by Lily Cahill
“I don’t want that either. And I swear to you, that’s only how it started. It’s not how it is now. I know it puts you in a weird spot, and I feel really shitty about that. It’s why I think we should lay low for a while. I don’t want his first impression of us to be because of that,” she says, then she slips a hand on my thigh. “This is special to me, West. I don’t want to ruin it.”
I shake my head, trying to process this.
“Don’t you think you should cut him some slack? You’re a force, Lou. And so is he. It can’t be easy having a daughter like you.”
“Exactly. He raised me to be strong. Shouldn’t he trust me to make my own choices by now?”
“He’s used to being in control. It can’t be easy to have someone stop needing you like that all of a sudden. It’s probably pretty rough. Scary too.”
“Maybe,” she says, going quiet.
“All I know is that he’s a great man. Truly. Anyone would be lucky to have him as a father.”
Lou sighs. “God, if I had a nickel for every time someone’s said that to me,” she says.
I give her a look. She sounds like a brat, and she knows it.
“That didn’t come out the way I meant it. I know he’s amazing. I do. And I do feel lucky to be his daughter. I just want him to trust me. You know what it feels like. His unrealistic expectations. How hard it is to live up to.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I say. And I do. I have to struggle every day to live up to them too.
“What is your dad like?” she asks. Her voice is quiet. It’s almost like she already knows. Does she?
“Nothing like yours,” I say, hoping to keep it at that. The idea of telling her twists my stomach. Would she be with me if she knew the things I’ve done? A girl like Lou deserves better.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“Let’s just say he’s not a good guy,” I say.
“That kind of feels like the same answer,” she says. “I was honest with you. Now it’s your turn.”
“What do you want me to say?” I ask, bristling. Why can’t she just let it be?
“The truth,” she says. “Tell me the truth.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I want to know you, West.”
I stay quiet, but glance away from the road long enough to catch those big brown eyes looking up at me from under her dark, feathery lashes.
She puts a hand on my knee again. “Tell me. No judgement. I truly just want to know.”
It’s impossible to tell her no. Even for this. And maybe she deserves to know the truth. “He’s in prison,” I say. “For selling drugs among other things. Mostly cocaine.”
“Oh, West,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “I’m not. Him getting locked up was the best thing that ever happened to me. My mom too.”
I should stop there, but I don’t. It pours out of me and I don’t know why. Maybe I just need to say it out loud. Or maybe I need to know it won’t scare her away.
“He isn’t just a criminal, he’s a prick. He treated me like shit. He treated my mom like shit. He’s a liar who only cares about himself and the chance to score big on whatever con he’s dreaming up next. Every fucking time he thought it was his big chance to get rich quick. You were either with him or against him, and you didn’t want to be against him. And the shittiest part? I was going to end up just like him. I was his best fucking dealer. And his best fucking guinea pig too.”
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“It means I went in with him deep, Lou. I bought into all his bullshit for a long time—from, like, the seventh grade through half of high school. I was hardcore high all the time. I was fucking up at school. Getting into fights. Messing around with any girl who would have me. I hurt a lot of people.”
Lou squeezes my knee, urging me on without words.
“There was this girl. Charlotte. She grew up in the neighborhood, a year or so behind me, and she was kinda like my kid sister. A tomboy. She wanted to do everything I did. And I liked having her around.”
My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel. Our destination comes into view. I pull off onto the side of the road—near the base of one of the foothills—and shut off the engine. It’s a good thing, too. Talking like this, I’m afraid I’ll run us off the road.
“One day, she came to me and asked to get hooked up in the business so she could make a little extra money. I don’t remember why. Maybe it was for her first car or something. And I was proud of her. I was actually fucking proud of her.”
I can’t even look at Lou right now. I won’t be able to get through this if I do.
“So I sent her to see my dad. Later, I found out he’d paid her two grand to test the latest shipment. But when I walked into the warehouse, all I saw was a group of guys—my dad’s cronies—and him in the middle, doing stuff to her. She was completely passed out and they were just—they were cheering and laughing like she was some kind of doll. Like she wasn’t even a person,” I say. “And you know what he said to me? You want to know what he said? He told me it was my turn next.”
“What, um …” She seems afraid to ask me. And I don’t blame her. “What did you do?”
“I punched him in the face and called an ambulance. After that, I went straight to my mom. And she took me straight to the police. They cut me a deal in exchange for him. I was the witness that put him away for life.”
“Oh, West,” Lou says, prying my fingers off the steering wheel to take my hand in hers. I look at her again for the first time, and there are tears in her eyes.
“But none of that mattered to Charlotte. She was so tiny, so little. And he gave her way too much. She didn’t survive it,” I say. “And that’s on me, Lou. That’s on me.”
“No, West. It’s not,” she says. “You weren’t the one who gave that stuff to her. And you certainly weren’t the one who took advantage of her.”
“I might as well have been,” I say. “So if you want to know why I don’t trust my instincts? It’s because they’re bad. They’re tainted with his blood and I have to make a conscious choice every day to keep them in check.”
Silence builds between us. She’s probably so horrified she won’t ever want to speak to me again. I’m sure the next words out of her mouth will be “take me home.”
“You’re winning,” she says instead.
“What?”
“The battle. Between you and your past. You’re winning it. You’re the starting quarterback at a Pac-12 school. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you hadn’t.”
“Maybe.”
“No, definitely,” she says. “You proved it at the last game too. You harnessed it, didn’t you? That other side of yourself?”
I nod, not even able to believe she understood what that moment meant for me.
“I’m just … I’m blown away by what you must have gone through, how hard you must have worked to change your life,” she says.
“I had nothing to do with it. I owe it to my mom. And my granny. If it wasn’t for them, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”
“I’m sure they’re wonderful. But you can’t say you had no part in who you became.”
She grabs my other hand. I let her.
“You may know the person you used to be. But I only know the person you are now. And look at the man you’ve become. You’re good, West. You’re a genuinely good person. You’re honorable. You care about doing the right thing, even when it’s hard. And you care about others—the whole team knows it,” she says. “You’re an incredible person. You … you take my breath away, West.”
She kisses me, her breath clouding against my mouth in the cold that’s crept inside the truck.
It’s a relief hearing her see things that way. The doubt’s not gone. I don’t expect it ever will be. But around Lou—seeing myself through her eyes—it’s duller, more manageable.
She kisses me again, slow and languid.
A soft moan escapes from her throat. The sound of it brings me right back to hearing her pant with her bare skin against mine. With her so close, it’s hard not to think about it constantly.
“C’mon,” she says. “The sooner we have our date, the sooner we can go back to your room and warm up.”
I have half a mind to toss her into the bed of my pickup and have her right there. But Lou deserves to be treated like a lady. We both get out of the car.
“So what are we doing out here freezing our asses off?” she asks.
I pull the tarp back to show her.
“A sled? We’re going sledding?” she giggles and claps, jumping up and down like a little kid.
And just like that, she’s flipped the switch on our night together. In that instant, she’s right back to having a good time. As though what I told her has made no difference at all.
“Oh my God, West. That sounds so fun!”
My chest puffs up in pride. I’d hoped it would be something she’d enjoy. Coming from snowless Texas, I’ve always wanted to try it. And getting to hold her tight as we fly down the hill is no hardship either. “Well, come on then,” I say. “We have to climb before we can slide.”
I pull the sled out of the truck and tug it behind us as we walk, leaving the other hand free to hold hers. The sun is already fading behind the foothills towering above us, glistening gold on the fresh snow. Her dark skin stands out against it and sets my heart pounding in my chest. The sight of her out here makes me want to cover everything in white wherever we go, just so she’s the only thing I’ll ever see.
Chapter Seventeen
West
A COUPLE HOURS LATER, WE’RE apple-cheeked and freezing, and laughing harder than I’ve ever laughed before. It turns out sleds are engineered for kids—or at least smaller bodies than mine. We spent more time falling down the hill than sledding down it. But the snow was soft and her body was warm and it turns out snowbanks are great places for kissing.
We decide to hit the nearest restaurant for a cup of hot chocolate. The moment we walk in, somebody waves to us from the bar area.
“Lou! Hey!”
It’s that girl Brooke, from Lou’s sorority. And she’s surrounded by a whole crew of people I recognize from the Greek scene—including that guy, Brett, who was with Lou the night I fought that douchebag on the Diamond Street Mall. He’s apparently her friend. But I’m not sure what sort of friend would let Lou get messed with like that. It might not have been him, but he shouldn’t have let it happen. Period. And there’s no way I trust the guy to take care of her ever again.
Brooke bops over to us. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” she says, hugging Lou.
“Neither did I. We’re just here for a quick drink,” Lou says.
“Then you have to join us,” Brooke says, giving me an open-mouthed look from top to bottom.
“Oh, that’s okay,” Lou says. “We weren’t planning to stay long.”
“I won’t take no for an answer,” Brooke says. “It will give you a chance to meet my new boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend, huh?” Lou asks, seeming only half interested.
“Yep. And I’ll give you a clue. You already know him!”
“Then why do I need to meet him?” she laughs.
“You know what I mean. Now come on. You have to,” she pleads.
Lou looks up at me. I can’t tell if she’s giving me a look that says she wants to join them or if she’s giving me a look that says she wants me to make some excuse for us. I decide that Lou isn’t the type to avoid just telling Brooke no, which means she probably wants to hang out with them.
“Whatever you want,” I say, meaning it. I’m not a fan of that Brett guy, but I don’t know the rest of her friends very well. When you’re on the team, it sort of becomes your life. Most of us only have football friends. It would be nice to get to know her crowd. “Seriously,” I say. “I’m cool either way.”
“Okay,” she says to Brooke, who immediately tugs her toward the group. I follow.
“Lou!” Brett yells, arms wide for a hug. I have to squelch the desire to sock the guy.
“Hey, dude,” Lou says, hugging him.
The minute they let go, Brooke grabs his hand, marking her territory like a dog pissing on the carpet. And my desire to punch Brett isn’t going away. It’s always been like that with me. My first instinct is to fight.
“Everybody, this is West,” Lou says. “West, this is everybody.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
They all look a little awestruck when it registers who I am. I hate this moment. It makes me squirm inside. I don’t think it’s a feeling I’ll ever get used to.
“Great game last week,” a guy says, breaking the silence.
“Killer,” another guy says.
“Yeah, man,” Brett says, extending his hand to shake. “That touchdown pass in the 4th? Totally blew my mind.”
I take it, squeezing hard to remind him which of us would make it out of a dark alley alive.
“Wow. That’s quite a grip,” Brett says. “You squeeze the football that hard?”
“Harder,” I say. The silence that follows feels chock full of nails.
Brooke breaks it, oblivious. “Brett and I were just telling everyone the funniest story about our night in San Francisco. Weren’t we, Brett?” Brooke asks, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. “It was so fun, Lou. You really should have been there. Tell her, baby,” she nudges Brett.
“Sure. But I think it’s time for a round of shots first, don’t you?” he asks Lou.
“Why not?” she says.
The bartender delivers them and Brett passes them out.
“I’m good,” I say when he hands one to me.
“Keeping it tight for the playoffs. Good man,” he says. Then he lifts his glass. “Cheers, everybody.”
Lou shoots me a sideways glance as she downs her shot. “Cheers,” she says. “So, what kind of debauchery were you guys up to in San Francisco?”
Brett launches into a story about puking off a balcony ten stories high. I’ve noticed most frat boy stories involve puking in some way. All those drunk & puking stories and high & crazy stories are the same, even mine.
“That’s disgusting,” Lou says.
“Is it? Or are you just not drunk enough yet?” Brett asks. “Bartender? A round of Kamikazes, please.”
The tray comes, and maybe I’m a fool, but I fully expect Lou to turn it down. We’re here on a date. For hot chocolate. She just had a straight vodka shot a minute ago and doing another one so fast could really mess her up. But she doesn’t turn it down. She grabs a glass right along with everyone else. Only this time, she looks up at me with a shrug.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” she says.
“Don’t stop on my account or anything,” I say. I know I sound like an ass the moment it comes out. But I hate seeing her act this way.
“I don’t intend to,” she says, downing it, keeping her eyes fixed on me defiantly.
“Ready to go?” I ask when she’s done.
“Very,” she says, anger coloring her voice. “Bye, guys.”
We make our way outside. Neither of us reach for the other’s hand. She has her arms crossed, and she looks pissed.
“Look, West. I know you were uncomfortable in there. I could feel it coming off you and it was making me uncomfortable too. But you didn’t have to say that. Especially not in front of my friends.”
“You’re right. I was uncomfortable,” I say. “It worries me when you drink like that. It’s dangerous.”
“It’s not. I know my limit and I was nowhere near it. Look, I know you don’t like it, but I like to have fun sometimes. I am who I am. And I’m not going to change myself just to make you happy.”
“I don’t need you to change, Lou. I don’t care about the drinking. I just need you to be safe.”
“Are you completely safe when you’re out on the field?”
“I’m trained.
And covered in safety gear. It’s not the same.”
“Yes. It is. If anything, it’s even more risky. Tons of players get seriously hurt every year. But I’d never ask you to give that up. We only live once.”
“But you’re living like you could die any day.”
“I could,” she says, her voice going dark. “Any of us could. Any minute.”
My brow furrows, trying to understand her. It feels like we just began a very different conversation. “What do you mean?” I ask. My mind runs through the possibilities, and none of them are good.
“Nothing,” she says. I see that look in her eye that means she’s closing up, shutting herself off to me. I hate that look.
“Don’t do that,” I say.
“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “You should probably just take me home.”
After everything we talked about tonight and this is what makes her ask me to take her home? There’s something going on here, and I’m not letting her go until I know what it is.
“Don’t shut me out, Lou.” I grab her by the elbow and turn her gently toward me. “What did you mean?”
She looks away, toward the street lit bright with twinkling white Christmas lights. “It’s genetic,” she says.
Then she turns her gaze to me. It’s the same kind of look I see on the field before a play: saying this for her is like going into battle.
“Breast cancer. It got my mom. And the chances are pretty good it’s coming for me too.”
“You don’t know that,” I say.
“Yes, I do,” she says. “I had the test a few weeks ago. I have the gene. BRCA-1. At any moment I’m one wrong cell division away from losing everything.”
The words are like a punch to my gut. We might be new, but the thought of losing her terrifies me. And all of a sudden, some of her actions—the drinking, the partying, her mantra of fearlessness—make a hell of a lot more sense. She truly believes she has nothing to lose.
“There’s got to be something you can do,” I say.
“My doctor thinks …” she says, her voice trailing off.
“Thinks what, Lou?”
“She thinks I could improve my chances. But only if they take away all the parts of me that make me a woman,” she says. She sits on a nearby bench as tears streak down her face. “She wants me to do it soon. Like, this year.”
