by Leanne Davis
Tara nods. “He’s right. You two wandering souls can crash here now, tomorrow, forever, as far as we’re concerned.”
“Only if the damn house rules are followed. If I have to obey them, so do they.” Wyatt warns.
I nod and blink when my tears, such a rarity for me, clog up my eyes and sinuses. “Of course. Of course, thank you. Thank you… you can’t know how…”
“Oh, yes, we know.” Wyatt winks. “Freaking heroes. I told you.”
He makes things much easier. He can be difficult, too: sullen, serious, and intense. Then he flips and starts kidding, making everything less awkward. The decisions and pronouncements are not so hard to accept or process with a tad of humor. I nod, wiping my face and agreeing, “That you guys are.”
Wesley puts his hand on my shoulder. Our gazes meet, and his smile is as sincere as mine. “Yeah. Tara and Ryder are. Wyatt? Still a huge pain in the ass.”
Wyatt laughs, breaking the tension of the moment, and I wipe my face as I nod in agreement. “So, totally a pain in the ass. But thank you, Tara and Ryder.” I look each one of them in the eye as I say their names. No other adults have ever been so solid, stable, nice, or respectful to me. Dani and Wyatt are proof this isn’t a con job or just for today. It seems to be a favored lifestyle for these people.
“You’re welcome. But mostly you’re welcome to stay here and live and just be.”
“And try to convince Wesley to see about getting his high school diploma equivalency.”
“I will. I swear.” We exchange smiles and Ryder gets to his feet. “Come on, Wesley.”
Wyatt hums the theme song from Cops again as Ryder and Wesley scowl before walking out the door. Everyone cracks up once the door is shut. I never expected to experience such a feeling in my life. It’s so good. I feel wonderful. I laughed, and I bonded, and I felt accepted, something that never happened before. It’s like what I imagine a family should be.
Dani comes behind me and gives my shoulders a squeeze. “It’s real. You’re not imagining it, and it’s not disappearing.”
I set my hand on the one that squeezes my shoulder and barely nod. I’m too choked up to articulate my response.
Chapter 5
JACEY
Wyatt is correct. I see his parents, both sets of grandparents, his aunt Chloe and uncle Chet, along with their eight-year-old twin boys, and Dani and Wesley. Everyone attends his first game. I guess I didn’t have to ask if I could go or make such a big deal out of it to join them. It’s strange for me to suddenly be included or to assume I will be.
We meet up and enter the stadium. It’s large and new. Crowds mill about, their voices loud and raucous. I never went to any of my high school games. To be fair, I attended five different high schools, which wasn’t exactly conducive to establishing school pride, spirit, or involvement in extracurricular activities. I skipped all the pep rallies and half my classes. But this? Wow. These people are so into this. An entire section of students are wearing school colors. They have jerseys on and painted faces. Cheerleaders do their thing and the crowd numbers in the thousands. Seeing the adults just as loud, painted up and full of cheers is a surprise to me.
All because the whole town came out to watch two teams of college boys run, kick, and catch a ball? Their love for sports escapes me. I have no affinity for it. And never any real exposure to it. With few positive influences to shape my youth, teams like this were nothing to fuss over. I once had sex with two football players, but that was because I wanted to get back at one guy who dated a girl that I detested. And yeah, that was long before my meetings began with Rachel.
I follow behind Dani and plop down on the frigid, metal bench. Oh. The cold night makes my teeth chatter. The coolness of the metal instantly chills my jean-clad butt. No wonder most of the grandmas, as well as Tara, bring pillows or blankets. They know how to be comfortable.
And the band! The band drums and blows on their horns, flutes, tubas and whatever else creates the sound. I surprise myself by how much it motivates me. I, who never participated in anything and never grew anxious or excited with anticipation of the moment. The team, which I assume is Wyatt’s, owing to the colors of the uniforms, comes out onto the field in a line underneath the cheerleaders’ arms as they shake their pom-poms furiously. I roll my eyes at the gauntlet of studs trotting out to the field under a rim of pom-poms. But when Wyatt appears last, the place goes nuts. Everyone stands up to cheer, roar, and clap. People jump up and down in place where they are as if the excitement of seeing WYATT is too much to contain. Yeah, wow. Never being a fan of anything, I look at some of the more zealous fans with a silent, are you crazy?
It’s wild and surreal. I watch all the people cheering so much for the guy I was just sitting quietly on a park bench with. I failed to realize I was sitting next to a rock star.
Wyatt is nice. Yes. But I sense a reserved side in him that kept him in a state of hands-off to me. I might have dared to try and seduce him, if anything were different in his demeanor or suggested he could feel that way about me. I’m so intimidated by all his fame and glory, that I can’t imagine making a move on Wyatt. Asking him a simple question makes me all but hyperventilate. Going on that jog with him sucked up all my attitude, otherwise I couldn’t have pulled it off. But this? Yeah, nothing less than stardom.
How does Wyatt manage to stay as calm and steady as he is? How does he keep his ego in check? As God’s gift to women, and the school, and his parents, and the general community, does he really deserve so much singular attention and accolades? I’m sure I would be insufferable if I ever commanded so much cheering, attention and fans who fell all over me. I’d feel lucky if two people cheered for me, and I’d probably start strutting around as if I were on a Paris catwalk. Wesley is the only one that ever praised me so I can’t relate to this level of admiration.
If I received the attention Wyatt did, I’d surely hyperventilate and pass out. I’d also detest it and never learn how to handle it. It makes Wyatt suddenly seem more distant. How could we ever find something in common now? What can we talk about? I’m glad I didn’t have a clue about this the first time I met him. I might have fawned all over him and found him extraordinarily hot. Sure, I have eyes. I saw his ripped muscles, the corded neck, and the t-shirt that bunched and caught over his tightly drawn skin, stretched by unusually large muscles. But this kind of popularity? I’d be tongue-tied and have to avoid him for sure.
Dani leans over as the cheers become deafening after Wyatt’s entrance onto the field. She doesn’t whisper. It’s so damn loud, why bother? “Hard to picture the Wyatt you know commands this kind of attention, huh?”
“He might as well be a rock star down there.”
“Yeah. It was like this in high school even. I used to pinch myself when he spoke my name.”
“I can’t imagine this swayed you in wanting to be with him.”
“No. It was because of everything besides this.”
“Did you like it, though? Just a little? It must be a pretty big kick to be the girl of the most popular guy in the whole town. The envy of thousands, including all the men who want to be him and all the women who want to ride him.”
Dani cracks up laughing. “Never quite thought about it that much, I guess. It’s just not something I spent my time thinking about. Maybe I kept him from appreciating it. Or maybe I assisted him in becoming the hero he should be, by not indulging it. I don’t know. I could see where it could get unhealthy. Ugh, if his ego were inflated by all of this, I wouldn’t be here, not even as his friend.”
“Maybe he should do some of that. You know, partying and girl-chasing just to see if he likes it, now that you two aren’t together.”
“Well, I certainly won’t try to stop him. And there will be a ridiculous number of opportunities for it.”
We tune back into the game during the coin toss, which they win. Wyatt is on. I strain to see his team number. Three. I wonder why he wears that number. It must mean something to a guy like him. My h
eart starts to pound. The crowd cheers and jeers until the noise is deafening. The band plays, and everyone undulates in another wave. Oh, the excitement is too much. I don’t like being so invested in the star player or his performance. I am not ready for Wyatt. All I hope is that he wins. I hope that every single play he tries will go perfectly his way. I also hope he will not screw up. I want him to be perfect. And not get hit like some of the other guys. I cringe and shut my eyes as I cover my mouth while seeing helmets crashing together, bodies turning in ways nature never intended, and painful falls to the ground. I can’t stand it.
I have no idea what’s going on or how the game is played. Apparently, Wyatt has to send the ball down the field to his players. Then that changes, and I know nothing else. Everyone holds their breaths when he releases his first football toss: a high, arching, spinning throw that is successfully caught by someone wearing his team colors. A thunderous roar erupts from the stadium. Is that the skill he described so poetically?
I learn the game purely by the reaction of the crowd. I cheer when they do and stay quiet when they groan or blame the referee. It’s pretty stressful. There are some bad calls. Unfair, I guess, judging by Ryder and Kyler’s reaction. Wesley is as clueless as me. He mans up and pretends he understands it. I’m so invested that the beating of my heart races. I don’t understand the strategy, but I like watching the man I know. I only have eyes for number three when he’s on field. I stare at him not only during the times he’s playing, but also the times when he’s cheering from the sidelines. He behaves better than many of the other players. Calm and controlled, he sets an example as the leader I’m sure he is. Unlike me, a spectator in the stands, Wyatt stands out among thousands while I more or less hide. Never have I taken the spotlight in any of my attempts to accomplish anything positive, whether it be in a game or life in general.
I suddenly realize how worn out I feel. By the time the final play happens, and the time runs out during the fourth quarter (I guess), Dani yells, “We won! Wyatt won!” But only barely. A well-placed field goal actually won it, which isn’t Wyatt’s specialty, I learn. He’s strictly offense. The gist of the sport finally sinks into my brain: the defense tries to block the other team. The teams switch back and forth, playing defense and offense, depending on whoever is carrying the ball. The brain-crushing part? How many different ways they can switch the ball.
And the crowd in the stands vacillates between loud and head-splitting. Their incessant cheers, screams, and stomps warn me I’ll be hoarse tomorrow. The players go crazy on the field with all their hugging and back-slapping. Big guys, all alpha, oversized sport-jocks touch, hug, cheer, and celebrate like a family, all together.
The bleachers start to empty out, and we can make our way down the wide steps. I follow Wyatt’s family when they fan out and spread like a puddle on a paper towel towards the field until we get closer to him. Wyatt’s the man of the minute, the hour, the night, the entire weekend, I presume. Everyone hugs, high-fives, kisses him on the cheek, and tells him time after time how amazing he was. Good game. Great game. On and on it goes. Some prattle off extended analyses of his own plays. Ugh. I hang back, silently watching him. He absorbs my entire concentration. He might as well have a giant halo hovering over his head to attract my eyes directly to him. He’s adored by all. Exalted even.
It’s the oddest I’ve ever felt. I don’t know if I would handle that much pressure well. I would first bask in it, then feel awkward and try to deflect it, and then be off-putting in my shameless demand for more adoration. Not Wyatt. He’s so smooth. Small smiles. Friendly nods. Handshakes. Hugs. He responds to each individual he encounters just the right way.
I see him visibly relaxing his facial features, and I suddenly appreciate Wyatt Kincaid’s perfect definition of a chiseled jaw. His dad approaches him, and they half hug before speaking quietly for a moment. The rest of his family form a semi-circle around him. I’m impressed by so much unapologetic attention.
He accepts the bear hugs of adoration from his mom, grandma, and Dani. In a rare moment, I observe him exchanging quiet confidences with Dani. I’m glad to see Wesley hanging back and not overreacting. From what little I know of Dani, Wyatt is a solid fixture in her life. If Wesley demanded exclusivity or put any conditions on her relationship or how she chooses to conduct it with Wyatt, he’d be out of her life in a fast second. No matter how much she might like Wesley, I’m convinced that’s how she’d handle it. It’s kind of why I love the girl, although I only just met her. It’s the first time I’ve ever had such an instant and genuine connection with a girl my age. That tired sense of competition that I usually find with other girls my age is absent. Then again, I suppose it comes from living in a group home where you have to fight for food, and to get a guy’s attention, and for everything else in life. I’m glad Dani only has eyes for the one guy I would never pursue. It makes it hard to get annoyed with her. Just the opposite.
I am suddenly pushed from behind, and Ryder steps aside when I bump into him before I am right behind Dani. Wyatt notices me. To my surprise and horror, my heart skips a beat. What the hell? I’ve never reacted to Wyatt like this. But here I am blushing. The heat won’t stop rising in my cheeks. Wyatt’s helmet is off. Sweat streams down his face, streaking it. Some black stuff is smeared under his eyes. Why? I wonder. What is it? When he smiles, his straight, white teeth shine against his dark skin and hot, kissable lips. I blink at my observation since I never noticed that about him before.
He’s looking right at me, and the smile he gave to Dani fades next to the one he directs at me. I swallow, suddenly tongue-tied and intimidated. I never met this Wyatt before. It’s dumb, since I don’t know Wyatt at all. But this popular man of the hour, this hero of the whole town, this athletic Adonis and God-like marvel of youth? Yeah, I never met him. I wouldn’t know what to say to him. My mind is blank when I try to think of words. My mouth gets dry. I look at the pads and giant shoulders of his uniform. They make him look all the bigger. So huge and bulky to begin with, he’s larger than life now.
To my surprise, he steps forward and approaches me. Ignoring the crowd and all the calls from his teammates and oh, who is that—a cheerleader? His family is still speaking to him, and yet he walks towards me. Then he’s right in front of me, staring down at my face. We are separated in height by maybe three inches or less, so we’re eye-to-eye when the entire crowd on the loud field virtually disappears.
“So, Jacey Walker, what did you think of your first football game?”
My small smile wavers, and I get shy. Me. I never suffered from shyness. Never until this moment. Feeling hot and flustered, instead of hot, sexy, and brilliant like I’d prefer, I mumble, “It’s confusing.” I can’t believe how stupid that sounds.
“Confusing? How exactly do you mean?” His lips quirk upwards.
“Well, why do you run forward and back, in between all the lines and call out terms like sack and punt and first down? And why do you go off and then come back on the field? And why do you go off to the side sometimes?”
He throws his head back, his teeth flashing as he grins. “Dear God, you don’t have a clue about the sport.”
I shake my head, looking at my feet in the grass. “Nada. Nothing.” Then I whip my head back up suddenly and add, “But you were amazing. The crowds chants your name a lot. I mean, all the time.”
He flashes another killer smile. How did I miss those? But when I think about my time with him, as short as it might have been, I don’t recall seeing him smile very often. Certainly nothing like this. His celebrity affects him, his confidence, and his ego. Sure. All sexy smiles now. “Yeah, I hear my name a lot. What about you? Did you cheer for me?”
“Only after I caught on that I should have been.”
He leans towards me and whispers into my ear, “No kisses for the top scorer?” His voice is soft and sultry, so my stupid mouth pops open.
I glance up ready to reply or hell, do what he asks, and my stomach is all aflutter, whe
n some woman suddenly comes between us. She elbows me out of the way while gushing at Wyatt. I wonder if perhaps I should have been more flattering to him. I all but fall over as I glare at her with an undeniable look of anger. In the old days, the pre-Rachel days, I might have ended it by jumping on the woman’s back. Now I glare fiercely, step back, and let her interrupt the intense moment I am having with Wyatt. I can’t see his face, only the back of the woman’s head wearing a team baseball cap.
The crowd finally loosens its grip around us, but it takes far longer than I would prefer. I follow the crowd as they trail after Wyatt who walks toward the far end of the stadium. I assume he’s heading for the locker room. We begrudgingly let him go, and he disappears after a few more loving caresses from his grandparents. It’s a bit hard to resist watching the giant man bending down to accept a spray of kisses from his tiny grandma. Ryder’s mom is very petite, and he dwarfs her. She holds his arm and chats away as he listens, every bit as intently as he did to his coaches from the sidelines. Never having any close relatives or friends, let alone a grandparent, it twists my heart when I see how patient Wyatt is with them.
Then we wait to exit the stadium before being told where Wyatt will come out again to greet us, his loyal fans. Now, it’s mostly just his family and me. His grandparents go home. Wesley sidles up to me and bumps my shoulder with his as he leans in closer.
“Crazy, huh? How they all overreact to a measly football game?”
“It is bizarre. Yet no one thinks it’s unusual, do they? They can’t imagine not having it to look forward to.”
“No. More so now that we’ve been here a while, but you’re right.”
“How are things going for you now that you decided to stay here permanently? Are you itching to leave yet?”
He shakes his head. “Been too busy trying to fit in to contemplate the repercussions of it. I’m okay.”
