The Medal of Honor: A Father's Fight

across the high school football field, a sound that didn't belong there. I saw my son, Caleb

od over him, flexing. He had targeted Caleb's knee. It was deliberate. I knew it,

ribs, a cold dread washing over me. Caleb' s face was pale, his teeth clenched against a scream. His d

doctor' s words were blunt. "Severe ligament tears, a fractured patella. It' s a career-endin

han I'd seen in my entire life. I stood in the sterile white hallway, the smell

Ryan's father, flanked by a man in a sharp suit holding a briefcase. Blakely was a rea

ask how Caleb was. He walked right u

g, but as a statement of power. "

efcase and pulled out a c

this NDA. It states the hit was an unfortunate in-game accident. Take the money. I

o fists. The sheer arrogance, the casua

uture isn't

the garage, swung open. A small, worn velvet box fell from my inner pocket, hitting the po

down at it, a smir

trinket? You think

sending it skitteri

ch works for me. You try anything, and I'll make sure you

appeared, his face flushe

ake the deal. For the good of the team. We c

ly's triumphant sneer. I felt utterly alone, a m