Games We Play

by Angel Lawson

  “Thanks, Jen.”

  “No problem, Finn.” She grins and pushes back her gray hair. “You guys are going to nail the title tomorrow night, but it’ll be a lot harder if you’re not at your best.”

  She walks out, grabbing her cooler of ice and bandages. I look down at the ice pack and shift it a little. It’s cold as fuck, but it masks the slight pain I’d been having since the last game.

  “Finn? What happened?”

  I look up and see Kenley in the door. Her expression is concerned, her blue eyes wide and worried. She steps through the door and drops her backpack by the cabinet filled with supplies.

  “Hey,” I say, happy to see her. “It’s not a big deal. Just icing my shoulder before the game tomorrow night. It’s been a little sore all week.”

  She walks over and touches the ice pack. “You’re sure you aren’t hurt?”

  “Promise. If I was really hurt, Coach would have me at the ER getting x-Rays. He’s just nervous about the game. Brookdale is also undefeated.” I take her hand in mine. “What are you doing here so late?”

  “Just some yearbook business. This whole centennial issue is a huge headache. Twice the content with no more space or budget.” She sighs. “But we’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “I may also be dreading going to Juliette’s to work on that Lit project tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to her house.”

  Maybe that’s why she looks so tired. Being around Juliette wears me the fuck out, too. “Her mom always has good food,” I offer, with a small grin. She doesn’t smile back. “Hey, what’s really going on?”

  “Last night I went over to Ezra’s. His dad was supposed to be out of town. He wasn’t and walked in on us in a, uh, compromising position.”

  I grimace. “Ezra Senior is a hardass, but it’s not like he can throw stones about his son wanting to be with a beautiful girl.”

  Her cheeks flush at the compliment. “Yeah, well, I get the feeling being with a girl isn’t the issue. It’s being with me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kenley’s the girl every guy's parents wishes they’d date. Pretty, smart, fun. They have no idea that underneath it all she’s even hotter—adventurous and drop-dead sexy.

  She tells me about the altercation in the Baxters' kitchen during float building—and the way he behaved the night before. “I’m okay as a plaything—but nothing more—and honestly, I guess I could handle that, but it’s the way he looks at me. The way he talks to me. Like I’m gum on the bottom of his shoe.”

  I pull her to me, positioning her between my legs and looping my arms around her neck. “What did Ezra say? He seemed okay this morning.”

  “He was furious last night, but today he just acted like it was no big deal.”

  “I know it’s hard to hear this, but maybe it wasn’t. Ezra Senior is a dick, Kenley. Everyone knows it. He’s out on the side of the field right now watching Ezra’s every move. It doesn’t make what you experienced or how you feel any less valid, but Ez has to deal with that shit every day.” I press my forehead to hers. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “It was so humiliating,” she whispers, eyes watering. “And the way he looked at me—like I was trash.”

  “That’s his problem not yours,” I tell her. “He knows you’re a threat—not just as an easy lay. Ezra could have any girl he wanted, but he picked you, the full damn package. Intelligent, creative, determined, fucking gorgeous. You’re not going to be easily manipulated or sit on a man’s arm like candy. That’s the kind of woman Ezra Senior craves, and it terrifies him that his son doesn’t want the same.”

  She sniffs. “When did you get so eloquent, Finn Holloway?”

  “I’ve always been this way, no one wanted to look past my throwing arm.”

  She lifts her chin and I run my thumb down the column of her neck. Her lips part and I kiss her, feeling the warmth of her mouth, her tongue. I know it’s crazy to talk about her being with one guy and having her in my arms the next—it’s crazy because it feels so incredibly right. Ezra may not be able to be here for her right now, but I can. And I know he’d do the same for me. For Ozzy. For her.

  I take this moment with her—both of us licking our wounds—my body, her soul. I know in my heart that together, we can heal and grow stronger.

  31

  Kenley

  Although Juliette only lives three blocks away, it’s been years since I’ve even walked past her house. Our neighborhood is a series of twisting road and tucked away cul-de-sacs, which means that although we all live close to one another, if your street isn’t on the main drag, it’s not necessary to ever drive down.

  Thankfully.

  A rush of déjà vu rolls over me as I stand on the front porch. I tried to come up with a million reasons not to come tonight. Sick. Slacker. Forgot. The real reason I don’t want to come is that, although Juliette has become less of an enemy in the last month, I can’t say the same about her parents. Monica and I had that awkward exchange during float building, and Coach Chandler? I’m convinced he’s a predator. Probably with Rose. Definitely with Kayla, even if she won’t admit it. The marks on her neck prove it.

  Why didn’t Senor Cortez just let me turn in something alone?

  I press the doorbell and hear it chime in the house. A minute later, Juliette swings it open. A flicker passes between us. Things are different now. We’re not friends, but the energy that fueled our feud is gone.

  “Hi,” I say, crossing the threshold and holding up the bag in my hand. “I brought the heavy cream and butter. Thanks for letting us meet here.”

  “Sure. My mom gets weird during cheerleading season. She wants me home as much as possible at night. You can leave your coat on the hook.” She points to a long rack where two other jackets hang. “Emily and Sadie are already in the kitchen.”

  It’s a good group—all four of us high achievers. We’re required to create a dish from the region we’re studying. It’s that or make a video. Obviously, no one wants to make a video. Plus, we get to eat what we bring to class. That’s why we picked a spice cake.

  I take in the house as we walk down the hall to the kitchen. It’s hard to tell what if anything has changed. Juliette and I were only friends for a short time. The house isn’t huge—Coach Chandler does work for the school system, after all, but it’s two stories and comfortable. Monica definitely has an eye for decorating.

  Sadie looks up when I walk in the room, looking a little relieved. Neither she or Emily are part of Juliette’s circle—they’ve probably never been here before.

  “Hi,” I say, adding my contribution to the ingredients on the counter. “Tell me one of you is a good cook, because I’m definitely not.”

  “I’ve made enough cupcakes for football players that I should be able to pull it off,” Juliette says. “There are drinks in the fridge, and my mom left out some snacks.”

  I look over at the display of cookies and fruit. Finn was right about that.

  “Are your parents here?” Sadie asks, while I walk over to the sink to wash my hands. I listen over the sound of the rushing water.

  “Dad’s doing last minute game prep at the school. Mom had a meeting, I think.” She opens a cabinet and removes two measuring cups. Emily opens the sugar and flour.

  I rinse off the soap, feeling a sense of relief that neither Monica or the coach is here.

  I shut off the faucet and dry my hands on a paper towel. “Okay,” I say, looking at the mounting supplies. “Tell me what to do.”

  We ruin the first cake. I’m not even sure how.

  “Oh,” Emily says, frowning at the directions. “It says baking powder. Not soda.”

  “Ah,” we all say in unison, staring at the flattened cake. It’s barely an inch thick.

  “Do we have enough ingredients to make a second one?”

  Sadie takes inventory. “I think so.”

  “And I have baking powder in the cabinet,” Juliett
e says. There’s a streak of flour on her cheek that’s oddly endearing. “I think we should start over.”

  “Can you point me in the direction of the bathroom?” I ask.

  “Down the hall,” Juliette says, scooping flour into the measuring cup. “Second door on the right.”

  “Thanks.”

  I walk down the hall, passing an open door, then slip into the bathroom. When I come back out, I glance inside the room next door and pause. It’s an office. The football memorabilia implies it’s Coach Chandler’s office.

  I blame the yearbook editor in me for crossing the threshold. There are dozens of framed photos on the wall. They span an athlete’s career. Thistle Cove, the university, a few coaching jobs outside the area and then back to Thistle Cove. A long shelf hangs on the wall filled with awards and trophies. It’s as much of a museum as anything else. I stop before a black and white photo of him in his Viking uniform, the number nineteen in the center of his chest. He’s sweaty, just after a game, with bright eyes. Cradled against his side is Monica, looking so much like Juliette. Her hand is flat against his stomach.

  I lean forward and narrow my eyes.

  Monica’s wearing his clunky state ring around her middle finger.

  “That’s the day we got those rings. I barely wore it before Monica took it for her own.”

  My heart lunges into my throat, and I spin toward the door. Jason Chandler stands just inside. He grins.

  “Hi, Kenley.”

  “Hi,” I sputter, “sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop. I just saw the photos and—”

  “I understand. It’s good stuff.” He places his hands on his hips and adoringly gazes at his memories. “You work on the Valhalla, right?”

  “The editor, yes.”

  “Yes, of course. It’s a big job.”

  “It is,” I agree. “I’m hoping it looks good on my college applications.”

  He nods. “I’m sure it will. Leadership, creativity, organization. Those are all things they’re looking for.”

  “Fingers crossed.” I glance down at his hand. “Speaking of fingers, can I take a picture of your ring? For the yearbook? It’s such an iconic image, you know?”

  He holds up his hand and laughs. “This little thing?”

  I pull out my phone and he lifts up his hand, splaying his fingers. I zoom in, getting all the intricate details. The amethyst stone topped with small diamonds shaped into a “V.” At the top it says “State” and the bottom “Champions.” The sides are a triangle with the letters THS and the year. In the center is the number nineteen.

  “That’s pretty fancy ring.”

  “In two weeks I plan on adding to the collection,” he says with a grin. “By the way, I should thank you for helping Finn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you two have gotten close lately—since Rose’s death. He’s needed someone strong in his life to help keep him focused on the positive—on the game.”

  “Finn loves football and is committed to the team. I don’t think anything would have changed that for him.”

  He sets his sapphire eyes on me—the ones that feel like they’re piercing into your soul. “I know the power of having a strong, supportive woman in your life.” He taps the photo of him and Monica in high school, the one with the ring on her finger. “She’s my rock.”

  “Did you know then that she was the one?”

  “From the very beginning when she agreed to go on our first date.”

  “Where was that?”

  “Kendrick’s, actually.”

  “Sounds like a fairytale. I learned the other day that Jacqueline worked at Kendrick’s.”

  A line crosses his forehead. “Who?”

  “Jacqueline Cates,” I say innocently. “She was a year below you. Disappeared? Found murdered? We’re doing a memorial page on her for the Valhalla.”

  “Oh.” He frowns, eyes blank. “Right, Jacqueline. Quirky? A little edgy? I didn’t really know her.”

  “I thought you may have. She was on the debate team with Brice—Mr. Waller. They were friendly.”

  “Brice has always had a separate circle of friends—due to his interest in politics. But yes, I do recall he and Jackie were friends.”

  “She was really pretty.”

  “I guess? She wasn’t exactly my type.”

  That makes me laugh. “Independent, lots of personality, confident, yet restless? That sounds exactly like your type.”

  His eye twitches. “What are you talking about, Kenley?”

  My heart hammers in my chest, pounding like a runaway freight train. I try to keep my voice level when I say, “I know about Rose, and girls like Kayla James.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean? Yes, they’re both students, or were. At times, both came to me for assistance.”

  “Is it like that movie with Matthew McConaughey? The one with the joke about how he loves high school girls, because even though he gets older, the girls just stay the same age?”

  “I think you’re confused.”

  “No, I don’t think I am.” My hand fists at my side. “I know you were sleeping with Rose. And I know she was looking for wealthier, more connected men. Is that what happened with Jacqueline? She wanted more, too? Someone with bigger dreams than a high school football coach? Or was Jacqueline an accident? One you didn’t make a second time and is why they still haven’t found Rose’s body.”

  He stares at me, all the compassion drained from his eyes. “These are bold and preposterous accusations.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “You know nothing. All I’ve done is work hard for this town. And yes, that includes my students—some young women that need help. It also includes the young men that I assist in building, not just athletic careers, but character. I know you’ve got it in your mind you’re some kind of Nancy Drew that will solve all the crimes in Thistle Cove to absolve your guilt over abandoning your friend in her time of need, but it won’t. Rose is gone because she was a troubled young woman. Not because of any kind of inappropriate relationship.”

  “You took advantage of Rose—your closeness to her family, to Juliette.”

  The flicker of a smile tugs at his lips. “Oh, someone taking advantage of Rose, that’s the truth. Who had a jealous grudge against Rose? Who was the social outcast? Who immediately hooked up with her boyfriend days after she went missing?” His jaw tightens. “If anyone had a motive to get rid of Rose Waller, it was you.”

  The accusation hits hard—the truths and the lies. “You’re seriously trying to pin this on me? I know what you did, Chandler, and I know what you’re doing.” I take a step forward. “I think you’ve always had a thing for the strong girls at Thistle Cove. I also think you like it rough, and I think that sometimes you get out of control. I may not be able to prove you murdered anyone, but I think the administration would be interested to hear about the special assistance you’re giving female students.”

  “Who do you think they’re going to believe? The hometown hero or the pesky, jealous teenager?” He holds my eye. “I think it’s time for you to leave and while you’re at it, take a long, deep look at yourself and why you’re fabricating this story.”

  I open my mouth to say something else, to try to get him to budge, but a movement in the doorway forces both of us to look away. Juliette stands in the hall, eyes dark, expression sad.

  “Kenley?” she asks eyes flicking between me and her father. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, swallowing back a surge of emotions. “Yeah, I was just talking to your dad about some yearbook stuff.” I check the time. “I really need to go. Sorry I can’t stay to finish the cake. I’ll tell Senor Cortez tomorrow.”

  I walk down the hall, Juliette follows. I grab my backpack and my coat off the hook.

  She doesn’t speak, but I feel her eyes on me as I walk out the door, the sensation heavy with knowledge and the accusation. I’m threatening to blow up her family. And for some reason, I don’t think she’s going
to be the one to stop me.

  32

  Ezra

  Game day goes by in a blur. Class, lunch, pep rally. The whole school is excited about the game. Coach is fired up—giving a rousing speech to the packed gym. For the first time, I feel like a quasi-celebrity, or as I like to call it, the Finn Holloway effect. It’s noticeable as I walk through the school in my purple and gold tie; teachers, students—male and female—look at me differently.

  Not like a thug.

  Or a drug dealer.

  Or a delinquent.

  And as good as it makes me feel, boosting up my already inflated ego, none of it matters. Only one person’s opinion matters, and I’ve been scared as hell to talk to her for the past two days.

  I still can’t believe my father did that.

  The game’s at home and since Coach doesn’t want us on the road or late, the Booster Club set up a dinner for us in the cafeteria. The cheerleaders, dance team, band, trainers, and everyone else affiliated with the team. I don’t know if it’s Coach Chandler’s motivational speech or what, but it feels good to be part of something bigger than myself.

  “Okay guys, it’s about time to suit up,” Coach says once we’ve finished eating. I stand and walk with Finn to toss my trash. I’ve just dumped my plate when he jabs me with his elbow. I look up and he nods to the door that leads to the hallway. Kenley waves from the opening.

  “Come on,” Finn says, taking a quick look over his shoulder to see if anyone is watching. Most of the team is heading out the opposite door, toward the locker rooms.

  We slip out the door and into the deserted hallway.

  “Hey,” Finn says. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” Kenley smiles at the two of us. “Just wanted to wish you luck before the game.”

  I’m a little nervous about seeing her. I feel so shitty about how my dad treated her the other day. We’ve texted and talked a little in class but there hasn’t been time to really get into it.