by Lulu Pratt
While Tommy poured a whole water bottle over his head, I looked about for Jagger. Where was he?
Turns out, it doesn’t take too long to find a muscle-laden Marine in a room of civilians.
There he was, stationed by the sinks, looking like he’d barely broken a sweat.
“Fiona?” he said, his voice trailing up into a question as we made eye contact. “What are you doing in here?”
A few of the men turned to hear my answer.
I swallowed and forced a smile. “I just wanted to say you’re all doing a great job out there, really making me proud.”
“Well,” Chuck snorted, “Jagger is doing a great job. I dunno about the rest of us.”
Jagger shook his head. “Hey, this is a team effort.”
“Don’t be modest, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Come on, we’re all doing great. After all, it is tied,” Jagger reminded Chuck and the rest of the men.
Some of my classmates rolled their eyes, while others chose to simply close them in annoyance and exhaustion.
Enough of this. I made my way to the center of the locker room and climbed up on the bench, steadying myself as though it were a balance beam. The men glanced up at me, confused as to why I was standing like Moses on the mountaintop. Shit. I probably should’ve thought of something to say. Oh well — here went nothing.
“All right, boys!” I cried, drawing the attention of the ones who were a few rows over and goading them into the center space. “Wake up! You’re all playing a fucking excellent game out there, and I need you to hold your heads high and keep up the fight. You got wives and girlfriends, and maybe both—” that drew a laugh, “—out in that crowd, and it’s your job to do them proud. I want you to leave it all out on the field. Understood?”
There was a long, aching pause where I thought they might push me off the bench and dunk my head in the toilet like they used to do to Martie. But then:
“Aye aye, captain,” Jagger said, his mouth breaking into a grin. “And if you ever get bored of teaching, I think the military could use your skills.”
With an outpouring of relief and glee, the men broke into full-blown laughter, their voices filling the small, sweaty space. As they turned to one another, bolstering their spirits, Jagger made his way to me, placing his hands beneath my armpits and lifting me off the bench, planting my feet firmly on the floor.
“Thanks.”
His grin was unwavering. “Anytime.”
Shit, that mouth was irresistible. I just wanted to…
“Can I see you over by the accessible stall for a second?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
Not exactly the most romantic spot, but it’d have to do. The guys were too busy hyping each other up to notice me and Jagger slip out to the more secluded section of the locker room. The moment I knew we were alone, I tugged open the stall door and then took Jagger’s hand, dragging him in after me.
I slammed it shut behind us.
“What’s this all about?”
“Shut up,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him in for a long, greedy kiss.
He collapsed into my initiative at once, folding me into his arms and pressing me to his chest. Like a giddy schoolgirl, I wondered if we had time for a quickie before halftime was over.
But no, of course not.
With a deep, regretful sigh, Jagger broke the kiss and stepped back.
“We’re going back on the field any second.”
I straightened my shoulders. “If you play like that in the second half, there’s more where that came from,” I said, pointing at my lips.
His eyes glittered. “Like what?”
“Well,” I began, moving in closer again. “If you complete a pass, I’ll give you a kiss.” I planted a kiss on his mouth. “If you get a touchdown, I’ll give you a blowjob.” My hands moved down his chest, heading directly for his cock.
“And what if I win the game?” he asked, his breath coming shallow and fast.
“Then,” I murmured, “I’ll give you whatever you want.” My hand found his cock and I wrapped my fingers around it, immediately making him hard at my touch.
Jagger swallowed deeply. “Well, fuck. I guess I better get back out there.”
“That’s the spirit.”
With a pained look of regret in his eyes, he moved his arm around me to unlock the door. “Let’s go. I have a game to win.”
I grinned and spun around, flouncing out the door—
And right into Mason’s face. Great.
“Oh, hey Mason,” I spluttered, looking for words. “We were just, um—”
He held up a hand. “Say no more.”
Jagger had come up behind me, and I didn’t have to turn around to know that he too was beet red.
Of all the people we could’ve encountered, why did it have to be Mason? He was a fellow teacher at Mountain View Elementary School — hence one of the reasons he’d been made a team captain. It was bad enough being caught with your pants proverbially down by a former classmate — did he also have to be a colleague?
But sweet, innocent Mason didn’t look perturbed. He just said, “Thanks for lifting the men’s spirits, Fiona.” I might’ve thought he was referring to my little speech, but then he winked, and I knew that it was friendly innuendo for Jagger and me leaving the stall together.
“Just doing my part for the troops,” I joked awkwardly, still feeling Jagger’s body heat radiate against mine, the imprint of his cock on my hand.
“Too bad you’re leaving town, Fiona. We’ll miss that kind of, ah, go-get-’em spirit around here.” Mason laughed and strolled back around the corner.
Jagger went stone cold next to me.
In a low, steely voice, he asked, “You’re leaving town?”
Fuck.
Chapter 10
JAGGER
“FIONA, ARE you leaving town?” I repeated the question, unable to believe my ears.
Slowly, Fiona turned to me, eyes downcast.
She nodded. “I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you. The time just never seemed right.”
Listen, I’m good in tense situations. My parents went through a brutal divorce. I don’t speak to my sister. Hell, I’m a goddamn Marine. I know how to handle fucking conflict.
But, for the first time in a very, very long time, I felt my temper getting the better of me. The angry Jagger, the one who I hated, was beginning to appear.
“Why are you leaving?” I demanded, knowing full well that it wasn’t my business especially considering that I myself had been out of town for the last five years.
A stray piece of red hair fell in front of her face like a small curtain, and she didn’t bother to push it back.
“I’ve gotten an offer in Ridgerton. It’s at a private school, so it’s more money,” she said. “I can’t live on my salary here. I mean, nobody is living lavish in Mountain View, but I’m having to scrape to make basic ends meet. And I don’t want to quit teaching — it’s my calling. But I need to put food on the table. Especially if one day I want to have a… have a… well, you know, a family.”
She turned her face to the wall, clearly so ashamed. I wanted to hug her, to say that she had nothing to apologize for, to tell her that she deserved to be paid more. Instead, I found myself absolutely speechless with hurt.
Fiona had let me fall for her, knowing full well that there was no future for us. Wasn’t that some kind of torture? Guantanamo Bay didn’t hold a candle to this.
“You could’ve told me sooner,” I said through a strangled throat, barely forming the words as I tried to rein in my emotions.
“I thought what we were doing — I thought this was casual,” she admitted.
Casual. God, that fucking stung. Whether or not I’d said it aloud, I assumed we both knew that the feelings between us were deep. We had a history. And the sex, that was just the culmination of something that had been bubbling for years.
Apparently, I had been on a very,
very different page. There’s nothing so mortifying as realizing that someone you like apparently doesn’t feel the same way. Or at least, not strongly enough to warn you before you dive headlong into heartbreak.
Fiona, I guess trying to fill the dead air, continued, “This game is my last event with Mountain View. I’ll be in town for a little while longer, but I need to move to Ridgerton before the school year starts, to get settled and all that.”
“So just until the end of summer,” I intoned, forcing my voice into dispassion. “That’s how long you’ll be here.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry, Jagger.”
“But—”
My sentence was interrupted by a shout from Mason that came from a few rows over.
“Boys, halftime is over, let’s get back on the field and kick some ass.”
As the sound of cleats hitting the floor filled my ears, I turned back to Fiona. “How could you not tell me?”
Tears sprung into her eyes, a picture so at odds with the sounds of men whooping and hollering in the background.
“I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered.
I couldn’t help myself. “Too late.”
She sucked air in through her teeth. My work here was done.
I stumbled away from Fiona, out of the bathroom area, past the lockers and benches and out of the door, falling in step with the herd of my classmates. Yes, there was safety in numbers, in the smell of sweat and the quiet of pure concentration. In a group, I wasn’t one man, with only one heart to be broken — I was merely a piece of the puzzle, playing my part in the bigger picture. I could turn my mind off and move with the pack.
Before I had totally wrapped my head around the Fiona situation, I was suddenly back in the middle of the field, greeted once again by thousands of people cheering my name.
If only you knew, I thought bitterly, that I’m a fool. A romantic idiot who can’t keep from falling for the very people who could hurt him the most. I’m not your star, I’m not your hero. I’m just a fool.
But even if I screamed that aloud, nobody would hear me over the din of the crowd. I was exactly who these people needed me to be, and I couldn’t let them down. If they saw the man I was, they wouldn’t be able to ever see the soldier again.
And, despite everything that had just happened, when I looked to my right once more, Fiona was back in her same seat, sitting primly, hands crossed in her lap, as though nothing had ever happened. Notably absent from her side was Jolie, who I had faintly hoped might return for the second half, after her temper had time to cool. Though, in fairness, we were related, so I knew full well the extent and potential longevity of her anger.
My mind was still elsewhere when, much to my surprise, the ball came flying to me.
Had I blinked and missed something? Because the next thing I knew, my fingers became uncharacteristically slippery, and much to my horror, I fumbled the pass, dropping the ball straight on the ground.
This had never happened to me before. I had the alien feeling of a man who’d just lost his erection in the middle of sex. A metaphor perhaps too apt, considering my encounter with Fiona.
A few of my teammates gathered around me as we repositioned on the 30-down.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Carl said, squeezing me on the shoulder. “Happens to the best of us.”
Not to me, I thought acidly. I didn’t fumble. Or rather, I fumbled shitty passes. That pass was undeniably perfect, without a wayward angle to its arch. That had been completely, entirely my fault.
I wish I could say it got better from there. But one play after another, I miscalculated running distances, made the wrong passes and generally fucked up. It was clear that the crowd was starting to tire of my antics — you can sense when thousands of people are turning to their neighbors and whispering ‘Has he lost his touch?’ It feels like a rising susurration in the air, a low burning static of doubt.
My teammates, meanwhile, were still trying to bolster my spirits, even as I saw the hope dying in their eyes. The opposing team scored one touchdown, then another. We were screwed. God, I wanted to show up, and play to the best of my ability, but I was so in my head there was no returning to my body. All I could think about was Fiona. I didn’t smell the grass — I smelled her. I didn’t see the plays — I saw her lips, curving into a smile. I didn’t touch the ball — I touched her iridescent skin.
The whistle blew, announcing an end to the third quarter — finally.
We rounded up on the side of the field, and I barely listened as Mason tried to cheer us up — I was trying not to look in Fiona’s direction. She would be so ashamed of me, I knew, and yet, I still wanted to see her face. What was that about? Love, maybe.
Love.
Had I really just thought that?
My mind began to race. All these years, I’d known there was something between us, something bigger than my sister and high school and Little Lane. I’d thought maybe it was just the leftover hormones of my teenage years, but now, even in this short time of reencountering one another, I knew that it couldn’t be chalked up to anything so simple. There was a part of me that fit perfectly into a part of her and it wasn’t just my cock. And even if we couldn’t be together, I could leave her on a happier note.
As much as I wanted to throw the game, to walk off the field and call up my commander, say that I was ready to go on another tour at once, another part of me knew this would likely be the last time Fiona saw me. After all, there weren’t any other Mountain View events scheduled, and she said she’d be moving before the end of summer. How much more time did that leave us? A few weeks, at most? And given how I’d reacted in the locker room, I couldn’t exactly see her reaching out and making an effort to connect. No, that’d be too painful for the both of us.
I had to play the rest of this game for her, like she was the only one watching. Because, for all intents and purposes, she was.
Our huddle broke up, and we returned to our positions for the fourth quarter. An eerie calm settled over my body, relaxing my muscles, unclenching the knots in my chest.
I could do this.
With a shuddering finality, I drew the cage of my helmet down and pivoted to face forward, stretching my calves as I prepared to run. I would make her proud.
The whistle blew again. The game was on.
And suddenly, it was all okay again. I was moving faster than I ever had before, faster than I moved even on the battlefield. Without the weight of my normal pads, I was a lightning bolt. I made every catch, completed every pass. Maybe it was because I no longer played for the town, or even my team — I played for Fiona.
In no time at all, I’d scored two touchdowns. They came to me as easily as breathing, as though this were merely a family football game after a family gathering, played with the little cousins and a small football to fit their tiny hands. I was in my element.
The crowd returned to my side once more, cheering me on with double their earlier vigor. From somewhere in the distance, I was certain I could make out Fiona’s voice screaming, “Go, Jagger, go!”
Or maybe I just heard what I needed to hear. Either way, I was on fire.
There were two minutes left in the game, and we lined up the play. Before we called, “hup!” I turned to Fiona once more, and gave her the smallest of nods. She inclined her head likewise.
I could do this.
Mason threw the ball my way, and without thinking, I caught it and ran. I ran using all the burning energy from my emotional upheaval, my feet carried by the wind of my anger, my hurt, my confusion. I was running from my heart.
I didn’t even know I’d scored a touchdown until I heard the screams of excitement, and felt myself being lifted onto my teammates’ shoulders.
Chapter 11
FIONA
BEFORE I COULD fully consider what I was doing, I’d hopped the barricade, landed on the field and ran to the men.
“You did it!” I shrieked, running headlong into the conglomerate of my classmates
who were already tearing up the field with their stamping feet, shouting victory.
Let ‘em fuck up the field. What did I care? After all, it was my last day here. I’d proven that I could run this esteemed game. I’d left my colleagues on a high enough note that, should anyone from Ridgerton call, I would be well-reviewed all around. In short, my work here was done. I looked around, thinking perhaps there was Champagne to be sprayed.
Suddenly, I was being lifted into the air on the backs of Jay and Kent.
“What are you doing! Put me down!” I cried, grasping at their shoulders for support.
I couldn’t hear them laugh, but I felt it in the way their hands vibrated against my body.
My other classmates were swelling beneath me, helping the boys lift me up higher and higher, until I was so high I could see — Jagger.
Across from me, on another swarm of shoulders, was Jagger. I’d caught him mid-laugh — his face was now frozen into an expression of joy that was sucked dry of any real warmth.
I tapped Kent’s shoulder softly. “Please, put me down now.”
It must have been my quietness that alerted him to the fact that it really was time to set me on my feet. Slowly, I was lowered to the ground. I hugged the men around me, mostly as an excuse to turn my back on Jagger, congratulating them on a game well played.
“Don’t tell us, tell Jagger,” someone joked. “He’s the real superstar.”
Yeah, I knew that. But how could I explain Jagger didn’t want my damn thanks?
As the crowds drained out of the stadium, some of the men around me slowly started to filter away, begging off to go see their families and promising to meet everyone in the parking lot for the Fourth of July cookout. Run by Jolie, I thought with scant amusement.
The cries of celebration began to die down around me, and when I finally turned back in Jagger’s direction, I realized that we were some of the last few people left in the stadium.
He was still receiving pats on the back from other townspeople, old folks and young children who hadn’t seen him in years or in the case of the babies, even met him before. Jagger was greeting them all with a firm handshake or even a hug, his muscles flexing every time he took someone into his grasp. He was in his element — humbly accepting gratitude was clearly a thing he did on a daily basis.
