Authors: Jason Elam
Blown Coverage (34 page)
TUESDAY, JUNE 30, 10:00 A.M. MDT
The long, brown mound hadn’t had time yet to start sprouting grass. Memories flooded Riley’s mind as he stared at it—some
good, some not so good.
He was a good man, and his life definitely left a
mark.
Kneeling, he picked up a small clump of dirt and bounced it up and down in his hand until it broke apart. He looked to his
right, then reached out and put his arm around Scott, who was kneeling next to him.
“He never told me his middle name was Marion,” Scott laughed, but there were tears running down his cheeks. “James Marion
Hicks—oh, I would have had fun with that!”
Riley chuckled softly while he read the name on the headstone. He patted Scott on the shoulder, then reached down for another
clump of dirt.
He and Khadi had gone together to see the artisan about the memorial. Khadi had read off the name to the proprietor, then
had given Riley a hard elbow shot to the ribs when a laugh accidentally spilled out of his mouth.
Scott read the epitaph out loud: “
Hero and
Beloved Friend. A Man Who Left His Mark.
Thanks for having them put that on, Riley. That’s nice. That’s really nice.”
Scott had been tied up with the Turkish authorities for over three weeks, so he had missed the big battle with the people
at Homeland Security.
I
can’t
believe those weasels wanted to turn the funeral into a
full-blown media circus,
Riley thought,
a military burial complete with
dignitaries and multiple gun salutes. Yeah,
that’s
just what Jim would
have wanted.
Let’s
hear it for Grandpa putting in a couple of calls to his
star-shouldered friends to put the kibosh on the festivities.
Instead, the funeral had been small, quiet, purposely out of the camera’s eye. Riley had gotten his pastor to perform the
service, and the only ones attending had been Khadi, Riley, Skeeter, the RoU team, and Hicks’s thirty-nine-year-old daughter,
Tyler, whom he had seen just once, and that from a distance. Riley had contacted Tyler’s mother, who had given him permission
to call her daughter. What had started out as a very awkward phone conversation had quickly turned into Tyler insisting on
coming to the memorial service of her heroic father.
Riley had flown her in the day before the funeral, and when Tyler went home the day after, she had left with a carefully folded
flag and the knowledge that her father had truly loved her.
Both men continued to kneel by the grave, lost in their own thoughts. Riley couldn’t keep his mind from drifting back three
weeks to when he had knelt in front of his father’s grave, his mother on one side of him and his grandfather on the other.
Grandpa had put his arm around Riley’s shoulders—as Riley had just done to Scott—and then Gramps had said softly, “Remember,
son, we don’t have to grieve like those who have no hope.”
That was a tough moment,
Riley thought, remembering how all the emotions over his father’s death that he had been storing inside had finally burst
out at that precious place.
But at least it brought some
closure, right?
Isn’t
that what they always say?
It’s
time to move on? Yeah,
right, who are you kidding about closure?
It’s
gonna be a long time before that chapter of my life closes,
he thought bitterly.
But Gramps was right about one
thing—
at least
I’m
going to see Dad again.
That’s
where my hope comes from.
The next week had been spent with Mom, making sure she was settled in her temporary home until the goat dairy she insisted
on continuing could be rebuilt. The days working together to sort out Dad’s estate had been good; the nights talking with
her had been better. He’d even taken a liking to a smoky chipotle pepper chèvre recipe that she had been trying out.
Go figure,
he thought, remembering the subtle burn on the back of his throat.
Scott slowly stood up, leaning heavily on an old walking stick he had brought back with him from Istanbul. “I think I’m ready.”
“You sure?” Riley asked, quickly rising and helping him the rest of the way. “We got nothing but time.”
“Yeah, I’m done. Besides,” Scott said, loosening his tie, “this suit’s a rental. I gotta have it back this afternoon.”
Riley smiled. “I was going to ask you about that.”
The two men walked leisurely back to the SUV, where Skeeter waited propped against the driver’s side door. Khadi sat inside
behind the wheel.
What else waited for Riley, he didn’t know. The Mustangs had been leaving him messages again reminding him he had never been
officially put on injured reserve, and that he
was
their franchise player.
We’ll
have to see.
I’m
not too sure if this Achilles injury has completely
healed yet,
he thought as he jumped up into the passenger side of the Suburban.
“Get moving, you idiot,” Scott called from the backseat.
“What?” Riley and Khadi said in unison, turning around in time to see Skeeter give Scott a hard punch.
“Ow, Skeet,” Scott said, rubbing his arm. “Don’t worry, Khadi, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just some loving words from an
old friend.”
“Give him another one, Skeet, just on principle,” Riley said as he turned back around smiling.
As flesh connected with fabric in the backseat and Scott’s yelp echoed through the vehicle, Riley caught Khadi’s rich mocha
eyes glinting at him.
Oh, Lord, have You ever created a more beautiful creature?
She is everything
I’ve
ever
wanted—
everything
I’ve
been waiting for.
If only she would see Your truth . . .
His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Khadi grinned and said, “Why, Mr. Covington, I do believe you’re staring.”
Quickly recomposing himself, Riley turned to the front and said, “Drive the car, my dear Miss Faroughi. Just drive the car.”
JASON ELAM
is a sixteen-year NFL veteran placekicker for the Atlanta Falcons.
He was born in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, and grew up in Atlanta, Georgia. In 1988, Jason received a full football scholarship
to the University of Hawaii, where he played for four years, earning academic All-America and Kodak All-America honors. He
graduated in 1992 with a bachelor’s degree in communications and was drafted in the third round of the 1993 NFL draft by the
Denver Broncos, where he played for 15 years.
In 1997 and 1998, Jason won back-to-back world championships with the Broncos and was selected to the Pro Bowl in 1995, 1998,
and 2001. He is currently working on a master’s degree in global apologetics at Liberty Theological Seminary and has an abiding
interest in Middle East affairs, the study of Scripture, and defending the Christian faith. Jason is a licensed commercial
airplane pilot, and he and his wife, Tamy, have four children.
STEVE YOHN
grew up as a pastor’s kid in Fresno, California, and both of those facts contributed significantly to his slightly warped
perspective on life. Steve graduated from Multnomah Bible College with a bachelor’s degree in biblical studies and barely
survived a stint as a youth pastor.
While studying at Denver Seminary, Steve worked as a videographer for Youth for Christ International, traveling throughout
the world to capture the ministry’s global impact. With more than two decades of ministry experience, both inside and outside
the church, Steve has discovered his greatest satisfactions lie in writing, speaking, and one-on-one mentoring.
Surprisingly, although his hobbies are reading classic literature, translating the New Testament from the Greek, and maintaining
a list of political leaders of every country of the world over the last twenty-five years, he still occasionally gets invited
to parties and has a few friends. His wife, Nancy, and their daughter are the joys of his life.