by Maya Hughes
“I know Ford plays hockey and not football, but we’ve made it through the ups and downs of him traveling just fine.”
“That’s different.”
“How are we different? We’ve known each other since I was a kid. I was crazy about him from afar for forever. We had a kiss and then he broke my heart. Short of a mallet to the head, he was the most stubborn guy ever when it came to us hooking up.”
“But you’ve been inseparable since you moved in together. Plus, Ford’s older and a total quiet-type cutie. LJ soaks up all the attention. He loves it, but pretends he doesn’t. Once he’s playing more in the pros, they’ll be kids running around in his jerseys. And as much as I’ve needled him about it, he’s smoking hot. There will be women swarming him.”
“It happens. But you trust him.”
Those daily lectures from my mom and how wonderful her college romance with Ron had been echoed in my ears. After he’d been drafted it had been more time on the road for him, and more fan attention, until he was injured and switched to scouting and eventually coaching.
Long road trips. Long stretches away from home. And a long line of broken promises in his wake.
“Things will change. Once he’s playing more this season the spotlight will be brighter.”
“Why isn’t he playing much right now?”
“He hurt his hamstring and he said he’d been slacking.” A poke in the back of my brain told me it was a lie—one I hadn’t dug deeper into. Football had been a verboten topic since I came to FU. When we talked football, the conversation might veer into Ron territory. Not to say I didn’t watch LJ’s games or want him to kill it out there, but I wasn’t showing up to practices or bugging him in the gym like I used to growing up.
“He needs to get his act together.”
“He does.” We finished up our work. Liv’s entire outlook was less doom and gloom than it had been last semester, but not talking to her brother still hung over her the whole time I was there. It must’ve been nice to have a big brother to look out for her growing up, but that didn’t mean it was sunshine and rainbows all the time.
I knew that more than anyone. Sometimes when I’d bring up my mom or Ron, she’d look at me and I could tell she wanted to tell me to be thankful I had any parents at all—hers had died when she was younger. But mine had showed me time and time again that being alive didn’t mean they were parents.
“When’s Ford back in town?”
“A week.” She collapsed back into the couch. “These long stretches suck. He’s on the road for twelve days this time.”
“It must be hard.”
“At least it keeps me focused on graduating. Changing my major as a second-semester junior hasn’t given me tons of time to cram everything in before we graduate.”
Things like as much time as I could manage with LJ. The internal battle waged between wanting to spend every waking moment with him and not wanting to get too used to it. The clock ticked down to May. Italy had felt like a solid escape plan, leaving on my own terms, doing a job I’d dreamed of finding, and starting my career.
But there was a piece of me that wanted to be the ultimate football girlfriend. It wanted to let him handle everything and stop fighting so damn hard to put distance between us and asserting my independence. To just give in. And it made me hate myself for even entertaining the idea. It felt like the code was written into my DNA by my mom; one slip and I’d transform into her, bitter and angry when it all fell apart.
Nonetheless, I left Liv’s the second the alert came in notifying me their flight had landed. It was still quiet when I got back to The Brothel. It was better to be with him than to be apart thinking about all the things being with him meant.
I wasn’t sitting at my desk waiting for the precise moment the door opened. Nope, definitely hadn’t re-read the same five sentences running through the timeline for disembarking, baggage claim, loading onto the bus, and driving time to the house.
Berk flew up the stairs first and dumped his things in the bedroom across from LJ’s. He peeked his head into my room. “Hey, Marisa. Glad to see the house is still in one piece. I’m heading over to see Jules. See you, bye.” He was gone before I could get a word out.
Keyton came up next, ducking in. “Hey, Marisa. Everything good?”
“There aren’t any scorch marks on the ceiling. It’s all good here.”
A stifled smile ghosted across his lips. “Glad to hear it.”
His eyes darted toward the stairs. “LJ will be up in a bit. He’s still a little keyed up after the trip.” From the dip in his voice, it didn’t sound like he meant obnoxiously singing FU game cheers and doing cartwheels in the living room.
With a rap on my door jam, he opened his mouth and closed it before walking into his bedroom across from mine.
The last set of footsteps were quieter, more weary and worn. I hadn’t gotten to watch the game today, only reading the highlights. Had he screwed up a play they didn’t mention?
I waited for him to pop his head in my door. I kept waiting.
He didn’t stop off at my room. On the other side of the wall separating our rooms, there were muted sounds of unpacking, but not a word or move toward the hallway.
Leashing the nagging worries swirling in my head, I went to him, leaning against the doorway. If I had the talent, I’d break out a slab of marble and sculpt him. Instead, I’d resigned myself to appreciating art in all its forms. Even the grumpy football player doing an impersonation of a bear unpacking.
His folded clothes sat in piles on his bed. It always felt good to know there was one thing in the domestic arts he sucked at where I could help.
He jerked clothes out of his duffle and shoved them into his empty hamper like he had a personal vendetta against them.
“Don’t you know you’re only supposed to be this angry when you lose?” I picked up a sock that had landed by my feet in the furious unpacking.
Crouched, he shook his head. “I need a couple minutes.”
Instead, I checked the hallway. Keyton’s door was closed. Wasn’t I the one talking about putting distance between us less than an hour ago? I closed his door and sat on the floor beside his desk.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Want me to pry it out of you?”
“No.”
“Want me to tickle it out of you?”
His steely gaze was my only response. He picked up the bag and shoved it into his closet.
I stood, grabbed his coat from the back of his door and held it out to him. “Let’s go.”
Turning, he crossed his arms and planted himself like a tree.
“Oh come on. How long have we known each other? Do you think you can wait me out?”
“You’re always so grumpy when you’re hangry.” I licked marshmallow off my finger.
“I wasn’t hangry.”
“Says the man on his fifth s’more.”
The freezing November air numbed my nose, which was probably running by now. There weren’t many people here on a Monday night, but I’d chosen to sit outside instead. Fire & Ice wasn’t far from campus, but far enough for LJ to work out whatever was going on with him on our quiet walk over.
On the table between us, we had a platter complete with chocolate bars, graham crackers, marshmallows, skewers and a small fire at the center.
Our knees bumped into one another’s under the table, not in a playing footsie kind of way, but in a ‘we’re sitting at a children’s table’ kind of way. I couldn’t say I hated it with the heat from the fire providing warmth the metal chairs weren’t.
I stuck a peanut butter cup on my graham cracker and pulled my marshmallow from the fire, sandwiching it between another graham. Holding out the treat across the table, I tilted my head, trying to catch LJ’s eye. “Come on, L. You know it’s your favorite.”
Tension had eased out of him on the walk, but there was still an uneasiness to him. He had a cagey, ruffled air. He reached for the
s’more and I pulled it away a little getting him to come closer.
He came with it and grabbed for the chocolate and peanut butter treat, coming out of his seat.
When he did, I popped up and kissed him. Nothing more than a peck really. It caught me off guard how easily I’d done it and how much it made sense now. Before I’d have laid into him or cracked a joke, but the kiss felt natural.
And I wanted more.
His lips were firm, but soft against mine. Warm, tasty and I wanted to feel them on mine even longer. But not here. Not now.
I checked over my shoulder. The place and street were deserted like before, but LJ’s eyes went wide before he laughed. The last bits of tension were wrung from his body.
“What was that?” He peered around like I had and snagged the s’more from my hand.
“It was a way to get your head out of your ass.”
“Looks like I’ll have to find more reasons to shove it up there." His gaze heated as he bit into the graham crackers, making a mess of his hands in the process. “Damn, this is good.”
“Only one more. We don’t want you puking in the backyard like you did in sixth grade.”
“It was worth it.”
“Now will you tell me what’s up?”
“I didn’t play much during the game and my agent is freaking out, which is causing me to freak out.”
“Why isn’t Ron playing you?” After talking to Liv, the nudge in the back of my head was more of a shove. I’d told him to tell me if there was a problem. I’d made him promise me that going to dinners wouldn’t be an issue and I’d told him that he didn’t have to come at all, but he insisted. I needed to believe that he’d tell me the truth—eventually.
“Do you ever think it’s weird you call your dad, Ron?”
“No changing the subject. Why isn’t he playing you?”
He smooshed his s’more together. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should’ve brought it up at Monday dinner. Who else on the team gets a solid hour of undivided attention with Coach Saunders?” I hadn’t been back since the Nora dinner and I didn’t regret it one bit. I’d need to go back eventually, just so I wasn’t screwed with next semester’s tuition, but I was biding my time and dragging my feet in subjecting myself to another round of fatherly dinner theater.
“His attention is pretty divided. And usually focused on you.”
“Let’s not ruin this dessert by talking about him.” It was bad enough I had to see him on the sidelines of all of LJ’s games, I didn’t need him ruining my dessert.
“You brought him up.” His verbal ducking and dodging wasn’t nearly as fast as he was on the field.
“And now I’m un-bringing him up.” I made video rewind noises with my mouth. “You had a great play. Those blocks were brutal. How about the three quarters leading up to that?”
He licked some of the chocolate off his fingers.
“They were cutting it close. It was down to the wire.”
He made a noise of disapproval. “There are only three games left before playoffs.” That was more to himself than me.
“Then you’ll have to get out there during practices and make sure the defensive coach doesn’t have a reason to hold you back. Maybe he’s trying to give the underclassmen a chance with so many seniors leaving. You remember how bad it was freshman year for you guys.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He looked away and stuck another marshmallow on the fire. “I’m glad you made me come out tonight, Risa.”
Did I say it was freezing out here? The way he looked at me reached deep inside my chest and started a mini bonfire right on my heart.
20
LJ
“Bye Weeks are the best weeks of the season.” Keyton lit a folded piece of newspaper on fire and stuck it into the coals on the grill in our back yard. During the spring and summer, back yards were packed with other students on the weekends soaking up the sun.
The November snap had hit, so we were all winter grillers in this house.
“Three more games left until the playoffs.” Only three more chances if our streak died and we didn’t make it to playoffs this year. My stomach knotted in a fist-tight clench.
“You’re going to ride out this season without playing? Just give up like it’s no big deal.”
“I know it’s a big deal. And appreciate you bringing it up when I’m trying to relax for five seconds.” It came out more biting than I meant it to.
But he shrugged it off and rolled right over the way I snapped at him. “Marisa hasn’t talked to her dad about it?”
“I haven’t told her.”
Keyton stopped mid-step. “Why the hell not?”
“There are more important things.”
“Ah, okay, so you don’t actually care about getting drafted and those fat paychecks mean nothing to you. I didn’t realize we had another Nix situation on our hands.”
“Nix’s dad played pro for almost a decade. He’s never had to worry about money a day in his life. That’s not my life. Do you think I’ve got a fat inheritance tucked away somewhere and I’m working my ass off for fun?”
“Then why aren’t you doing everything you can to give yourself a shot? You need to have Marisa talk to him.”
“I can figure it out on my own.” I pushed past him and took the lead up the steps back into the house.
“Yes, because you’ve been doing such a bang up job of that already.” He grumbled, walking up the stairs in my wake.
“We can store the booze out on the deck to keep it cold.”
“We’ve got a game in two days. This is not the time to get blitzed.”
I turned at the top of the steps and spread my arms wide. “Not like I’ll be in for more than a play. What does it matter?”
“If you don’t ask Marisa to talk to her dad, you’re never going to get enough time on the field.”
“I’m not going to put that on her. She’s been at my side through some rough times. I can sit through some weekly dinners, so she can pay for college.”
“At the expense of your future?”
“What’s at the expense of your future?” Marisa walked out of the kitchen with a pitcher of brightly-colored booze.
Keyton shook his head looking around the room.
My muscles tensed. My gaze sharpened. My stomach clenched.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. Don’t do it.
“Is no one else going to say it? Really? Fine. LJ’s been sidelined by your dad for ninety percent of our games... because of you.” Keyton threw out the words like he’d finally reached the end of his rope—a rope no one had asked him to carry.
“I told you to shut the hell up.” I lunged at Keyton. Berk grabbed me, his arm coming up around my neck as I went for Keyton’s.
“Because of me.” Marisa’s voice broke through my overwhelming urge to shut Keyton up.
I stopped struggling against Berk and spun around.
The look in her eyes told me the damage had been done. “It’s not because of you. It’s because he’s being an unreasonable asshole.”
“Because of me.” She stared at him with hurt brimming in her eyes. “Because I’m making you come to his dinners.”
I stepped forward reaching for her arm. A pit twisted and turned in my stomach. All my lies were coming back to haunt me. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a big deal if it’s keeping you from playing.” She jerked back, crossing her arms over her chest, pissed. It radiated off her in waves.
“And you’ve done way more than that for me.” I let my arm drop, but moved closer.
“This is your future we’re talking about. This is all you’ve ever talked about. What you’ve wanted since we were ten years old.” Flinging her arms out to her side, she shook her head like none of this made sense. I’d learned that a hell of a long time ago.
“And it’ll happen.” I had to believe it would happen. That I made the most of my time on the field to make it possible.
“So what? The time I’m on the field, I make it count. It’s my turn to be there for you. After everything you’ve done for me and for my family, of course I’d do that for you.”
“How many times have I told you, you don’t owe me anything? There’s nothing left for you to repay. There’s no ledger with your debts tallied up.”
“I don’t give a shit. My dad wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. I’ll freaking follow you wherever you want me to go.”
“I’m not... I don’t want you following me around doing whatever I want because you feel indebted to me. We’re supposed to be friends—I don’t want you feeling like I’m lording something over you that I’d have done no matter what to help Charlie.”
She shoved the pitcher at Berk, the contents sloshing over the side and spilling down his chest.
Her footsteps shook the house as she charged upstairs and slammed her door.
“What the fuck?” I stared at the empty steps. “What did I say wrong?”
Berk wiped at his chest and dropped a hand onto my shoulder. “Maybe she’s afraid that’s the only reason you’re still hanging around. Or like she’s an insurance policy in case your dad gets sick again.”
Jules piped up from the living room where she was sitting with Alexis. Just great. Even more people in the house to witness this. “Girls don’t like feeling like you’re not with them for them.”
I launched into some backpedaling and diversions about never being more than friends with Marisa. The last thing we needed in the middle of this was even more people with opinions about our relationship—or whether it even was a relationship.
I stared up at the ceiling, feeling more like she’d poured the pitcher over my head. Cold fingers of dread and distress trickled down my spine. I’d never wanted her to feel like anything I felt for her had to do with her saving my dad’s life.
