Going Long (Waiting on the Sidelines)

by Ginger Scott

  I smiled a little bigger now, but also showed my embarrassment. “Was Reed…angry?” I asked, still wanting to know what I’d done.

  Sienna looked at Sarah again, exchanging glances just as they’d done before. “What? Oh my God, what did I say?” I was getting slightly more animated now.

  “No, no,” Sienna stopped me. “It’s not what you said. It’s what Reed said…and did, I guess?” Sienna looked at Sarah again for confirmation to keep going.

  “What do you mean,” I was desperate now.

  “Well, first of all, when you called and sounded in distress, he dropped everything. He was literally miles into his trip down the highway by the time he got me on the phone. Noles, he was so worried about you,” she said. I smiled faintly at this information, and my insides lit up with a hope I hadn’t felt in weeks.

  “He…came for me?” I asked, wondering suddenly if I’d seen Reed in my condition, too.

  “No, when I found you—out front and in the gutter, by the way—he pulled over and stayed on the phone with me until he knew I had you handled,” her words suddenly disappointing me.

  I was about to leave it at that when I saw my two best friends exchange that look one more time. “Come on guys. What is it? I can take it. I mean, look. I can’t get any lower than this.”

  Sienna came over to sit closer to me, almost like she was prepared to catch me if I fainted. It was making me nervous. “He seemed to think you were with Gavin,” she said, her words completely unexpected.

  I clenched my jaw and pulled my knees up into my body a little, holding in the anger. Gavin! He was going to ruin my life! I was about to unleash a tirade about the nightmare Gavin had been, when Sienna threw me off my road map.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell him he was at the club. I didn’t think you’d want Reed to know. But, Noles? Is there something happening between you two?” she asked.

  “Wha…me…and Gavin?” I asked, my forehead crinkle deep with confusion now.

  “Yeah…I mean, he was awfully touchy feely last night,” she said, and immediately my mind went to work taking inventory on everything that I did last night. I remembered dancing, and I remember letting people touch me in a way that this morning made me shudder and feel ashamed. But I didn’t remember Gavin.

  “Oooooooh, you totally don’t remember at all, do you?” Sienna said, sliding over closer to me now, almost feeling bad. Her hard shell was breaking a bit.

  I just rubbed my eyes with my hands, searching for more memories in my brain, but they weren’t there. Sienna filled me in on what she saw. She said I also shoved him at one point, which I thought was good. Regardless, though, I knew I was going to have to have another conversation with him—and this one might be the most uncomfortable yet.

  I managed to recuperate from my binge enough to actually attend a few classes Monday and Tuesday. I even made it to the writing center Wednesday morning to work with Kira. She had come up with an idea to turn her poem or essay into a song. She said she could usually get through more of her words if she put them to music, which fascinated me. I encouraged her to try it, and she agreed to let me write about it for one of my assignments.

  I packed up most of my things for the long weekend after our session and made my way to my parents; the drive on my own through the desert giving me too much time to think. Sarah, Calley and Sienna had already headed to Coolidge, so I texted them when I was leaving so we could meet up at MicNic’s for some much-needed catching up with Becky. And after an hour in the car, with nothing but my worries and guilt to keep me company, I was desperate for my girls.

  Reed

  Trig and I pulled into the driveway of my pop’s house late Wednesday night. Sean had texted me that the girls had gone out to MicNic Burger’s for the night so he was going to come over to hang out for a bit. Our rivalry game against ASU was Saturday, so Trig and I had to head back to Tucson late Friday morning. I was glad he agreed to come home with me. I knew it was childish, but somehow it felt better having numbers on my side when it came to Nolan.

  Sean was already at the house when we barreled through the front door, dragging our bags of clothes and loads of laundry. Rosie was there to greet us, and just took the bags out of my hands without me even asking. Bless that woman; she really knows how to spoil me.

  Sean and Trig had met a few times before, so they fell into a comfortable conversation right away in the family room. I grabbed a few beers from the fridge and handed them each one before I headed upstairs to check in with pops. He was propped up in his bed with a breakfast tray on his lap and the remote in his hand when I walked in.

  “Heyyyyyy, there he is,” he said, muting ESPN and clearing a little space on the side of the bed so I could sit by him. I gave him a half hug, and then propped my feet up on the bed and stretched out, putting my hands behind my neck.

  “Hey, Pops. How’s the leg?” I said, sitting up and knocking a little on his cast.

  “This cast crap is for the birds, Reed. It’s so damned itchy,” he said, whining as he tried to move his leg around to find a comfortable position. There clearly wasn’t one, because he just sighed heavily and then leaned back into his pillows, defeated. I chuckled a bit at my stubborn independent cuss of a father.

  I lay there next to him for a few minutes, just staring up at his ceiling. I kept trying to start my conversation, but I could never seem to frame the right words in my mind, so I just stopped and waited, hoping he would pick up on my anxiety and fill in the blanks for me.

  “Well, shit or get off the pot, would ya?” he finally kicked in. Subtle, Buck Johnson was not.

  Sighing, I sat up again, pulled Grandma’s ring box from my pocket, and slid it on his lap tray, just shrugging a little at it, and curling the corner of my mouth up a little pathetically. Dad just stared at it for a few seconds, trying to figure out what it meant. Finally, he nodded a little and closed his eyes, shaking his head some. He reached up to grab the ring box, and flipped it open to look at it silently before closing it once again. Staring at the closed antique box for a few moments more, he finally looked up to make eye contact with me, and then held it out for me to take back.

  “Pops, it’s not going to happen,” I said, my stomach sick with this reality. “Just…just give it to Jason or something, okay?”

  I stood up and turned my back to him, not wanting him to see the pain in my eyes. Not wanting to show my weakness. But I was so weak. Nolan could bring me to my knees. In fact, she had. I snapped back when I heard my dad’s familiar raspy laugh kick in. I turned to see him turning the box over and over in his hand, the corner of his mouth raised in a smirk.

  “Reed, life is hard. I know you know this…or think you know this…but let me remind you. Life. Is. Hard. It’s ugly sometimes, and it throws shit at you, just like a 300-pound lineman charging you full tilt just looking to flatten your ass,” he said, his eyes still focused on the small box in his hand.

  “And sometimes,” he looked up at me now, right in the eyes. “Sometimes, that lineman knocks the shit out of you. And it hurts. It hurts like fucking hell, the breath punched from your lungs, and the will to stand gone from your muscles. But you don’t just sit there, roll your ass off the field and lick your wounds, right?”

  I was staring at the box now, too, those damn visions of forever with Nolan flipping through my mind like an old-fashioned picture show. I saw our wedding, our kids…our life. God, I wanted it. But between those flashes of us in my head, I also saw her kissing Gavin, the look on his face when he left her room that night, the fucking swagger in his step, the kind that said he knew her intimately. Those thoughts made me flinch and look back down at my feet. Chewing my lip, I finally looked back up at Pops, and shook my head. “Dad, I will never love anyone like I love Nolan, and you know it. But…fuck. Dad, I can’t talk about it, but it’s just not going to happen. And that ring is killing me,” I said, choking a little on my words and forcing down my emotions.

  My dad just grabbed my hand and put the
box back in it, wrapping my fingers around it tightly, and then patting them shut with his other hand. I reached up with my other hand and dashed away the tiny tear that was threating to escape, sniffling a little to get a hold of myself. I was losing it. I looked Pops in the eyes, pleading with him to understand, to let me off the hook, but he just held on tighter.

  “Life is hard, Reed. But we get up,” he said, sliding from the bed now to reach for his crutches and force himself to a stand. “I could give this ring to Jason, yeah, sure. But you and I both know that Jason—God love him—will never pick a girl worthy of wearing your grandmother’s ring…and you and I both know there’s only one girl who deserves it.”

  My dad carried himself on his crutches out the door, and down the hall, leaving me there alone in his room to stare at this damn box again. I wished he’d never given it to me. But he was right; there was no way I could give it back. It was mine to work out, or live with, and carry.

  Jason and Dylan both pulled up to the house together early Thursday morning. Dylan looked like she was dressed for a charity gala, always so image conscious. Jason, on the other hand, looked like he had just finished a morning round at the golf club, his pompous sunglasses tucked neatly in the collar of his shirt as he walked into the kitchen.

  “Morning, jerk-off,” he said, tossing a wadded up receipt at me.

  “I know what I’m not thankful for,” I said, tossing it back at his face. He rounded the breakfast bar and put his arm around me for a squeeze.

  “Oh, come on little brother. You know you love me,” he said, kissing the top of my head with a Donald-Duck-ish sucking sound. I just elbowed him off me and wiped my forehead.

  I was helping Rosie peel potatoes, the repetitive task soothing. I hadn’t slept since my talk with my dad the night before, but instead, tossed and turned while I spun my grandmother’s ring around in my fingers. I was fucking exhausted, which I thought would come in handy tonight and help me get a really good night’s sleep before heading back down to Tucson for the game. Trig was still asleep in the spare bedroom upstairs, and I was so damned jealous of his happy-ass self.

  Dylan walked over to the sink and rolled up the sleeves of her sparkling turtleneck to wash her hands. She smiled at me a bit, and I smiled back. I really didn’t have a beef with Dylan. Yeah, she wasn’t the nicest to Nolan in the past, but I think it was really more of her personality flaw rather than any actual malice or dislike for Nolan. And she was good at her job. She’d learned a lot from her father, and she was making some moves for me that I knew would set me up for life.

  When she grabbed a potato and started to peel along side me, I chuckled a little. “What?” she said, stopping and putting her hand on her hip.

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head and continuing to laugh a little to my self. She was still staring at me, though. “It’s just…you sooooo don’t look like the kind of girl who would know how to peel a potato.”

  She just smirked at that and went back to work on her potato, peeling the entire thing in one cut, leaving a swirl of perfect curls on the counter before me. She turned around then and pulled a sharper, larger knife from the butcher block behind her. Turning the blade over in her hands a little to look at it, she finally rested it at the edge of the potato before lowering her gaze and then going to work, dicing it into the tiniest, perfect squares in a matter of seconds. The entire scene left me shocked—eyes wide, and my hands frozen in the suddenly inferior pile of potato peels in front of me.

  “Ooooookay, so maybe you do look like the kind of girl who can peel a potato,” I said, my smile wide.

  Dylan blew the blade like it was a smoking gun, and then giggled a little herself, moving to the sink to rinse it off. We were just beginning to have a good time when Jason walked up and slid into one of the stools to put an end to it.

  “What the fuck do you find so funny?” he said, rolling his eyes at me. I just stared at him, willing myself not to engage. Realizing how hard I was trying, Dylan actually came to the rescue, explaining her parlor trick to me.

  “I went to culinary school for a while,” she shrugged at me. I was surprised…and impressed. “I didn’t really want to be a chef, but I just wanted to learn something completely different from the biz, ya know?”

  Suddenly feeling possessive or something, Jason stood from his seat, and came over to stand behind her, and kiss her neck a little, popping a piece of raw potato in his mouth. “That’s right, bro. My girl can cook, and she’s fucking wild in bed,” he winked as she elbowed him a little, embarrassed, but also clearly affected by his compliment.

  No, I didn’t mind Dylan. But Dylan and Jason? That was a little much to take.

  I helped Rosie prep in the kitchen most of the day, avoiding Jason, who just sat on the sofa and watched football with Trig and my pops. Dylan had some business to finish and spent most of her day on a computer at the dining table until she moved to my dad’s office, when Rosie started to dress the table for dinner.

  Sean and Becky came over first, followed by Sarah, Calley and Sienna. Each time a car pulled down the driveway, I ran to the window like a damned golden retriever, waiting for his master to come home. And I was both relieved and sad each time it wasn’t Nolan’s car pulling in. It was only 5 p.m. and Sean had told Nolan to show up around 5:30, so I took the opportunity to rush upstairs and shower. I was suddenly nervous, like I was back in high school and gathering up the courage to kiss her for the first time—or ask her to dance.

  I hadn’t seen her face in weeks, months almost. I had heard her voice, yes, but it was weighted with alcohol when she called, and it didn’t sound right. I noticed the small box on the center of my bed while I was getting dressed, and I grabbed it quickly, stuffing it in the drawer of my night table. I wanted to look good for Nolan, but I also wanted to look comfortable. I must have changed shirts a dozen times, trying to find the one that sent the perfect message; except I had no fucking clue what message I was trying to send. I was acting a lot like a girl. “This is ridiculous,” I thought, finally settling on the long-sleeved black thermal and my dark jeans.

  I was sliding down the stairs when I heard the familiar timber of her voice talking to Pops. Her words were clear, on the verge of happy. It was so opposite from the last time I’d heard her. I stopped a few steps from the corner just to listen.

  “Nolan, my dear, you look lovely,” Rosie said. I could see her reaching to hug Nolan, but still couldn’t see her face. “OH! Honey, you didn’t need to bring anything.”

  “I know…I…uhm. I just wanted to. I made it myself. It took me all day, I hope it’s good,” she sounded so damned unsure of herself all of a sudden. “It’s a peach cobbler. I hope it’s okay. I’ve never made one before.”

  “I’m sure it’s delicious,” Rosie said. “Here, let’s put it in the fridge.”

  “No, it’s okay. I know where it is, I’ll take it,” Nolan said, and then passed through the group gathered by the front door to head to my kitchen. I was frozen to the steps as I watched her walk away from me, completely unaware that I was watching her. Her brown hair had gotten longer. She’d curled it into waves, and wore a red sweater with tight black pants, and knee-high boots. She looked like a girl from some romantic movie—some main character that the boy sees once, and then spends the entire rest of the movie chasing, just so he could learn her name. “I was that lame-ass boy,” I thought.

  When I realized she was heading to the kitchen alone, I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, pushing my palms into them, a little confused at my thoughts. I had been so angry at her. But seeing her again? Well, that had me suddenly a lot less angry. I took a deep breath, and followed her into the kitchen. She was balancing the dessert in one palm and trying to open the refrigerator door with her other hand, not quite able to get it open.

  “Need a hand?” I said, startling her. She jumped a bit, and the edge of the tray hit the corner of the refrigerator, knocking it sideways, and sending it in a slow-motion flip to the floor. She just s
tared at the pile of peaches and crust that spread the floor beneath her, her hand over her mouth like she’d witnessed some horrible accident. And then without warning, she started to cry, her hand hiding her face as she bent down to feel for pieces of her broken cobbler to clean it up.

  My instincts kicked in, and I started to help. “Noles, damn. I’m so sorry. I got it, it’s okay. It’s fine. We have plenty of food,” I said, trying to clean it up before she had to look at it any longer. She just looked up into my eyes then, hers so sad and puffy. She started to cry harder then, and I couldn’t take it. I slid, kneeling, closer to her and just reached for her, pulling her into a hug in my lap.

  “Hey…” I whispered. “It’s okay. I got you. It’s okay…shhhhhhh.” I just held her while her body quivered in my arms. I stroked her hair, and each time I tucked the strands behind her ear, she shook a little more, letting out everything inside. My girl was broken. She’d ripped my heart from my chest when she kissed another man, and then stepped on it when she let him spend the night with her. But seeing her cry like this…I couldn’t handle it.

  I was content to stay there the rest of the night. I wasn’t hungry, and I was fine sitting in a pile of peaches, and flour and sugar. But my moment wasn’t meant to last long as Jason rounded the corner just in time to break everything just a little more. “Whoa, what the hell?” he said as he saw spilt dessert on the floor. “Ooooooh, sorry…did I interrupt?” He was such an ass.

  Nolan broke from my arms immediately upon the sound of his voice, rubbing her nose on her sleeve, and going back to work cleaning up the floor. “Sorry, I dropped the cobbler. I’ll get it, Reed. You go,” she said, willing me away.

  “I can help,” I said, reaching for her just a little. When she pulled away, it broke me all over again. She just looked up at me, her lips tight as she took in a deep breath.

  “I’m good. Just go,” she said before going back to work.