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eyes—angry, yet somewhat amused—unnerved Riley a bit. “Don’t worry, man; accidents happen,” Riley said, walking up to Zerin with his hand held out.
    Zerin’s eyes never left Riley’s. “Wasn’t no accident.”
    â€œI should have held you under the water while I had the chance!” came Gorkowski’s voice.
    Riley turned to see the center straining again against the hands that were holding back his attack.
    â€œSnap! Leave it alone!”
    But even as he said it, he could hear Zerin saying, “I’d like to see you try! How many steps have you lost now?”
    Riley whirled around and walked directly up to Zerin until they were almost nose to nose. The crowd suddenly fell silent. Riley spoke quietly so that only Zerin and those holding him could hear. “Zerin, I forgive you.”
    Zerin continued to fix Riley with his hard stare. “I didn’t ask for no forgiveness,” he said with venom in his voice.
    â€œThat may be, but I’m forgiving you anyway, so you better get used to the idea. And if you cheap-shot me again, you know what? I’m going to forgive you again.” Then Riley broke into a grin that killed his jaw and cracked the drying blood on his mouth. “Sorry, man, but I’m not going to let you get in my head. You’re just plumb out of luck.”
    Riley turned and started walking to Ted Bonham. “Okay, Bones, now you can check me. Let’s see just how badly Mr. Universe scrambled my already-mixed-up brains.”
    As Bonham ran him through a series of tests, Riley could see the crowd breaking up. But one thing never changed—Zerin never took his eyes off Riley. At least until Coach Burton walked up to him, and then the volume increased all over again. This time, however, the conversation was completely one-sided.

Monday, July 13, 11:30 a.m. MDT
    Inverness Training Center, Centennial, Colorado
    After the drills, Riley wanted to get home as quickly as possible. But when he saw defensive lineman Tony Hawker, the team’s only Muslim other than Zerin, getting a rubdown, he decided that his muscles felt pretty sore too. He stepped in front of a rookie tailback who was about to hop up on the adjoining table and took it for himself.
    â€œSorry, Rook,” Riley said, not really feeling sorry at all. What can I say? Tenure has its privileges. Besides, the chances of this kid still being here in September are slim to none.
    â€œGive me the works, Fletch,” he said to trainer Russell Fletcher, who was standing by ready to work on whoever took his table.
    â€œYou got it, Pach.”
    As Riley stretched out, Hawker was already waiting for him. “I don’t understand him either, man.”
    â€œWhat?” Riley asked. “Who?”
    Hawker chuckled. “Come on, Pach, I can read you like a book. You want to ask me about Zerin, and I’m telling you I don’t understand him either.”
    Riley laughed. “I’m that obvious?”
    â€œYou’re so transparent, you’re see-through.”
    â€œWell, I guess that’s not altogether a bad thing. I think the main thing I’m wondering is whether this is a— uhhhh! ” Fletcher had just hit a spot on Riley’s calf that made it feel like he had plunged his thumb through the skin, under the muscle, and onto the bone. That was the thing with these trainers. It felt great when you reached your destination, but sometimes the journey itself could be murder.
    Hawker, white-knuckling the sides of his own training table, waited Riley out.
    â€œWhat I’m wondering is whether this is a Muslim thing or just a Zerin thing?”
    Hawker quickly sucked in air as his trainer began working on his quads. “I don’t know,” he said through gritted teeth. “Both, I guess.”
    â€œGo on,” Riley encouraged, his eyes just beginning to water—“involuntary eye sweat,” they liked to call