Tim leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and kicked his legs up onto the hospital bed's rails.

"Hey, now," Jason laughed. "Don't get too comfortable! I don't want your disgusting shoes near my bed!"

Tim smiled, "Deal with it, Street."

They had talked about the team, school, girls but not the accident. Not about the reason they were sitting in a hospital room.

"SportsCenter is about to come on. Wanna watch?"

Tim's eyes searched the room for a clock. 7:47 PM.

"Oh, crap, I gotta go," the boy bolted up.

"Why? Where you gotta be?"

"Billy said I have to be home by 8 PM."

"You gotta curfew now?" Jason asked, confused.

"Kinda. I got in trouble today at school. Billy's pissed. ...You're probably the only person in Dillion who hasn't heard."

"What happened?"

"Coach called Billy to school and told him everything: me bein' late, sleepin' in class, Rally girls doin' my work..."

"I told you you'd get busted lettin' them do your work, didn't I? Didn't I?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"So Billy's pissed?"

"Well, he probably wouldn't have been so mad if I hadn't done somethin' really stupid on top of all that..."

"What? Whaddya do?"

"I was drunk—"

"Shocking," his friend interjected sarcastically.

"An' I threw a beer bottle at Smash William's head. Well, right above his head, ...and busted out a window at the Alamo Freeze."

"Holy shit," Jason whispered. "No wonder everyone's talkin'."

"Yeah," Tim grimaced. "That's not really what they're talkin' about though."

"What else could there be?"

"After Billy found out, he took me over to apologize to Mr. Noble. ...And I did."

Tim felt his cheeks flush as he forced himself to tell his best friend the story.

"Then Billy whupped me right there in front of Mr. Noble and the Alamo Freeze. Lots of people saw."

Jason winced. "Oh, man, that sucks." After a few moments of silence he added, "So now you're grounded?"

"Don't know. Just know that I have to be home. I think Billy's gonna whup me again. He said I still have to answer for messin' up in school."

"Dang, man," Jason sighed. "Hope it's not too bad."

"Me too. ...I'll come check on you after practice tomorrow."

"Sounds good. See ya then. …Hey, …Texas forever?"

"Texas forever," Tim nodded.

"Sorry I'm late," Tim called as he walked through the door at 8:04 pm.

His brother was sitting on the couch, watching ESPN.

"Did you go see Street?" Billy asked.

Tim nodded.

"Then don't worry about it. I'm glad you went. How's he doin'?"

"I don't know," the teen said. "We didn't talk about that."

"Oh, okay."

Tim went to the kitchen and poured a big bowl of cereal. He brought it into the living room, trying not to slosh milk over the side, and sat on the recliner. After SportsCenter's first hour ended, Billy clicked the TV off and sighed.

"Look, I know seein' Jason was tough. Let's deal with the school stuff tomorrow."

The boy nodded. But, when his brother got up from the couch and moved towards his bedroom, Tim called him back.

"Billy? ...You still gonna whup me tomorrow?"

The man exhaled deeply. "You still gonna deserve it tomorrow?"

"…Uh, …yeah," Tim said, after a moment.

"Well—" his brother started.

"Do it tonight. Now. I'd rather get it over," the teen implored.

Billy ran his hand over his face. "Ok, yeah, we can get it over with. ...Go to your room. I'll be there in a minute."

Tim nodded and did as he was told. He changed into his pajamas and sat on his bed, nervousness rippling through his stomach. Family law dictated that getting a second whuppin' in a week meant it'd be bare-assed. Tim hoped his brother would let this rule slide, especially since his pajamas wouldn't provide much defense.

About 5 minutes passed before Billy walked in the bedroom. He leaned against the dresser and asked, "Why? Why're you actin' up in school?"

The boy thought about it. "I guess 'cause I thought I'd get away with it. I guess I thought nobody'd really care."

His brother nodded. "Maybe I didn't seem to care, but I do. ...You don't have to get straight As, but ya gotta pass. ...An' you don't gotta be the smartest, but ya won't be a smart-ass. Got it?"

Tim ducked his head and nodded in agreement.

"Tell me why you're getting this whuppin'."

"I was tardy, slept in class, sassed a teacher, and cheated on my homework."

"What're you gonna do from now on?"

"Be on time. Pay attention. Be respectful. Do my own work," Tim replied.

"Okay," Billy nodded. "Drop you pants. Bend over the bed."

The boy sighed and pushed his cotton pajamas to his knees. He lay on the bed with his feet hanging off the end. Billy moved next to the bed, pulling his wide leather belt off swiftly. He folded it in half.

"Seventeen," he stated.

Tim nodded, gripping the quilt for support.

One, he counted, as a sharp pain sliced across his behind.

Two. Damn. He gritted his teeth and winced.

Three. "Uh…," the boy attempted to stifle any other noises. Street is never gonna... No!

Four . Fuuuuuck! Tears were forming, but he blinked them away. Stop thinkin' like that!

Five. "Ah-uha." Miracles happen!

Six. Tim sniffled loudly, as tears started to run down his face. Not really though.

Seven. Suck it up, crybaby! He wiped his face on the quilt. Stop thinkin' bad stuff!

Eight. "Uh-ha." Paralyzed.

Nine. Please, stop. The boy tried to shift away from the blow.

"Stay still," Billy said, firmly.

Ten. Oh god. Help me. His backside ached and burned. Coach said it: Paralyzed.

Eleven. "Please, Billy. I get it. Please stop." But his brother only swung the belt back again. No more football.

Twelve. The boy whimpered and gritted his teeth. Everything is messed up.

Thirteen. Helpme-helpme-helpme. "Oh-ha."

Fourteen. Billy, please! "Billy, please! No more." Paralyzed.

Fifteen. "Stop! Please stop! I'll do better."

"Two more, little brother," Billy said, sounding tired.

Sixteen. Christ-on-a-cracker! The boy's shoulders shook and his breathing was ragged. Gonna be different now.

Seventeen. Tim pulled the quilt up to wipe his face and tears. He stayed draped across the bed, trying to calm his breathing. Stop thinkin' like that.

Billy rethreaded the belt through the loops on his jeans and sat down next to his little brother. He put his hand on the boy's back, waiting for his breathing to calm.

"Are you ok?" Billy asked, uncertainly.

Quickly, the boy reached down and pulled up his pajama pants. He stood and turned to leave the room, but his brother caught his arm.

"Hey, sit down for a minute."

Tim lowered himself gingerly onto the bed. He wiped his face with the inside of his t-shirt.

"You ok? You seemed pretty upset," Billy observed. "And I've seen you take plenty worse when Dad was around."

Tim nodded and tried to explain, "I don't know what's wrong with me. ...I think I might be going crazy. ...I mean Street's the one in the hospital. He's the one they say might ...not walk again. ...But I'm hurtin' like it's me, ...my life."

"Well," Billy said. "It's okay to be upset for your friend. And his accident, it impacts your life too. I don't think it's crazy for you to be upset for him and for you."

The boy looked unconvinced.

"Y'all had plans. And now those plans might be different. I think you're grievin' for both of you."

The boy considered this idea and nodded. "Maybe so."

"Look," Billy continued. "All I know for sure is that things bein' different, don't mean it's gonna be bad."

He put an arm around Tim's shoulders. The two sat quietly on the bed for several minutes.

Then Billy finally spoke, "You wanna a sandwich? I'm kinda hungry."

The teen smiled, "Sure."

As his brother stood to leave, Tim blurted out, "I'm sorry about gettin' in trouble. It won't happen again."

"Good to hear, little brother. 'Cause I definitely don't wanna have to give you another hidin'," Billy said. "Come on. I'll make us some grilled cheese and we can catch the last hour of SportsCenter."