by L A Cotton
And this morning, when I finally dragged myself out of bed, my muscles sore and bones bruised, Mom seemed in good spirits. She’d even made us all breakfast. It was nice. Normal.
It was just like old times.
“You need anything else, you just give me a shout, okay?”
“I could use a good hard—” Mackey started but Sara cut him off. “You come back and see me when you’re twenty-one, hot stuff.” She winked, giving him a little smile before sauntering off, putting extra sass in her step.
Mackey sank back against his chair and groaned. “What I wouldn’t pay to ride that.”
“Sara’s hot but she doesn’t fuck football players,” Asher said, squirting ketchup all over his meal. “Not even QB One, isn’t that right, Jase?”
“She’s got too much of a smart mouth for me. I like my women to talk less and suck more.”
“Yeah,” Mackey added. “But imagine what she can do with those pouty lips.” A goofy expression came over him and Grady leaned over, hitting him upside the head. “Get your mind out of the gutter. We have a game to focus on.”
“Dude, we just kicked Marshall’s ass last night. I think we’re allowed a little downtime.”
“Fucking sophomores,” someone grumbled.
“I heard that.”
“Chill,” Jase said to Mackey as he cut his Bell’s Special Burger in half. The thing was just too damn big to try to eat whole. “We get it, you’re amped, but Kaiden is right, the only thing you need to be focusing on is the next game, and the one after that, right up until week ten. Got it?”
“Got it,” Mackey grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I can’t look though, right?” His eyes slid back to where Sara was serving another table.
Jase and I shared an amused look. We knew how it was: the raging hormones, the buzz of being gods amongst men. In a town like Rixon, making Varsity was a badge of honor that opened doors: to colleges, to girls, to a free pass for screwing up every now and again. But it also came with expectation and pressure. Expectation to be the best; to work hard and give your all. Joel Mackey might not have understood it now, but after a season under Coach Hasson and his team, he would. Those guys broke you down until you were nothing but blood and bone and then pieced you back together until you were hardened, inside and out. Until no team—no matter how big or strong or aggressive—was a threat. Rixon High’s football program built warriors. Molded young men full of heart and grit and determination. As Coach Hasson liked to remind us every chance he got, ‘great men aren’t born, they’re made’.
And Rixon High only made the best.
But there was no denying that sometimes it was a heavy burden to shoulder. And blowing off a little steam now and again was the only way to push through.
“So, Jase,” Grady piped up. “What’s the plan for Rivals Week?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” The wicked glint in my best friend’s eyes had my attention.
“Oh, come on. It’s only two weeks away; you can tell us.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“But it’ll involve a little trip across the river, am I right?”
“We should hit their place, tag some Vikings on their field house,” Kaiden said.
“Or hack their social media accounts and troll the shit out of them.” Mackey grinned, clearly impressed with his own idea.
“Speaking of which, Thatcher is talking smack on Twitter again.” Kaiden held up his cell phone. “Check this crap out.” He handed Jase his cell and the two of us scanned the screen.
* * *
@ThatcherQB1: What’s black and blue and broken all over? The Raiders after we get a hold of them #comingforyou #rivalsweek
* * *
Jase tensed beside me. “He’s a fucking idiot.”
“If he keeps this up,” Kaiden said, taking back his cell. “Their Coach will have to step in. Snapchat is one thing, but Twitter is a whole other beast.”
“Don’t sweat it. Come two weeks time, the only tweet he’ll be sending is: hashtag it hurts.”
The guys all howled with laughter, but I couldn’t help but wonder what Jason had up his sleeve.
And if I even wanted to know.
An hour later, we’d moved over to the pool table. “Chase, you’re up.” Grady motioned for me to take my shot just as my cell phone vibrated.
“Hang on,” I said, retrieving it from my pocket. “It’s my dad. I’ll be right back.” Going into the hall leading to the restrooms, I hit answer. “Dad?”
“Hey, Son.” He sounded weary, his voice flat and empty. Worlds away from the guy I’d left at home earlier.
My senses went on high alert. “Is everything—”
“It’s your mom, she…” My stomach plummeted as his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, forcing out the words, “I hate to call you when you’re out with the guys, but we could really use you here. Xander is—”
“I’ll be right there, Dad.” Dread flooded me. Dad rarely called. If he did, it was usually because Katie couldn’t watch Xan. So the fact he’d called on a Saturday night when I was with the team… I knew it was bad.
Asher found me staring at my cell phone. “Everything okay?”
“I’m not sure.” I shoved it in my pocket, scrubbing a hand down my face. “He needs me back at the house.”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah, I think so.” My mind was shooting off in a hundred different directions trying to figure out what could have possibly happened.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry. Is there anything you—”
“No, it’s all good. I’m sure it’s fine. Xander probably got upset again.” Asher knew more than most about my mom and her mood swings. It’s why I stayed over at his place sometimes when things got too intense at home.
Four years ago, when Mom found she was pregnant with Xander, things were tough for a while. She and Dad weren’t ready to be parents again. I was fourteen and my life already revolved around football, and they were my biggest supporters, never missing a single game. After my brother was born, Mom struggled. Doctors said she had postpartum depression. Dad took some time off to help around with the house and with my baby brother. With some medication and therapy, things improved and by the time Xander turned one, it looked like Mom was returning to her normal self.
But she never did, not really.
And we’d been watching her battle her own mind ever since.
“Tell Jase—”
“Tell Jase what?” He appeared in the hall, his brows bunched, arms folded over his chest.
“My dad needs me back at the house.”
“Again?” He didn’t even bother schooling his disapproval.
“Yeah, it’s my mom…”
“I thought she was doing better?” I winced at the harshness in his voice. But I couldn’t totally blame him for his lack of compassion. It wasn’t like I went around broadcasting my family’s issues, and Mom and Dad kept themselves to themselves these days. It was a sensitive subject; one Mom didn’t want everyone to know about.
“She’s doing okay, but something must have happened. I need to go.” I went to move around him, but his hand shot out, pressing against my chest.
“You sure everything’s okay?” His eyes searched mine and I wanted to believe he cared, that he wasn’t just worried this was going to be a distraction for me. For the team.
“Yeah, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.” We liked to hit the gym Sundays, over at Asher’s house. “Just do me a favor, yeah?”
“Anything,” he said.
“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
The corner of Jase’s mouth lifted while Asher snickered. “Would we ever?”
I shot them both a hard look, hoping they would heed my warning, before slipping down the hall and out the back entrance, not wanting to face a barrage of questions from the guys.
I wanted to believe Dad when he said Mom was getting better, that this new doctor was positive he could help, but we’d been here
too many times over the last three years. Every time her mood stabilized, and she started feeling like herself again, another wave of migraines, lethargy, and anxiety would strike. And every time it happened, the severity of her mood swings worsened. Sometimes it only lasted a few days, other times it went on for weeks. It’s why, in the end, Dad hired Katie to watch Xander. He needed to go back to work, and I had school and football. I offered to help out more, to drop practice and prioritize my family, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Neither of them would. Football was my ticket to college, my future. It didn’t stop the guilt though. I carried it with me like a permanent weight in my chest.
Deep down, I think it’s why things felt different this year. I was a senior now, playing in my final season. If everything went to plan, I would be leaving for college next summer; leaving Dad to raise Xander and look after Mom. I knew they didn’t want me to put my life on hold, but I wasn’t a kid anymore. And I couldn’t help but wonder if now was the time I needed to step up and take more responsibility at home.
My house was only a few blocks over from Bell’s and before I knew it, I was pulling into the driveway. It was late, almost nine-thirty. Xander should have been asleep by now dreaming of puppy-heroes and talking race cars, but something had obviously happened. With a heavy heart, dread knotting my stomach at the thought of what I’d find inside, I climbed out and made my way up to the house.
“Hey,” I called out, closing the door behind me. “It’s me.”
“We’re in here,” Dad’s voice filtered down the hall and I followed it into the living room. He sat in the armchair with Xander curled up in his lap. My little brother’s eyes peeked open and he smiled. “Ameron is ome.”
“Hey, buddy, come here.” I crouched down, opening my arms. He leaped off Dad’s lap and waddled over to me, his little legs moving as fast as they could. Scooping him up, I studied his face. He’d been crying, his eyes puffy and sore. My gaze flicked over his shoulder and Dad grimaced, running a hand down his face.
“What’s up, little dude?”
“Mama ade me ry.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” I ruffled his hair as he buried his face into my shoulder. “How about I tuck you in bed and finish that story we started the other night?”
Xan nodded, refusing to loosen his grip on my neck. “Come on then, buddy. Bedtime story it is.” I carried the little man up to his room, wrestling him out of my arms and into his bed.
“You want a story?”
His lips pressed together as he dropped his sleepy eyes. Fuck, seeing him like that twisted something inside me. “Hey, Xan,” I kneeled at the side of his bed, pulling the covers up around his little body. “Mom loves you. You know that, right?”
He peeked out at me from under his mop of brown hair. “I ow.”
“Sometimes she’s just not very good at showing it, buddy.” I stroked his hair, moving it off his face so I could see his eyes. “But she loves you so much and I’m pretty sure you’re her favorite little man, always will be.”
“Eah?” His eyes lit up. “She ove me.”
“That’s right, she does. She’ll make it up to you, okay?” She always did, whether it was ice cream at Ice T’s or taking him to the park. On her good days, Mom found ways to erase all the not-so-good days from my little brother’s mind.
“Kay, Ameron.” He yawned, closing his eyes and snuggling into his pillow.
“Okay, buddy. Get some sleep.” I dropped a kiss on his head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Xander was asleep in seconds. I tucked him in and creeped out of his room, pulling the door closed. I checked in on Mom, but she was sleeping too, her expression serene as if her dreams were the only place she found solace these days. The thought strangled my heart.
Before falling pregnant with Xander, Mom had been so full of life, my biggest supporter. It was hard to resent the little guy because I loved him something fierce. But sometimes, when she missed another game or forgot to ask how practice was, I couldn’t help but wish for things to be how they used to be. Before she got sick.
Downstairs, I found Dad in the kitchen, nursing a glass of whiskey. “How bad was it?” I asked.
“I’m not going to lie, Son, I’m worried.” His eyes shuttered as he inhaled deeply. “I’ve never seen her like that before, she was….” The pain in his voice broke me and I went to him, pulling him into my arms.
“It’s going to be okay, Dad.” I squeezed him tight, but as I said the words, I didn’t know if I believed them. We’d been clinging onto the hope Mom was going to be okay for so long, I don’t think either of us had really ever stopped to consider the alternative.
What if she wasn’t?
Chapter Fifteen
Hailee
Two hours into the party and we’d managed to blend. Toby and Jude kept our cups filled and the conversation flowing. It was refreshing being incognito; hanging out with people who didn’t know me or my tenuous link to the Raiders. And when Toby had inched closer to me, his arm brushing mine, I didn’t retreat. He was nice. He wasn’t like his cousin and his jock friends who were busy playing beer pong outside while half-naked girls splashed around in the Olympic-sized pool desperately vying for their attention.
“This is fun, right?” Flick made a beeline for me when the guys disappeared.
“Yeah.” I smiled, taking another drink from my cup. It was only punch, the bitter aftertaste of liquor barely noticeable.
“Toby is cute.” She grinned. “Shame he’s the cousin of the Eagles QB.”
“Hush,” I hissed, scanning the kitchen for any signs of him. “They can’t know who I am, not yet.”
“And if they find out?” She gave me a disapproving glance.
“They won’t.”
Flick looked ready to argue when explosions rang out around us. People started screaming and all hell broke loose. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me down behind the counter as blood pounded between my ears.
“What the hell is that?” Flick trembled as the loud pops continued to rain down on the house. “Gunshots?” She shrieked.
“No way,” I said, breathlessly, my heart lodged in my throat. It was Rixon East, people didn’t get shot here. But it sure as hell sounded like a gun fight.
“Motherfuckers,” someone roared, and a group of guys in red and white jerseys rushed through the kitchen and out of the back door. The air smelled like bonfire, a smoky haze hanging in the air as I peeked over the top of the counter.
Flick gripped my arm. “Hails, what the—”
“Do you really think they would be out there if it was gun fire?”
“It’s firecrackers,” someone said, and my head whipped around to a guy who was moving closer to the windows. “My brother uses them all the time.”
More people came into the kitchen, curiosity getting the better of them. I shrugged Flick off and went to the back door.
“Hailee, what the—” I pushed it open and stepped outside. The noise had stopped now but there was a group of guys fighting on the Thatchers’ sprawling lawn.
“Oh, shit,” someone yelled. “Fight.”
People streamed out of the house eager to see whatever was going down. But when my eyes landed on Jason and Asher in amongst the brawl, I gasped. “Jason, what the hell?”
My step-brother’s eyes snapped to mine just as one of the Rixon East guys landed a punch right on his jaw. His head snapped back, blood spraying into the air. “Jason!” My voice rang out across the yard as I pushed my way through the growing crowd.
“Wait,” Toby said from somewhere behind me. “You know him?”
“Something like that,” I murmured, watching as Jason fought off two guys while Asher got a handle on the third. “He’s my step-brother.” My voice was quiet as I forced out the words.
“Oh, shit,” he said scrubbing his jaw. “I had no idea.”
Why would he?
Jason lived in the limelight, not me. And he was a Ford, where I was a Raine. Unless you knew us, you
would never put one and one together and come up with two.
The guys were circling one another now, the crowd amped up and bloodthirsty. One of the guys advanced on Jason but I yelled, “Stop.”
Without thinking, I rushed into the circle and stood in front of him, using myself as a shield. “Move, Raider bitch,” the guy spat, a nasty bruise forming around his eye. “Before I—”
“Back off, Thatcher, that’s my sister. Do you really want to start something you know we’ll finish?”
The guy—Lewis Thatcher—glared at me, his eyes sparking with interest as he rubbed his jaw. He was a mean looking guy: tall, built, with sharp eyes, and short spiked hair. But I was stuck on the part where Jason had called me his sister.
He’d never called me his sister before, not unless it came hand in hand with an insult.
“You’ve got five minutes to get the fuck out of here.” Lewis Thatcher’s shoulders relaxed as he stepped back, his friends doing the same.
“Flick?” I beckoned for her to come to me as she stood on the edge of the crudely formed circle, tears collecting at the corners of her eyes. “Let’s go,” I said, wrapping an arm around her.
Jason wiped his mouth. He looked wild, his eyes simmering with anger, blood smeared over his lip, hair disheveled. Asher didn’t look much better. The two of them tipped their heads at Lewis Thatcher and his friends before slowly backing up. “Hailee, you and Felicity go wait down by Asher’s Jeep.”
“But—”
“Now, Hailee.”
I flinched at the severity in his tone and Flick started pulling me away. “Come on, Hails,” she said shakily. “We should go.”
I glanced back to see Jason and Asher still facing off with the Rixon East guys. Surprised by the sheer relief I felt when they began to follow us.
We reached Asher’s Jeep, parked on the street under the cover of shadows. “Get in,” he said. “It’s unlocked.”
