by Maya Hughes
Back at the house, he led me to my room like I’d forget the way without his arm around me. Not that I was complaining.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He hovered.
I grabbed a long-sleeve shirt from the pile in the laundry basket by my desk. A quick sniff—clean. For some reason my clothes went from the dryer straight into the basket to be used later, but I folded LJ’s. It was how he liked it, even if he hated doing it himself. At least there was one thing I could do for him.
I jerked my shirt off, leaving me in my camisole and bra.
LJ hissed. A high, ragey hiss.
“Risa.” He turned me and ran his hands, feather light, down my shoulders.
Goosebumps jumped up like the ROTC cadets marching across campus.
“LJ?”
“I should’ve let Keyton kill him. Better yet, I should’ve joined in.” His fingers moved in small, slow circles on my arms.
Dropping my head, I cringed. Four distinct finger patterns wrapped around both arms. “It’s okay.” I held onto the back of his hand.
“It’s not okay.” His words shot from his mouth.
“I didn’t mean what he did was okay. I meant I’m okay. They don’t hurt.”
“Should’ve never happened.”
“We could say that about a lot of things.” I nudged him with my elbow.
“We should call campus security.”
“No, we shouldn’t. Keyton was involved in that fight. From the looks of Chris’s face, they’d ask questions, and I don’t want Keyton getting suspended or kicked off the team because of that asshole.”
“But—”
“I’ll steer clear of Chris and make sure I don’t wander down any dark hallways on my own from now on. I’m fine. Now get out of my room, so I can change.”
The fire in his eyes cranked down a notch from angry inferno to campfire. “Why? We used to change in front of each other all the time.” He dropped his hand, lips twitching.
“When we were nine.” And from our sleepovers last year, I’d probably need an industrial sized fan to cool me off if he dropped his pants right now. “Get out already.” I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him out the door.
After changing, I slipped into my bed, tossing and turning. The uneasiness I’d tried to banish after my run-in with Chris still ran rampant in my brain.
Slamming my hands into the mattress, I flung off the covers and peered out my door.
The house was quiet. I tiptoed down the hallway to LJ’s door beside mine.
Keyton’s door was open, but his room was empty.
Gently knocking my knuckles against LJ’s door, I opened it.
He lay in bed on his back and turned to face me.
The creases in his forehead deepened. He had probably been grinding his gears about me not letting him fix the Chris problem.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I walked further into the room, floorboards creaking under my bare feet.
“No. I want to get dressed and go beat the shit out of him.” Ding. Ding. Ding.
“Can we not talk about him?”
He propped his head up on his hand and lifted the blankets.
I dove for the invitation, laying on my back beside him, staring up at the ceiling.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, Risa. Night.” The bed dipped. He scooted away, but laid on his side facing me.
“Night.” I closed my eyes and let his steady breaths ease the tension from my body.
Only for tonight.
This was the last time we’d share a bed.
11
LJ
It had only taken me forty-eight hours of snapping at everyone and pacing in my room to finally storm across campus to the on-campus senior apartments. We had a game this week, so Marisa would be home alone.
Marisa hadn’t slept in my bed last night, but she’d stayed up late and had left her light on.
It made me feel like a rampaging beast was trying to gnaw its way out of my chest.
I pounded my fist against the door. The metal rattled against the frame.
The door opened. In the gap, the bruised and scabbed face of Chris stared straight back at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I slammed into the door, pushing myself inside. “What do you think I’m doing here?” The debate had raged in my head on the way over.
Marisa would kick my ass for doing this, but it needed to be done. It wasn’t like getting suspended from the team would cut back on my playing time anyway.
The blood leeched from his face, showing off the yellowing of the edges of the bruises.
“It was a mistake. I was drunk.” He licked his lips, wincing when he hit the patches of broken skin.
“You think getting shit-faced is an excuse for hurting Marisa? She’s got finger bruises on her arms thanks to you.”
“I was just messing around, trying to scare her.” His voice was pitched up and squeaky with a tremble. Good, he should be scared.
I closed the gap between us so quickly, he stumbled back and fell onto the couch. “And you think that’s better? You think it makes you tough?”
Looming over him, I reigned in my anger, leashing it and holding on tight. The last thing I wanted was to knock him out and for Marisa to take it on as her fault. “You don’t come near her. You don’t breathe near her. You don’t even be in the same building as her.”
His head bounced up and down like a bobblehead on a dashboard.
“If she shows up to a party, coffee shop, library, whatever, you leave. Don’t even take time to gather up your shit. You walk out the door without a word or a look.”
“I…I will. I promise.”
“You’d better.” I wanted to rip his fucking head off. Instead, I backed up and left his apartment without even closing the door. Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped Keyton. Maybe I should’ve piled right on.
Knowing he was on campus would keep me on edge, but Marisa was adamant about not going to campus security.
Crossing campus, I got to the locker rooms early to change for practice. We had a game this weekend. Not that I’d be playing.
The room was quiet—at least as quiet as a locker room ever got on a practice day. A few coaching staff went over their clipboards and binders like they held a treasure map to the Holy Grail. The lingering scent of muscle rubs, athletic tape and sweat permeated every inch of the place.
By the time I got into full pads, more guys had filled the room.
Keyton followed behind a group of defensive linemen and froze when he spotted me. His door had been open the night Marisa crawled into bed with me, but closed in the morning and in the two days since, like he’d been waiting for everyone to clear out before leaving.
Instead of avoiding me, he clenched his jaw and made a beeline straight for me. “Sorry for losing it the other night. How’s Marisa?” It all wooshed out like a single word.
“She’s good, a few bruises from where he grabbed her. And you have nothing to apologize for. I was so fixated on making sure Marisa was okay, that piece of crap probably would’ve scurried away if you hadn’t been there.”
He swiped his chin back and forth, his nostrils flared and he squeezed the back of his neck. “It’s been a long time…” His lips tightened. “I’m glad Marisa’s okay. I fucking hate that she’s got bruises at all.”
“I know. But I paid Chris a visit, so he won’t come anywhere near her again.”
Keyton’s shoulders relaxed like he’d been on edge since Tuesday night. “Let me know if he does and I’ll go with you to kick his ass all over again.”
I laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “We’re good, man. You don’t have to go into hiding over something like this.”
The breath he let out felt like he’d been holding it for days. “I know. I just…I don’t like losing control like that and I didn’t want you guys to think I was a loose cannon.”
“You’re the most even-keeled guy out of all of us. If there was a time to lose your cool,
it was on Tuesday.”
The door to the locker room flew open. Coach Saunders marched in. “You’ve got twelve minutes to get out on the field. The bus to the airport leaves at three tomorrow. If you miss it, you’re buying your own ticket to Michigan. I’d suggest everyone gets here on time.
“Today we’re running the three new defensive line plays and we need you all to know these and be able to run them in your sleep. Offense, there were two turnovers in the last game, so you’re going to drill those passing plays until they’re branded on your brains. Let’s get a move on.” He clapped his hands against his clipboard and disappeared back out the door.
Keyton rushed off to get changed and I left the locker room, following Coach out to the field and taking my spot on the bench.
First one suited up. First one ready for practice. First one to ride the bench all season.
Guys slowly made it to the side of the field, breaking off as the defensive and offensive coaches called their squads over.
I joined the defensive coach on the sidelines. Sixty guys stood around him, all itching to get out on the field and prove themselves in the ten games we had left this season.
“I want my seniors out there to start. We’ll be taping to add to your reels, so don’t fuck it up.” His words ignited a flame in my chest. Practice tape wasn’t as good as the real thing, but I’d take what I could get and push it to the max.
Keyton jogged beside me, smiling, headed to the offensive line. “How encouraging.”
We stood in the center of the field, finding our spots for the play.
I glanced at the sideline against my better judgement. Coach Saunders walked up and down a six-foot track with his headset on and clipboard in hand.
The second string QB made the call and the snap kicked in.
We broke off, covering our players on the other team, but I spotted a gap in the defense. Slipping into the pocket, I took down the receiver before they made it ten yards.
The next play, I spotted my opening, smacking the ball from the air and swatting it to one of the cornerbacks who ran it in for a touchdown.
On the next, I blocked, giving an outside lineman the opening to sack the quarterback.
Running to the sidelines, it felt like I was riding through a car wash with the top down from all the knocks and nudges to my helmet. My grin was 50 yards wide, satisfaction settling deep into my bones. I wanted to show the guys I hadn’t been benched because I didn’t have it in me. I still had all the same skills and wanted to use them to get us our next W.
Coach Saunders’s stare was the pinprick to my helium-balloon feeling once I left the field.
The whole team huddled around, some standing, some taking a knee.
“Good hustle out there. Those plays looked sharp. Keep them that way and you’ll make everyone proud this season. Don’t let your heads get too big. We’ve got a lot to prove and even more people coming for our necks. STFU is ready to end our streak and we’re not going to let them, are we?”
“No, Coach.” Everyone shouted at once, as one. And the vibrations rumbled in my chest.
“Are we going to get complacent?” His voice rose, higher above the team shout.
“No, Coach!”
“Are we going to give them a chance?”
“No, Coach!”
“That’s what I like to hear. Hit the showers and be ready for our trip tomorrow. We’re going to break Michigan’s streak and show them how we do things at Fulton U.” His words energized the guys and everyone got up, charging toward the locker room.
Sweat, steam and the steady beat of the showers filled the locker room with chaos.
Berk found me after I’d gotten my shower, still standing in my towel, fishing my clothes out of my locker.
He panted, shower sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Do you need a ride home?” His shirt still clung to his body.
“You’re in a rush.”
“Jules is baking something new today and she told me to swing by after practice to pick it up.”
“I can’t blame you then. No, I’ve got my car. And I’ll see if Keyton needs a ride.”
“Cool, awesome.” He was already jogging backwards. “Thanks!”
Everyone was amped up for Saturday, like an electric current running through the humidity in the air.
Ten games were left in the regular season for the underclassmen to prove themselves and get their spot on the starting line-up.
Ten more games for all the seniors to get enough solid plays in to boost their draft prospects.
Ten more games until I might be relegated to playing pick-up football in a local park.
“Alien or Aliens?” Marisa called out from the living room finishing up folding my clothes.
I didn’t hate how she’d come right in and trudge out with my baskets of clothes grumbling about one day setting it all on fire in the backyard. But she’d also wrestle the pile of clothes away from me muttering about how I couldn’t do it right if I tried. Although I only usually tried to get her to spring into action to do it.
The microwave counted down and I waited for the popping to slow, counting the seconds between each one. A charred bag sat in the sink—Marisa’s handiwork.
I shoved the zipper up on my hoodie even higher. The breeze raced through the house from the open back door straight through the windows at the front of the house to purge the charred popcorn smell from the air.
“What about Terminator?”
“Terminator, T2, T3: Rise of the Machines, Salvation, Genisys, Dark Fate?”
“I only recognize those first two as actual movies for my own sanity. Maybe Salvation, if I’ve had enough to drink. Maybe.” I filled the bowl with popcorn.
“You’re such a movie snob.” She grabbed cups and poured us some soda.
“Protecting my brain from the plot holey-est terrible movies that tried to ruin two of the best movies ever doesn’t make me a snob. You’re into 18th Century paintings and Greek statues. You’re telling me you’d choose T3 over T2?”
“No, but I love to see how worked up you get when it comes to crappy movies.” I kicked her butt on her way out of the kitchen.
“Jerkface. You almost made me spill our drinks.”
I stopped as she disappeared into the living room, my heart leaping high like it had hurtled over an offensive lineman headed for the sack. These easy, fun moments made it hard to imagine my life without her. The thought of losing our Thursday movie nights was like a spike to my brain.
I sat beside her on the couch with the bowl overflowing with popcorn. “How about Aliens?”
She picked up the spilled popcorn from my legs and the couch. “I see someone doesn’t want my nails embedded in their arm tonight.”
“I’d like to be able to block properly at the game on Saturday.”
“Oh, do you have a game coming up? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here with all of us gone?” Worries drummed inside my head. Chris. Her being alone. Her deciding to cook.
She shoved her hand into the bowl of popcorn on my lap. “It’s no big deal. Nix brought over that giant catering tray of chicken fettuccini, so I’m good with food.”
“Didn’t he bring that a week ago?”
“Yeah, what’s the problem?” She shoveled the popcorn into her mouth.
“Iron Stomach Marisa.”
“The pasta will be two weeks old, max. It’s fine.”
“Please don’t end up in the hospital with food poisoning.”
“When have I ever?”
True, she’d only nearly sent everyone in the house to the hospital. She could choke down anything. I’d pick up some lunch meat before I left, or ask Nix if he could drop off some more food for her.
“Enough talking, let’s watch!” She jammed her finger into the remote and the dreary, dark mining vessel holding one of the most badass action heroines in history—Ellen Ripley—came on the screen.
Marisa hid behind my arm when t
he aliens crawled through the vents toward our totally screwed main characters. She linked her arm through mine when Newt fell into the water, completely surrounded by aliens.
The front door banged open at the exact moment the queen popped back up on screen. Marisa screamed and flung her empty cup in the direction of the noise.
Keyton popped his head in.
She clutched the front of her shirt and I paused the movie, laughing hard until she shoved my arm.
“How many times have you seen this movie? Did you think the queen alien was here?”
“Shut up, I was into the movie.”
Keyton chuckled and walked over, handing her the cup.
“Did you want to stay for Thursday movie night?”
“I’m good. It’s almost over anyway. I’ll let you guys finish your movie.” He offered up a weak smile, picked up a bag from beside the front door, and took off up the stairs.
Marisa ducked her head. “Was that a guitar case?”
“I think so.”
She dropped her hand into the empty bowl and it sent the vibrations straight to my dick. “One day you’re going to have to ask him what the hell that’s about, because as far as I can tell, he doesn’t even play.”
I willed my semi to deflate. “Maybe. Let’s finish the movie.”
She relocked her arm with her feet curled beside her on the couch.
When the credits rolled, I didn’t want our movie night to end.
She yawned covering her mouth and shook out the last bits of popcorn into her hand.
“Do you want to watch another one?”
Rubbing her eyes and stifling another yawn, she nodded. “Sure, let’s do this.”
“Do you want to pick?”
“You go. I won’t make you suffer through one of my picks.”
“Who are you and what’s gotten into you?”
She shot me a sleepy smile. “You’ll be gone for four days. I’ll have plenty of time to binge on all my terrible faves while you’re gone.”
I popped another bag of popcorn and Marisa got the drinks. We sat back and the metal cadence of the Terminator theme accompanied us into a desolate dystopian future.
