“We’ll get those no-good Texas Rangers tomorrow. Goodnight, Coach,” Crawford said, walking down the hotel hallway.
“Goodnight, JP,” Servais said, stepping into his hotel room.
He stayed in the entryway, listening with his ear to the door for the sound of the final door on the floor close. And once he heard it, he slipped out, quietly, walking out the front doors of the hotel, walking west, away from the city and far into the Texan desert.
He walked, and walked, and walked, until his feet were blistered, rubbing against his age-appropriate New Balance trainers. He kept walking, as his hamstrings cramped, and thirst captured his throat.