that could fix him, go under the knife and fight his ass off to get his career back?

Or ... were there more important things than football?

He had forgiven Don Pine.

Could he do the same with Petra Prawatt?

So much to consider, so much to process. Overwhelming, really — and waiting one more day to think about it wouldn’t hurt anything. He was so tired, and nerve blocks or no, he hurt so damn much.

“Doc, let’s do it your way. Go ahead and put me under for this, please.”

“As you wish, young Quentin.”

Quentin felt the slide into unconsciousness begin almost immediately. The pain faded; darkness came, and he welcomed it. Yes, so many decisions to be made, but that was for another time.

His team had won the Galaxy Bowl.

Hokor would be buried with two rings.

For now, that was enough.

Ionath Krakens 2686 Galaxy Bowl Champions Roster