Forged In Fire: A Family's Fight

the grass a surreal green. I stood on the sidelines, my breath fog

it, the f

Friday nights. It was the only time the grit and rust seemed to f

her, Andrew, was the

on the field, he was a force of nature. His scholarship to Penn S

ed at him. Wesley was the son of Lester Fowler, the man who owned half the town and had the other half in his po

histl

a gap, his legs pumping, a blur of motion under th

going t

ay, he launched himself, helmet first, straight at Andrew' s k

choed, a sound I fe

nt down,

t was too late. I vaulted the low fence, ignoring

pain. He looked at his leg, twist

, his voice thin.

idn't even look back. His father, Lester, watched from the stands, his face a

n a celebration just moments before, now felt like a funeral dirge. I followed them

on

We both knew he was talking about everything. The s