by MC Lee
I choked on unexpected surprise, though I wasn’t sorry she thought lack of money explained my caginess.
“You ever miss playing?”
I tried to keep up with her lightning change of subject. “All the time,” I murmured.
She shot me a puzzled look. “So why don’t you join the team again?”
I shrugged. “I’ve got stuff to do—”
“What kind of stuff?”
I should have known she wouldn’t be so easily put off. Luckily for me, Noah chose that moment to walk out onto the field and begin to work the crowd. She jumped to her feet and waved frantically, and when Noah trotted over and grinned up at us, she hopped down onto the grass and hugged him.
“Thanks for coming,” Noah called up to me. “You want to grab a pizza after?”
Hannah turned expectant eyes on me, and I found myself nodding, even as my stomach soured at the thought of leaving Dad alone any longer than was absolutely necessary. I vowed to grab a slice and then beat it as soon as I could.
The whole team crowded into Pizza Express after the rally, and soon all the tables were filled to overflowing with food and drink. One of the rich kids’ parents had rented the restaurant out for two hours, so we had the whole place to ourselves with all the food we could eat, also courtesy of our north-of-the-tracks teammate.
“It’s good to see you here, Easy.”
I’d always liked Oliver Tipton, even though he was from the north side and was a friend of John Foster—usually two strikes against anybody. But he had always been decent, and his older brother had sometimes hung out with Jamie and seemed to be a genuine friend. The whole Tipton family had turned up at Jamie’s funeral, along with most of the team and their various girlfriends.
“Just passing through,” I said.
“You here with Noah?”
“I’m here. He’s here,” I said.
Tipton smiled and shook his head. “You don’t give much away, do you, Emmett?”
“Hey, man. I’m an open book.”
Cal grinned when he saw me and threw an arm around my neck. “Just like old times, yeah?”
I shrugged out from under his arm and gave him a friendly shove. “Yeah. You still can’t play worth shit.”
He laughed. “I always played better when you were around. Does this mean you’re coming back to us, Easy?”
“Soon, Cal,” I said, waving a hand. I spotted Noah across the room, trying to back away from Foster. I decided to leave him to figure it out for himself, and I grabbed a slice of pizza off one of the tables and swiped a can of Coke.
When I turned back around, Noah was right behind me, and I couldn’t stop the stupid smile that spread across my face.
“I’m glad you came, Emmett,” he said. “You want to grab a table?”
It felt so good to be here. With Noah. And Cal. With all my old teammates around me, most of them visibly glad to have me back. But I knew I couldn’t let myself get used to this. It wasn’t my life anymore and probably would never be again.
“I should go,” I said.
Noah’s face fell, and I could see how much he wanted to urge me to stay, but he managed to pull up a credible smile. “Hang on a minute.”
He turned and walked toward the kitchen, stopping only when Foster snagged his sleeve. They talked for a minute, and Foster’s eyes slid toward me before quickly swiveling away. I could imagine what kind of shit he was talking, but I didn’t really care.
Noah managed to shake Foster off, and then he disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a pizza box and a bag filled with soda.
“Here. Take some of this home with you. We’ll never eat it all.”
It was a measure of how good a mood I was in that I didn’t let his offer get under my skin. He meant well, and the pizza was really good.
Noah walked me to the door, and I nodded to some of the players on my way out and grinned as Cal gave me a wave.
Noah stepped outside with me. “It was nice to hang out for a while.” He couldn’t disguise the wistfulness in his voice, and it tore at me because I knew he was trying to sound happy so I wouldn’t feel bad. Which just made me feel worse.
“You want me to give you a ride home?” he asked.
“I’m fine, Noah. Go have fun,” I urged.
A pained look crossed his face, but all he said was, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Count on it,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. I knew I had to tear myself away, but it was hard to look into Noah’s warm hazel eyes and persuade myself I should go. In the end he must have sensed the trouble I was having because he smiled ruefully and backed up a step, then another. Before he could get hopelessly out of range, I leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his cheek.
“You’d better get back in there before they send out a search party. Thanks for the food.”
Noah tilted his head. “You know it was Foster’s party, right? His parents paid for everything. And he’s the one who suggested you should take some of it home with you.”
My eyes widened. “Shit! I hope you’re not trying to get me to rehabilitate my image of him.”
He smiled. “Nah. He’s still pretty much a douche. Tomorrow?”
I nodded, and as he turned around, I had to work really hard to keep the sudden wave of gut-wrenching envy from overwhelming me.
MY HEART leaped into my throat when I rounded the corner after running most of the way home to find Dad standing on the porch, gazing out across the street.
I approached warily, but when he turned his head to look at me, I could see he was calm and clear-eyed.
“How did the rally go?” he asked.
This morning I’d told him I might be a little late, but I hadn’t actually thought he had processed the words.
“Great. Everybody had a good time. We hung out at Pizza Express afterward. I brought some food back.”
He nodded as I hefted the pizza box. “You didn’t need to worry about me. I could have grabbed a sandwich. You should have stayed with your friends.”
There was no way to tell him that I never knew what I’d find when I raced back home. That I didn’t know whether he would be standing calmly on the porch or flat out on the floor or huddled in a corner. That I didn’t know if he’d be coherent or raging, with it or so far out of it he didn’t even know who I was.
“It’s okay. We’d pretty much finished anyway,” I lied. “You want a slice?”
He turned and I followed him inside, amazed to see he’d tidied up the kitchen and straightened the living room. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if he was feeling all right, but I managed to stop myself.
He led the way to the dining room table, though we hadn’t eaten there in months, and we sat opposite each other, in the seats we had always occupied. He flipped open the pizza box and pulled out a slice and began to chew absently. His gaze swiveled slowly between the two empty chairs, and I held my breath, totally unsure where his mind would take him.
“Jamie used to bitch so much when I ordered pizza with anchovies,” he said.
I smiled through the dull pain of memory. “Because he knew you did it to piss him off.”
Dad shook his head. “That’s the way he chose to see it. Actually I did it because your mother liked pizza with anchovies.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said doubtfully. For a moment I wondered if it was another misplaced memory.
“She did,” Dad said. “But she never said anything because she knew Jamie didn’t like them, and she always did everything for that boy. So I pretended I was the one who wanted them, even though I couldn’t stand the damned things.”
I stared at him, my mouth all but falling open in surprise.
“Funny thing is, once I started eating them, I got a taste for them,” he said, a lopsided smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Couldn’t ever persuade Jamie to give them a chance, though.”
“He would have,” I said quietly. “If he’d known Mom was the one who wanted them.”<
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I couldn’t tell if the sound Dad made was anguish or amusement. “We were both of us too damned stubborn,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I wish we’d had more goddamned sense.”
It was the first time I’d heard him say anything honest about Jamie since he’d died, the first time I’d heard him share anything personal about Mom. And the first time in as long as I could remember that he’d treated me like a real son.
Chapter Fifteen
THE EARLY morning knock on Saturday was unexpected, and I was still more than halfway asleep when I opened the door to find Mrs. Sweeney standing on the porch with two plastic bags in her hands.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” she said tartly. “Help me in.”
She handed me the bags and stepped into the house and then stood with her hands on her hips, looking determined.
“You’re taking the day off,” she said firmly.
I looked at her dumbly, and she huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Take those bags to the kitchen, and then go get yourself cleaned up. I haven’t got all day, you know.”
I humped the bags into the kitchen, still too dazed and sleepy to figure out what was going on. I was sure she would tell me in her own time, so I opened one of the bags and started unpacking. It was stuffed with vegetables and meat, with a loaf of still-warm bread sitting on top. The other bag contained a dizzying array of cleaning supplies. I left that one alone.
I could hear Mrs. Sweeney talking to my dad cheerfully, and then she bustled into the kitchen and pushed me aside.
“I’m making beef stew. It’s a family recipe. You’re going out.”
I scratched my head absently, still not understanding what she was saying. “Where am I going?”
She threw me a withering glance. “How on earth do I know what kids your age get up to? But whatever it is, be back for dinner by seven o’clock. Now, go!”
The words finally sunk in and made some sense. “Are you sure—”
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” she said coolly.
I mumbled a few words of thanks and then flew up the stairs to my bedroom. No more than twenty minutes later, I was showered and dressed and back downstairs. Mrs. Sweeney was already busy chopping onions in the kitchen, and I did a double take when I saw my dad sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee, seemingly engrossed in the newspaper spread out in front of him.
“I’m off, then,” I said, still half expecting some kind of drama to stop me in my tracks.
“See you at seven,” Mrs. Sweeney said, waving a knife.
My dad ignored me, but that was a lot better than some of the alternatives. I turned and walked out quickly, and when I closed the front door behind me, I drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. The whole day stretched ahead of me with no responsibilities, no reason to hurry, no need to worry about a single thing. I couldn’t believe how light I felt. I straightened my shoulders and jumped down the porch steps, knowing exactly what I planned to do.
First I swung by Starbucks and grabbed a coffee and a bagel, and then I hurried to the football field. I was practically the first to arrive, and I took a seat on the center bleacher and settled in to enjoy the game. The stands filled slowly, and the noise level began to rise, and soon I felt the swell of pregame excitement all around me. I waved to Melissa, who was in her cheerleader’s outfit standing in a huddle of girls, most of whom I recognized as the girlfriends of the football team. Her surprise was obvious, and she quickly detached herself from her friends and walked over, sliding up next to me on the bench.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.
“I thought it was about time I came out for the team,” I said.
“Is this the first time you’ll see Noah play?”
I shook my head. “I’ve seen him once before and at practice. He’s good.”
“He’s playing your old position,” she said.
I glanced sideways, wondering where this was going. “I know.”
“It doesn’t bother you? Seeing him out there with Cal. Where you used to be.”
I wasn’t going to let my one free day in almost nine months descend into melodrama. I turned my head and pinned her with a look. “I’m right where I want to be, Melissa. If I wasn’t, I’d think about changing things up.”
She held my look for a moment before dropping her gaze. “Enjoy the game,” she said, and then she stood up quickly and disappeared into the crowd.
I had barely taken another sip of my coffee before I heard somebody excitedly calling my name. I didn’t have to look up to know it was Hannah. She was running straight across the football pitch, waving her arms wildly and totally ignoring the fact that everybody else who wanted to cross from one side of the field to the other walked around the edges. She was wearing a long woolen scarf that floated out behind her like a tail.
When she got to the bleachers, she climbed up to where I was sitting and plunked herself down beside me.
“I’m so glad you came today. Noah’s gonna have a shit fit when he sees you.”
I couldn’t stop a snort of laughter, though I tried my best to look disapproving. “Do your parents know you talk like that?” I asked.
For a moment she looked chastened, and then her expression cleared. “You won’t tell them,” she said confidently. “Why don’t you come over and stand with us?”
“Maybe at halftime,” I said hurriedly. I wanted to just enjoy the game without having to make small talk or watch my language.
Hannah gave me a shrewd look. “I get it,” she said. “You don’t want the third degree.”
“Exactly. So, how’s life treating you?”
She waved a hand airily. “You know. School, homework, sports. It doesn’t leave much time for a social life.”
“I hear you,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.
“How about you?” she asked brightly. “Is it nice to be normal again instead of everybody thinking you’re so weird?”
I knew she wasn’t being mean, no matter how much her question stung. “Yeah, it’s nice,” I answered honestly.
“Noah said I’m not allowed to ask you questions about your brother.”
I glanced at her expectant face. “Is there anything you especially want to know?”
She looked around guiltily and then lowered her voice. “What happened to him?”
I swallowed hard. I don’t think I’d actually ever said the words before. I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to say them now, especially in front of a kid.
“The vehicle he was traveling in had an accident.” I couldn’t tell her the rest. That an IED had exploded underneath the Jeep, sending mechanical and human parts flying in all directions to land in a mess so jumbled they hadn’t been able to salvage more than scraps. Two other soldiers had been killed alongside Jamie, as well as a civilian who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the very worst of times.
She considered my answer and then nodded her head gravely. “Noah really likes you,” she said. “You’re going to come to lunch with us after the game.”
I was startled by her certainty. “I haven’t been invited—”
“Of course you have,” she cut in. “You’re Noah’s boyfriend. You’re always invited. Will you come over to see us at halftime?”
There wasn’t much chance she’d let me say no, so I nodded. She leaped to her feet and grinned brightly. “Okay. See you then.”
As I watched she skipped back across the field, stopping to bend down and retie her shoelace, totally oblivious to the people muttering on the sidelines. When the teams poured onto the field, I watched her jump up and down excitedly. Noah waved to her and cocked his head as she gesticulated wildly in my direction. He turned, and his face broke into a pleased grin when I saluted him. He shouted something over to Cal, who spun around and locked eyes with me, and then let out a loud whoop, making me flush red with embarrassment.
Noah and Cal both played exceptionally well, their understanding of each other on
the field stirring up a little unexpected jealousy, though I wasn’t sure which of them I envied. Cal and I had played like this once: fluid, graceful games driven by an unspoken, unexamined harmony. Part of me longed to be out there again, playing alongside my oldest friend, or perhaps seeing if I could reach that same place with my newest.
At halftime, while the teams were gathered around their coaches, I sauntered over to find Noah’s parents, taking a lesson from his sister’s playbook as I walked across the field. I felt Noah’s eyes on me, but I didn’t turn. Coach always threw a hissy fit if the players didn’t hang on his every rapid-fire instruction, and I didn’t want to distract Noah.
His mother’s face lit up with genuine happiness when she saw me, and I was startled to find myself wrapped in her arms in a warm hug. I couldn’t get my stiff body to relax, but she didn’t seem to take offense as she stepped back.
“Emmett, it’s so good to see you,” she said. “Are your parents here? I’d love to meet them.”
“Sorry. They couldn’t make it,” I said quickly.
“That’s such a shame,” she said.
“Emmett.” Noah’s father shook my hand. I could see him surreptitiously examining my face and knew he was looking for bruises or any other sign of damage. Part of me was pissed off at the assumption, which made no sense because what he was thinking was so often true. Another part of me was touched by his concern.
“Emmett’s coming to lunch with us,” Hannah chimed in. “Aren’t you, Emmett?”
I felt my cheeks flame. “If you don’t mind—” I started.
“Of course you must come,” Mrs. Davis said emphatically. “You know you’re always welcome.”
“Burger and a Coke all right with you?” Mr. Davis said. “It’s a bit of a family postgame ritual.”
“Sounds great,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic instead of panicked. Being a boyfriend was hard enough; hanging out with the parents was more or less virgin territory.
With Noah and Cal playing like pros, Whitmore won the game easily. Noah barely waited to receive his team’s congratulations before he strode toward us, pulling his helmet off as he moved. His face was flushed and wet, and his breathing was still heavy when he pulled up in front of me and smiled. “This is a surprise,” he said.
