by Amy Lane
Coach Jones gaped at Larx. “Are you kidding? He’s one of the best offensive tackles we have!”
Larx glared at him. “Well, then, if we needed him that much, we should have taught him some manners. One more instance—one more. I don’t give a shit what it is—if it’s a word, if it’s a sound, if it’s a gesture or a face—one more word about the color of the opposing side’s skin and I will forfeit this game, do you understand me? I will go up into that booth and apologize to the away team, and tell them that we couldn’t be around decent folks, and then I’ll have the sheriff’s office and the goddamned band escort those nice people to their cars while our parents sit and wonder why their perfect little angels turned into racist fuckers on the football field. Do you understand me?”
Aaron stared at Coach Jones and wondered if he was going to blow an artery right there on the field. Jesus, he’d known Larx was a firebrand, but this? This was serious warrior shit.
But apparently that much passion went a long way.
Jones nodded fiercely. “MacDonald, get your shit. One word out of you, you’re off the team, no more games. Everyone else, we’re using a time-out—team huddle at the benches!”
Larx turned to follow MacDonald, and paused. “Kellan?”
“Yessir?”
“You did good. I’m damned proud of you. Don’t let anyone tell you being shitty to other folks is okay.”
“Yessir!”
Kellan’s face then shone with pride. He turned to the players coming into the field and, natural-like, fell in next to his wide receiver, Isaiah Campbell. In spite of the height difference, they jogged to the bench in perfect synch.
Like Aaron and Larx in the mornings.
Larx was heading for the sidelines, and as the home crowd booed and hissed, he grabbed Curtis MacDonald’s arm and frog-marched him to the gate, pointing furiously to the boy’s father in the crowd and gesturing for him to come meet them.
Aaron was torn. He should go back and stand by the away team—but Curtis MacDonald was a big, blond farm boy built like a tractor. His father was a big, balding redneck built like a freight train. He made eye contact with Jim Parks and pointed to the sidelines of the away team and followed Larx. Larx might have been a spitfire, but Aaron didn’t like those odds.
They stood behind the ticket booth, Curtis stewing like a crucible of iron and Larx bouncing on his toes, while the game resumed.
“Larx,” Aaron said quietly to him as they both watched Billy MacDonald charge down the bleachers.
“Yeah?”
“That was really fucking impressive. I just want you to know that. Don’t worry about not changing or anything. You kept the good stuff.”
Larx grinned at him, all his teeth, and Aaron felt another one of those uncomfortable twists in his stomach. A friend. Yup. A colleague sometimes. Okay. Fellow community member? Definitely. A running buddy. Sure.
That’s how Deputy Aaron George felt about Principal Larkin.
Aaron had a sudden thought—an obvious one, silly actually—but before he could ask Larx about it, Billy MacDonald crashed through the gate.
“What in the mother of fuck happened out there!” he snapped.
“Your boy was shouting racist epithets at the other team,” Larx said solidly. “We don’t play that way. He does it again—in any context—and he’s off the team. Right now he’s just going home.”
The elder MacDonald’s eyes bulged out. “That? You pulled my boy for that?”
Larx leaned forward, lowering his head and waiting until Billy leaned forward too. When he spoke, he spoke quietly. “Do you want to be responsible for an on-field brawl, Billy? ’Cause if that happens, we have to forfeit the game. Do you want to be responsible for a riot? There’s women and children in those stands—I don’t give a damn what you think you should call them in your head, but they are women and children. Your son starts a race riot in my school and I will have him arrested for every bruise, every broken nose, every broken bone. What if someone gets more hurt than that? What if someone gets killed? You want him on trial for murder because he’s a racist asshole whose father doesn’t know any better?”
Larx’s voice rose, and he paused and took a breath. “Do you?” he asked, quiet again.
Billy MacDonald was not impressed. He looked around them, as though realizing they were standing in a relatively private spot, and then he caught Aaron’s eyes.
Aaron cocked his head and raised his eyebrows in an unmistakable challenge, and Billy spat in the dirt.
“You watch your back, you pansyassed little faggot. Nobody pulls my boy from a game.”
“I just did. Now get out of here. And Billy?”
Billy turned back to look him in the eye.
“He don’t come back to school for a week. That’s the homecoming game and the homecoming dance he just missed. You can blame yourself for that one. Now go.”
“Dad!” Curtis whined, and Billy grabbed his arm and dragged him into the darkness.
“Can you really suspend him for the week for what his father did?” Aaron asked.
“I can if his kid was flipping me off the whole time,” Larx muttered. “I just wanted Billy to think the next time he opened his damned mouth.”
Aaron chuckled. “Larx? You are hard-core.”
Larx smiled, and some of the starch melted from his sails. “God,” he muttered, looking at his hands. “I’m shaking. Jesus.”
“Adrenaline comedown?” Aaron asked, holding on to the urge to take that shaking hand in his and calm him.
“Probably blood sugar,” Larx admitted. “I think I had Yoshi’s potato chips for lunch and quit there.”
Aaron groaned. “You’re killing me, Larx! You go sit down by your old buddy there and crow about what a badass you are. I’m going to go get us some hot dogs. Anthony want one?”
“Is Billy MacDonald a bigoted prick?”
Aaron just stared at him, unimpressed mostly because he’d taken the man’s threats seriously.
“Too soon?” Larx quipped, but Aaron didn’t back down. “Okay, okay—yeah. Better get us all two—yourself as well, if you haven’t had any.” Larx reached into his pocket, but Aaron waved him off.
“My treat this time,” he said, because hey, even on a deputy sheriff’s salary, he could afford some hot dogs.
“Well, next time I’ll take you out to a real restaurant—my treat.”
Aaron jerked, surprised and pleased, and then flushed. He didn’t mean that like a real date.
He looked at Larx and gave a smile like a lame horse, but Larx didn’t smile back. He was nodding to himself like he was having that conversation all over again and confirming that was exactly what he meant to say.
Aaron turned uncertainly and then got hold of himself and strode for the snack bar to get six hot dogs and a couple of giant sodas—and hopefully to find his kid to help carry every damned thing, because he couldn’t do it alone.
He found both kids, because their shift with the science club’s hot chocolate booth had just ended, and he bought them hot dogs too. They all trooped to the bleachers while Aaron and Christiana shared good-natured complaints about how Larx didn’t eat.
“And he’ll come home and be starving. Olivia started cooking first, right? He didn’t ask her to, but he’d get home at, like, seven o’clock and just start throwing stuff in a pot willy-nilly, and we would eat some of the most heinous crap known to man. Like, my favorite was one of those frozen packages of honey-coated chicken thrown into pasta with a can of mushroom soup.”
“Oh my God!” Aaron laughed.
“See, Dad!” Kirby spoke up from his other side. “Makes my Thai noodle shit look good, doesn’t it?”
“And oh my God! Spaghilli!” Christiana cried. “Like, he was making spaghetti, but he was exhausted, so instead of spaghetti sauce, he threw in a jar of salsa instead? And then tried to fix it with a can of chili.”
“Did you eat it?” Aaron asked, vastly amused.
“Oh God no. That was
the night Olivia took over. We were sitting at the table, trying to choke it down, and he….” Her voice dropped like now that she was older, she realized this wasn’t as fun a story as it had been seven years ago. “Well, he started crying, and Olivia, she gave him a hug and said, ‘How about pizza, Daddy?’ And Mike’s had just opened, and they delivered.”
“Ah.” Aaron nodded, another piece of the Larx puzzle dropping into place. This piece was maybe his favorite—he could identify with “vulnerable father” on so many levels. “Well, I know he lucked out in the kid department. You two are the apple of his eye.”
“I don’t understand them,” Aaron complained as their footfalls and breath grew regular after their sprint. “It’s like they turned twelve and the unholy goddess of puberty took over their bodies. I mean, Maureen is one thing—she’s going for the good-kid award. I get it. Tiff rebels, Maureen steps into the good-daughter footsteps. But I don’t get why Tiff suddenly hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Larx said gently. “I mean, it probably feels that way, but, you know. You were a guy raising her without a mom. She probably resents the no mom thing more than she resents you.”
“Did your girls?” Aaron asked dispiritedly.
“No,” Larx said, and for a moment Aaron thought that short answer was going to be the end. “Alicia wasn’t… she didn’t leave the girls with a good impression. Sometimes I worry that they’re such good kids because they’re afraid the love is going to be yanked away, you know?”
“Well, Dad’s pretty awesome,” Christiana said now. “Even when things were really crappy with my mom and stuff, he never once made us feel like we weren’t exactly the people he wanted in his life.” She laughed shortly. “And he did, eventually, learn to cook.”
Aaron wanted to pry—so help him, he wanted to pry. But not now, when they were nearing the bleachers. Larx was looking decidedly pale too, and Aaron figured it wasn’t a moment too soon.
THE REST of the game passed uneventfully—although listening to Anthony and Larx comment on the plays on the field was a treat.
The Colton Tigers won, but only because the West Sac Wombats’ star receiver pulled up short with a cramp before he could score what would have been the winning touchdown.
Anthony was furious. “A banana!” he snarled. “A fucking banana and a glass of water! Foster goes over it with them again and again and again—food, water, and sleep! Fucking Jesus!”
Aaron remembered Larx talking about how the English teachers swore like longshoremen and caught Larx’s eye.
Larx winked and then went back to nodding and reassuring Anthony that yes, that kid was as dumb as a fucking box of hammers. Christiana was sitting next to her father, smirking as the obscenities hit the air, and Kirby was looking a little shell-shocked.
“Geez, Dad,” he whispered. “I don’t think students swear like this.”
Larx overheard him. “Anthony’s old. He’s had more practice,” he said dryly, and then turned to his friend, who had no shame at all.
The game ended and the band filed out, followed by the football players. Aaron had to run out to mind the parking lot and make sure no fistfights broke out as the players boarded the bus. “Could you find me with Kirby later?” he asked, trotting down the track before Percy could start roughing up somebody’s little brother who was there with his friends.
“Deal!” Larx called, and Aaron counted on him for that.
The parking lot was—well, usual. Kids in high spirits, adults who snuck beer and were in higher spirits than necessary. Cheerleaders in uniform, football players out of it, showered and freshly clean for dates.
He saw the quarterback and wide receiver for the Colton team running quietly toward someone’s truck in the shadows, and thought they had the right idea—get out of the crowd before anyone waylaid them. He saw the band kids getting into cars with their parents—or their friends—out of uniform and hopefully going for ice cream.
There were three places in town that would serve food after the game: Mike’s Pizza, Lindburgers, and Frosties and Fries. Aaron was pretty sure each place would be packed with whatever clique ruled there this year, and he made a mental note to drive by each place on his way home. He wouldn’t be in the police-issue SUV, but he still had his uniform on, and it would help keep things calm if he was visible.
Things were about three-quarters clear when Christiana and Kirby came walking out, Anthony at their heels.
“I’ve got Dad’s keys,” Christiana said, drawing near. “He said me and Kirby could go out for ice cream if it was okay with you, as long as you could give him a lift.”
It was like hearing angels sing the perfect chord. Him and Larx? Alone?
“I can do that,” Aaron said, hoping he was keeping his voice even. “Anthony, you on your way out?”
“Yeah—I asked to walk the kids out. It’s been a while since Christi and her uncle A got to chat.”
“Dad,” Kirby muttered, “they swear together!”
Christiana burbled, and Aaron thought about how much she looked like her father. “You think Larx didn’t teach Olivia and me every swear word we know?”
They continued to chatter as they walked toward Larx’s old Dodge Caravan. As soon as they were ensconced, Anthony turned back to where Aaron was keeping an eye on a group of kids trying to get their shit together in a paper cup.
“Where do you wanna go?”
“I don’t know, where do you wanna go?”
“Do you wanna go to…?”
“No, too many people, how about…?”
“No, my dad’ll be there.”
“Should we go to…?”
And so on until Aaron wanted to shout, “Give it up, assholes, we all know you’re going to the vacant field by the school to get drunk, get laid, and add to the condom collection under the bushes!” Somehow he didn’t think that would go over well with parents, though, so he held his peace.
Anthony watched the social clusterfucking with similar cynicism. “You think someone’s parents aren’t home? That could knock up some prom queens in the group.”
“That’s the band. Those kids use rubbers, ’cause they have college to go to.”
Anthony laughed, then extended his hand. “Deputy, it’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too, sir. It’s good to meet a friend of Larx’s.”
Anthony paused then, uncertain, and then dropped his head and his voice so Aaron would have to move in. “Look, if I’m overstepping here, tell me to fuck off. But Larx—he’s a good guy. His ex was a piece of work, and he needs someone to take care of him. You could be good for him, is all I’m saying. Be good for him.”
Anthony broke off and then shook Aaron’s hand again before trotting into the darkness to find his car.
Aaron was left to chivy the kids to their preferred party destination and warn them to drive safe.
AN HOUR—it took an hour for Larx to finally leave the stadium. He was the last one out, and the bright lights hovering over the field had been turned off but still glowed redly in the dark as he trotted through the gate and locked the chain.
Aaron had moved his car up to the entrance, and Larx waved as he approached.
“Thanks for waiting for me,” he panted. “That took way longer than I thought!”
“Yeah, well, it’s a big circus—lotsa monkeys.”
Larx grinned. “And the big gorilla doesn’t have a chance,” he said before making oo-oo noises and scratching his pits.
“C’mon, big gorilla—let’s get you home.”
“Aw, man. I’m still hungry. Aren’t you still hungry?”
Aaron had to think about it. “Two hot dogs,” he said, as though Larx hadn’t been there.
“But… ice cream! And coffee! C’mon—Frosties and Fries is still open, and most of the kids’ll be gone. Whatya say?”
More time in Larx’s company? Not running? Not in the company of teenagers or old friends or an entire town?
“Sure. No ice cre
am for me, though. I’m still trying to lose twenty-five pounds.”
Larx looked disappointed for a moment, and then he perked up. “You can have some of mine. I’ll make it a double.”
Aaron had to laugh. “You’re incorrigible.” He clicked the lock of his SUV and gestured at Larx to get in. After Aaron had started the car and the heater—because the temp had dropped to the low fifties—Larx resumed the conversation like it had never paused.
“You heard Anthony—I’m the rebel without a cause. Incorrigible is in my job description.”
“Sure it is.” Just like charming and funny and dedicated.
“I don’t know what I have to do to prove to you I’m a bad boy,” Larx opined. “I mean, I’m a terrible fraud: friends with the sheriff’s deputy, principal, father, and underneath it all is a street punk with an attitude. It’s tragic!”
Aaron laughed at his foolishness and then thought about it. Maybe this wasn’t all foolishness. Maybe this was Larx trying to say something important.
“Why?”
“Because green peas,” Larx said quickly.
“Your kids must have been hellaciously confused,” Aaron chuckled. “Why is it so important that I believe you were a bad boy?”
And just like that, Larx’s irrepressible energy tamped down.
“Well,” he said like he was choosing his words, “because. Because if you tell someone something about yourself and they don’t believe you, they’re… they’re getting to know someone who’s not really you.”
Aaron sighed. “How about if I tell you I’m not that bright and just ask you to give me bad-boy details. Will that work?”
Larx laughed. “I was angry,” he said after a few moments. “My dad split, my mom was working all the time, and it was just my sister and me. But she got sick in my freshman year of high school, and God. I hated the fucking world. My grades dropped, I pissed off all my teachers—got arrested a few times. Petty theft, vandalism. Usual kid shit, you know?”
