The Forgotten Man

"Hayes will regret this." Mason entered the locker room and found the locker with his name. A white jersey hung inside, the U.S. crest on the chest, his surname printed on the back. CARTER. The number was not nine. It was twenty-six. The last man on the provisional list. The edge of the edge. Mason reached out and touched the crest. Ten years ago, he had thought this crest would wait for him at the top. Ten years later, he understood that it waited only for those who could stand back up. Outside, the media were still shouting. On his phone, the trends still burned. The world was asking one question: Why bring Mason Carter? Mason closed the locker door. Metal rang through the room.