The Hail Mary

by Ginger Scott

  “Clear,” I repeat.

  “Yup.” He stands and holds out a hand, his mouth a tight smile that says more than the words he’s saying. I pull my brow in and take his hand, sliding to a stand as I do.

  “Look, I can’t make them put you in a game, but if QB1 goes down, you’re a viable option.”

  I puff out a snort of a laugh at his overly scientific prognosis of my future. I’m a…viable option.

  “That’s a lot like saying I’m a hail Mary, Doc,” I say, taking the printout of my results from the tech.

  “I suppose it is,” he says, his mouth still not quite smiling.

  “Is there something you want to say?” I tilt my head, wondering what else he saw in that ultrasound.

  His chest lifts with breath, and his nostrils open a little more than normal. Our eyes meet, and after a second, his flutter as he crosses his arms and looks up at the ceiling with a huff.

  “Your leg will be just fine, Reed. That’s what I’m saying. Your leg…it will be fine…”

  “But my neck…my head…” I fill in, kinda knowing all along what he meant. He’s never been committed either way on this subject. I never asked him, instead getting first and second opinions elsewhere. There’s a reason I did that. He knows what it is.

  He gives it to me straight. Straight would take away options. Straight…is cautious.

  His chin drops so our eyes meet again squarely, and we stare at one another just long enough for his to flicker with warning. He won’t say it. He’d never do that to me. Doc knows the danger that comes along with putting risk in a player’s head. Doesn’t mean that risk isn’t there, though. And his ethics can’t ignore it completely.

  “Right.” I nod and thank him again, leaving in a way that I’m sure has made him uneasy. I’m uneasy. All of it is for nothing, though, because the odds of me getting in a game are so incredibly slim.

  I stop in at the head office and deliver the paper to Coach Jenkins, our quarterback coach. He’s not even fully aware as I enter and leave his office until I’m six steps out the door.

  “Thanks, Johnson. I’ll let him know,” he shouts, busy with his coordinators working out tonight’s plan. I wave my hand, sure he doesn’t see it.

  The rest of the guys won’t be here for a few hours, but I’m not really interested in going home to my empty, sparsely furnished rental condo. I should probably call Noles and tell her the news, only it’s the last thing she wants to hear. I’m not sure I should worry her for no reason, either.

  I kick through the main doors out to the lot where my baby is parked in the middle, few other cars here this early. I pull my foot up and step on the top of my driver’s side front tire and stretch the calf that’s just been stamped with approval. It hasn’t hurt in a while. It’ll hurt again. Practice is enough to knock me on my ass for a good two or three days.

  I switch legs and stretch the other muscle, then lean through the passenger window and grab my ear pods so I can go for a short run. I pop on the latest playlist Peyton sent me, and do my best not to sound like an old man in my head as I wonder why she likes this crap. Every song sounds the same, and the lyrics don’t mean shit. A mile in, I get to a few songs I know she likes because I introduced her to them. Back-to-back Eminem gets me to the middle of the downtown, and I start to jog where the shade falls from the buildings.

  A few people recognize me and give me head nods as I rush by the Starbucks. “They probably just think you’re a regular there,” I muse to myself. I turn down the alley I discovered last week and dip in to the greatest sandwich shop known to man, pulling my ear pods out at mile three and wiping the sweat from my forehead with the bottom of my T-shirt.

  “Usual, Reed?” the owner says. His name’s Tony, and his Italian beef is to die for.

  “Yes, sir,” I say as I pass through the kitchen and to the hallway for the restroom. A few fans have started to fill the joint, and I run into two or three guys who want to talk strategy with me at the urinal. Why conversations should happen here is beyond me.

  I give them my take on the Atlanta defense, which is probably dated, then turn my back a little when I feel their eyes wander a little too low. Not cool, dudes. Not cool.

  By the time I wash my hands and sign their jerseys—which are Duke Miller jerseys—Tony is waiting at the end of the hallway with my wrapped meal.

  “Here you go, Boss,” he says, his accent thick. He’s from Philly originally, which is why his food is so damn good.

  “Ahhh, I love you,” I say, taking my sandwich in my fist and pushing through the back door on the other end. Crates stack up to form makeshift tables. This is where Tony and his brothers eat between the lunch and dinner rushes. He lets me sit out here because I can’t really enjoy my meal with people constantly stopping in to get my commentary on the team. Sometimes, it’s guys who have followed me for years, and they want to relive the past. I don’t mind indulging when I have time, or at least, I don’t mind being nice. But when I’m hungry, I just want to fucking eat.

  I stuff half of the sandwich in my mouth within three bites and spend the next six minutes chewing and swallowing. The rumbles in my stomach quiet, and I pull my phone out to get up the courage for what I have to do next.

  I pick at the meat, taking a few small tastes while I open Nolan’s info and press CALL. She answers after a few rings, out of breath.

  “Hey, bad time?” I ask.

  “No, no…one of the horses got out. Kid got spooked. Or maybe he just thought it was time to set him free. I was talking to his mom, and he wandered over.” She breathes a few more times, loud enough that it rattles against the phone. “I’m good. Sorry.”

  “You chased a horse. You sure you’re all right?” I chuckle at the thought. I have a visual in my head to help. I’ve seen her do it twice, and once was my fault.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It was Paisley, and she’s slow.”

  I smile to myself, a little sad I missed it. Not because it was funny or anything, but just because I missed it and it’s familiar—home.

  “I talked to Jason.” I wait for a second as her breath normalizes and her throat makes a soft grunting sound.

  “Yeah?” She’s still pissed. She’s going to be hard to convince.

  “They’re in love, Noles.”

  My wife laughs so loud and hard that she starts to cough. I squint and brace myself for her knee-jerk reaction.

  “No, they’re not.”

  And there it is.

  “I said the same thing to him. I threw down the bullshit card, but he had an answer for it all. He didn’t bend or break. There wasn’t a joke to be found, or some dirty comment or crass thing he said about hookups. Have you talked to Sarah?”

  “I think she’s too embarrassed because they got caught. She hasn’t answered my text yet, and this is the first morning since I can’t even remember that she wasn’t scrounging for food in our fridge. This isn’t love, Reed. Your brother is good at bluffing, and maybe they’re caught up in the game of it. It’s new, ya know?”

  She’s going to be hurt when I tell her this.

  “Six months.”

  Sudden silence takes over the other end of the line, and I start to think I lost her when I hear her breathe out.

  “He got a ring, Noles.”

  “Wow,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

  “Right? That’s what I said.”

  “In love, huh?” She sounds sort of detached. I think she’s hurt that her best friend kept this from her. For a minute, I felt the same way when Jason told me, but I got his reasons. I would have been relentless. Maybe Sarah thought Nolan would have forbade it. She might have. Jason…he’s not easy. She would have wanted to protect her friend.

  “You can’t say anything about the ring. He has it all planned out, and I was sworn to secrecy, but me and you don’t have secrets.” I swallow my words too late. That right there is a lie, or at least, it has been. We did have secrets. Those hidden things are what got us into this place we are n
ow. She caught that, too, which is why she hasn’t answered.

  “Sorry,” I say finally, and she knows what for.

  “I won’t say anything,” she says. Her words are raspy, heavy with thought and double meaning.

  I’m no longer hungry; it has nothing to do with Tony’s food. I wrap the other half of my sandwich up, stand and raise my hand as I pass by the open doorway to gesture thanks to his brother as I pass. I need to walk for this next part of our conversation.

  “In other news…” That’s such a lame transition, and I scrunch my face and wish I’d brought sunglasses now that I’m moving along the main road. A few cars honk, and the number of OKC jerseys on the street is growing by the minute. I’m the famous has-been, which means I’ll be nice and always say “Sure, I’ll take a selfie.”

  “Hang on,” I say, while two drunk men in Atlanta jerseys sandwich me for a photo that I’m sure they’re going to hashtag with some unflattering shit later, but whatever.

  “Reed, you sound busy. It’s okay…”

  “No, no…” I excuse myself from the cluster of football fans starting to congregate near a beer garden and duck into a convenience store, weaving into the aisle that sells motor oil and paper towels.

  “I was out for a run, and it’s game day.” I glance around with relief when the store is virtually empty minus the steady stream of people buying beer. No wanderers; if I stay here, I’ll be fine.

  “Out for a run, huh?”

  I didn’t really mean to leave her a clue. I haven’t been running much, which I miss. I wouldn’t run, either…unless it was okay for me to.

  “Yeah,” I sigh, and let the silence fill in the blanks for a while. She’s not going to ask for details. There really aren’t many. If I give them to her, she’ll feel better.

  “Calf is all good to go. Not that it’s going to do much more than pace around behind Jenkins, nodding that he’s giving Duke good advice. Really, it’s just a formality that I’m quote-unquote healthy.” I end with a nervous laugh.

  “Yeah…yeah. I know. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it. I got used to injuries taking longer, I guess…” Her volume falls with those last few words, probably at the realization that I am always the one living with those injuries—living through them.

  “Anyhow. I just wanted to tell you before…”

  “Before I saw the ticker during pre-game or heard it come out of Terry’s mouth on TV?” She’s joking, but only partially.

  I laugh a short sound to acknowledge her.

  “I have a good part to this, though,” I start.

  “Reed, I’m glad you’re healthy. It’s good news,” she interjects.

  “I know. But…” I stop there, because we could do this back and forth all night. I’d miss my game standing here in the four-foot automotive aisle rehashing our guilt. I won’t. “The good news is I’m traveling to L.A. with the team. Backup quarterback duties and all. I thought maybe I could meet you in Santa Fe for the services and we could make a road trip together.”

  “That far…in the Jeep?”

  I laugh loudly this time, and I pop up from crouching down to make sure I didn’t blow my cover. One guy looks my direction, but he turns his attention right back to his phone. Cover intact.

  “We can take the Tahoe,” I say, a little sad because me, her and the Jeep have history. And if we take the Tahoe, she has to drive it to Santa Fe alone. I don’t want her to be alone on that stretch of highway.

  She hums, thinking about it for a few seconds, and finally agrees to my idea. It’s actually the first thing I thought about when Doc said I was cleared. It’s been years since I traveled anywhere far by road with her. This might just be our shot to right this ship.

  “How’s Peyton?” My chest hasn’t stopped twisting with this adolescent need for vengeance on her behalf. Nobody wants their kid to hurt, especially in their heart.

  “She’ll live,” Nolan says.

  “I can’t believe I liked that kid. I feel so…duped.”

  Nolan laughs softly.

  “You know…you weren’t exactly perfect either when you were that age.” There’s a wryness to her tone that cuts right into me.

  I sniffle and look down at my feet, then glance up again at the sound of the bell tied to the store door. If Bryce is anything like me, he’s feeling like shit right now. I wasn’t ignorant to the effects of my actions. I just lacked that little kick in my brain to stop me before I carried through with the bad ideas. I always felt guilty after. More than guilty—I felt unworthy. I wanted to punish myself, and protect her from me hurting her again.

  “Things I will spend a lifetime making up to you,” I say, dead serious.

  “You already have,” she answers.

  The heaviness in my chest says I still have a long way to go, though.

  “I gotta get your dad moving. Call me after the game?”

  I quirk my lip up in a half smile. I remember when she used to watch, not willing to miss a single move I made on that field. I thought for a while she took notes, because our late-night conversations included so many details. She knew every damn play I made. Nothing for her to watch anymore.

  “Tell him I miss him,” I say, adding “Love you.” She says it back, and a second later I’m standing by trash bags and wiper blades all alone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reed, Early Spring, Junior Year of High School

  This must be what real love feels like.

  Nolan’s body feels warm against my skin, the heat somehow radiating through our layers of sweatshirts. I wonder if other people on this bus are looking at us. I’ve never actually sat by myself during one of our track team bus trips. There’s always been a girl, and I think most of the people in our school think I just need someone. Maybe I do. This, though…it’s different.

  This isn’t needing someone. This is needing Nolan.

  She’s doing the cutest thing with her hands. She keeps bunching the front of my sweatshirt in her palms and squeezing it, like it’s a teddy bear or something. I love the way her knuckles feel when they press against my stomach. I just like feeling her close—the connection.

  Constant.

  I thrum my fingers along her arm and she shifts her head, tilting her chin up to look me in the eyes. I brush away her hair, tucking it behind her ear, and I spend the next few miles staring at her. She’s all shadows and reflections now that the sun has gone down. The moon is out enough to highlight the curve of her lips, the lift of her cheeks and the softness of her hands. I could ride around on this bus forever under this light. We’re surrounded yet all alone.

  Her forehead wrinkles, and I press my thumb along the small dent, trying to erase it. It makes her smile, but her lips flatten out again when I go back to stroking her hair.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  She bites at the inside of her cheek. This is how I can tell when she’s nervous.

  “Nothing,” she says. That’s a lie.

  She nuzzles into me more, hiding her face; I tickle her and make her giggle and move. When her lips are free, I bend down to kiss them. She tucks her chin, so I rest my head on hers and graze the tip of her nose with my mouth.

  “That doesn’t look like nothing,” I tease, but gently. “Come on, you can tell me. Just say it; you think I’m cute, don’t you!”

  I poke at her side again, but she doesn’t laugh as much this time.

  “You’re all right, I guess,” she says, rolling her eyes to make fun of me.

  “Hey, you’re no looker either, sister. We uglies have to stick together,” I shoot back, trying to maintain a serious face. I can’t keep my smile in check, though, and pretty soon it’s stretching across my face. When Nolan sticks her tongue out at me, I lift her enough to catch her in a kiss. It turns into more than just a short peck, the feel of her lips taking over my self-control. Every time I taste her, it’s like her mouth was meant for mine. There was never a moment of figuring out where we belonged. Our hands always knew where to go and ho
w to hold, and our bodies have been the same. Nolan just fits in all of my empty spaces.

  Our hands remain twined as our lips fall away, and I lean back in the seat while she rests in my lap, her legs curled up against the window—our own little paradise rolling down the road at sixty-five.

  I fall into the trance of our hands together, taking in the way they look—her skin against mine. Where she’s freckles and pale, I’m tan and strong. Her delicate fingers are cool to my warm, and all I want is never to let them go.

  “How many girls have you slept with?” Her question comes out of the blue, but in a way, I felt it burning in her. It’s been on her mind for a while, maybe since we met. At least since I dated Tatum.

  “Oh my God, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” She’s cupping her mouth with both hands and her eyes are wide. She wasn’t ready to ask me, but really…she deserves to know.

  I sweep her into a hug against my chest, letting out a nervous laugh.

  “You’re adorable, you know that?”

  I kiss against her hair and take a deep breath in, not wanting to talk about any of this. It hurts to share. I’m not proud, but I can’t take any of these things back that I’ve done. I thought I was making the right choices when I made them. I was fifteen…sixteen…seventeen. I was a teenaged boy in a locker room full of other teenaged boys all obsessed with losing our virginity, with bragging about it, with feeling satisfied and grown-up like a man, even though we couldn’t be farther from mature.

  “Four,” I say quickly. I feel a hammer hit my chest with the word.

  It hits Nolan, too. Her once-loose body has grown rigid in my hold, and her breath has paused. She’s staring at our hands, no longer moving.

  There’s no way she’ll be surprised by Tatum. She and I weren’t exactly quiet or discrete. She was my first, and she and I were about all of the wrong things. It wasn’t fair to her that I let our relationship go on that long. Even with the mistakes she made, she deserves better.

  “I’m not proud of it,” I say, nervous about this conversation. I don’t want Nolan to think less of me, to doubt us. “I would take all of them back if I could. You know that, right?”