Next Man Up (Making the Score Football Romance Book 2)

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Of course, it’s fine.” Leo glanced to the rear of the church. “Where’s Zelda?”

  My jaw clenched. “I don’t know. I came with my parents.” I’d forgotten that Leo wouldn’t know what was going on between Zelda and me; Quinn probably wasn’t sharing gossip with him these days, and even if she had been, I doubted that Zelda had mentioned our . . . break-up? Temporary separation? Whatever it was. Zelda was too compassionate to dump that on Quinn when she was in the midst of watching Nate die.

  In the front row, Quinn was sitting with her mother and with Nate’s parents. I hadn’t seen her since this summer down the shore, and I was shocked at how much she’d changed. The black dress she wore hung on her shoulders, and she was pale.

  The minister had just come in to begin the service when there was a sound at the back of the church. I turned around in time to see Zelda trying to close the door behind her without making too much noise. Gia stood next to her, hands clasped, staring at the ground.

  The girls walked to the front to hug Nate’s mom and dad and then Quinn. Zelda scanned the rows of people, her gaze stuttering when she spotted me. I saw the flash of raw hurt there before she shuttered her eyes closed again.

  She and Gia walked to the other end of the pew where we were sitting. Leo’s older brothers moved so that they could sit on that end. Far away from me, I noted darkly to myself.

  But even separated by people and space, at the funeral of our friend, I couldn’t help feeling the same draw I always did when Zelda was nearby. I wanted to be closer to her. I wanted to sit next to her and hold her hand. I wanted to ask her to come back to me and never leave.

  “I am the resurrection and the life.” At the podium, the minister began to speak. And we began the process of saying goodbye.

  After the service, we all ended up back at the Taylors’ house. I wasn’t sure why precisely, but apparently, it was normal for everyone to gather together and eat food after commemorating the death of a loved one.

  Gotta love convention.

  The Taylors lived in Eatonboro, not far from the school where I worked. Leo offered me a ride over from the church, since my parents weren’t going to join us.

  I liked Leo. I’d considered him an admirable player back in high school, and although we’d only met a few times, he’d struck me as easy-going and likable. And it was also entirely possible that just now, I saw in him a kindred spirit, since I knew that he and Quinn had had their ups and downs.

  “This sucks balls,” he announced as we pulled out of the church parking lot. “This whole fucking thing.”

  “Not going to disagree with you.” I slumped in the passenger seat, staring out the window into the gray day.

  “So, you want to tell me what’s going on with you and Zelda?” He side-eyed me. “That was some kind of cold shoulder she gave you back at the church.”

  “Ah.” I shrugged. “She . . . we’re kind of on a break, I guess. We had a fight, and Zelda moved out and got an apartment in the city. I don’t know what’s going on. Today was the first time I’ve seen her since she moved.”

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was filled with empathy. “I thought you two were great together. You seemed to have something real.”

  “I thought so. But . . . you know, everyone has shit to work through. I’ve had a lot of time to think it over, and I’m pretty sure Zelda got spooked by something. Maybe she thought we were moving too fast. I don’t know.” I repeated the same tired phrase. “I’m hoping once she has some time, we can work everything out.”

  “I hope so, too. You were good for her.” Leo shot me a quick grin. “Frankly, Zelda scares the shit of me most of the time. The first time we met, she threatened me with serious bodily harm if I ever did anything to hurt Quinn. I took that very seriously.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said with feeling. “Zelda doesn’t fuck around about her friends. She’s fiercely loyal. She’d do anything for them.”

  “Quinn’s going to need that kind of loyalty right now.” Leo nodded. “The next few months are going to be rough on her. I hope Zelda sticks close.”

  He turned into the driveway of a well-maintained, ivy-covered house. Several cars were parked at the curb. Once he’d stopped the car and pulled the keys from the ignition, he sat for a moment, staring at the steering wheel.

  “Well . . . here we go.”

  All of us who had known Nate best—outside of his family, of course—gathered in the small den. Quinn was huddled in the corner of a large, worn couch, her feet tucked up under her. Gia sat on the other end, and Zelda perched in her normal graceful fashion on a recliner. I parked my wheelchair just inside the door.

  “Tuck, thank you so much for coming.” Quinn smiled at me.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it.” I held her gaze. “Nate was a good guy. I was thinking the other day that I’m grateful to whoever it was at the Birch College house department who matched the two of us.”

  She nodded. “Nate said something along the same lines after you and Zelda came to see us last summer.” She rested her head against the cushion of the sofa.

  I could feel Zelda’s eyes resting on me, and I glanced up to catch her watching me with a combination of pain and yearning. Her expression gave me a thin thread of hope that maybe she was missing me the same way I missed her.

  Before I could ease my way over to sit closer to her, Leo came into the room. He paused in the doorway, his attention instantly on Quinn. The way he looked at her . . . I was pretty sure everyone felt the pull between the two of them.

  “Hey.” I snapped my fingers by his ear. “Leo, you okay, man?”

  “Yeah.” He straightened. “Just was thinking of something. Remembering something. I got distracted.”

  He flashed me a quick smile of gratitude and moved to sit between Quinn and Gia on the sofa. I only half paid attention to their conversation because I couldn’t get myself to look away from Zelda.

  She was, I realized, my sun. I didn’t want anything more than to be in her orbit, to know that she was mine. It was nearly killing me that we were so close to each other right now, sitting mere feet apart, and yet at the same time we were separated by a distance I didn’t know how to bridge. Because I didn’t know what had created the gap, I couldn’t cross it. And that was torture.

  I re-focused on the conversation, which had turned to the just-passed holidays, with everyone playing a twisted game of mine was worse than yours.

  Gia was describing the aftermath of her trip to New York to stay with her father and his new girlfriend. “I took the train home the next morning and drank a bottle of Scotch. That, my friends, was the highlight of my holiday. Ten hours of blissful oblivion.”

  “God, Gia, I’m sorry.” Quinn reached for Gia’s hand. “I wish I’d known.”

  Gia snorted. “Oh, sure, because your Christmas was so much better, Quinn? Come on. Let’s just face facts. This was the suckiest of sucky holidays for both of us.”

  “Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “It was pretty surreal. I don’t want a repeat performance. Maybe we should make a pact to spend next Christmas together. If we make plans, just us, you’d have a good excuse to avoid your crazy family.”

  “Hey, what about me?” I winked at Quinn. “Don’t the rest of us get to join in on this Yuletide fun? My Christmas was fairly dismal.” I didn’t have to say why. Everyone in the room could probably guess that it had something to do with Zelda.

  Quinn shifted in her seat. “I don’t know, Tuck. You and Leo and Zelda have whole, intact families. You guys have places to go. Gia and I are the broken ones.”

  Zelda rolled her eyes. “You aren’t broken. And as for my family—there are a lot of them, so it seems normal, but I wouldn’t say no to getting away from them next year. I’d be totally down for celebrating with my best buds. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing, now that we’re officially carefree college graduate adults?”

  “I don’t know about the carefree part, but I think I like this idea. Should we go
someplace tropical or seasonal? St. Thomas or Aspen?” Quinn tilted her head, considering, and in the way of good friends, the conversation took off again, twisting and turning through a dizzying array of subjects. I attempted to follow along, but it was difficult when I couldn’t keep my eyes off Zelda.

  I did know, though, that as the discussion turned to Quinn and her future, Leo was growing increasingly uncomfortable. It could have been because Quinn was clearly waiting for some kind of signal from Leo, something to indicate he wanted to be part of that future. And it was just as apparent that Leo wasn’t biting.

  Possibly out of desperation to change the subject, Leo addressed Zelda.

  “Zelda, what’re you doing again? I know you mentioned it the last time I saw you, but I don’t think you said much about it.”

  Zelda crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. How in the hell did even that goofy face manage to turn me on? I shifted in my chair, wishing I could escape the room. Or kiss her. Either way.

  Zelda’s voice was sharp as she answered Leo. “Oh, I totally sold out, didn’t you hear? I was supposed to be living in genteel poverty, interning at a farm-to-table co-op. But instead, I’m working for a political action committee, advocating for increased funding for farmers who are growing food using sustainable practices.”

  Leo shook his head. “You lost me right after ‘committee’. What is it, exactly?”

  Zelda smiled, though she looked slightly pained. “Basically, I spend a lot of time talking to and meeting with politicians to try to get more government money for farmers who are committed to raising their crops more sustainably.”

  “It’s an amazing job, and she’s not selling out. Don’t listen to her.” Quinn shook her head. “She just says that because she always thought she was going to end up living on a commune raising organic food with hippie farmers.”

  “Are there still hippie farmers out there anywhere?” Leo grinned. “I thought they disappeared after Woodstock.”

  “If there are, Zelda would find them.” I spoke up without thinking about it, staring at her. I knew that the arch tone and her snarky remark about selling out were both aimed at me, hitting back for what I’d said that fucked-up night before she’d left. Holding her gaze, my eyes steady on her face, I added, “But what she’s doing now is helping even more farmers. Just because something pays well doesn’t mean it’s selling out.”

  “I think that’s the actual definition of the term, but whatever, right? It lets me have a bitchin’ apartment in the city.” Her voice was brittle.

  “I wouldn’t know about that. I haven’t been invited to see it.” I tossed that back at her.

  Zelda opened her mouth as if to toss back an answer, but before she could, an older couple—Nate’s great aunt and uncle, I thought—came in to say goodbye to Quinn. After they’d shuffled out of the den, Zelda glanced at Gia.

  “It seems like everyone is getting ready to leave. Maybe we should go, too.”

  Quinn bit her lip. “You know, this is the worst part for me, I think. All this time, I thought, well, when we say goodbye to Nate, when he’s aware for the last time, that’ll be hard. When he actually dies. When they come to take his body away. When I have to sit through his funeral. And all of those were pretty horrible.” She looked around the room. “This has been the best part, being with all of you. And everyone leaving is the worst part, because it means I have to start living again. And I have to figure out how to do that.” She sounded woebegone and lost. Next to her, Leo’s face was bleak.

  Zelda rose to her feet and moved to the sofa, sitting on the arm and leaning down to wrap Quinn in a hug. “Doll. You’re not going to be alone. How about I come stay at your house tonight?” She shot Gia a meaningful look. “You come too, G. We’ll have a slumber party, just like old times. I’ll buy us a couple of bottles of wine, we’ll watch some sappy movies, and we’ll order pizza.”

  “Are Leo and I invited to this slumber party?” I asked the question already knowing the answer.

  “Nope. Girls only. No boys allowed.” For the first time, Zelda looked straight at me. “You have cooties, and you’re mean.”

  “Mean, huh?” I murmured. Well, maybe we were getting somewhere now. Maybe I was seeing a crack in her armor. Without looking away from Zelda, I spoke to Leo. “Taylor, how do you feel about playing wingman to a guy on two wheels? We could hit some bars and drink a toast or two to Nate. Maybe eat some wings and pizza.”

  Leo hesitated, and I caught him glancing toward Quinn, who wasn’t looking back.

  Zelda, however, was. Her eyes flashed at me, and she raised her chin.

  “Trolling for chicks, Eli?” Her tone was cold and slightly bitter, but I heard the undertone of hurt, and that was what I answered.

  “No, Zelda.” I smiled at her, hoping she saw the olive branch I was trying to offer. “No women. Just a boys’ night out, in memory of Nate. Leo and I miss him, too, you know.”

  Zelda’s face relaxed, and she nodded. “Have a good time.”

  The others began to stand up and prepared to leave. As Zelda passed me, I caught her wrist. “Zelda. Can we talk for just a minute, please?”

  She paused. “Do you really think now is a good time to do this, Eli? Here?”

  “I didn’t say I want to do anything. I just want to talk to you.”

  She fastened her eyes somewhere above my shoulder. There was something uneasily familiar about the way she stood, her coolness toward me, her sharp words . . . for a moment, I couldn’t place the sense of déjà vu and then I knew it. The Zelda standing next to me now was the same distant and angry woman I’d met during our first week at Birch. And fuck it all, I was back in the same place, not understanding why she hated me.

  “I don’t have anything to say.” She clenched her hands. “I need to go. Quinn and Gia are waiting for me.”

  “Quinn’s standing in the front hall right now, hugging Leo. I think they need a moment. Gia’s talking to Quinn’s mother. You’re not holding up anyone.” I loosened my grip on her wrist and slid my hand down to lace my fingers with hers. “Zelda . . . I miss you. I don’t know what happened that night, or what happened in the weeks before that night, but I know I did something wrong. I just wish you’d tell me what it was, so we could work it out. I hate being without you, baby. Please. Just talk to me.”

  For a moment, I thought she might. I thought she might give in and sit down next to me. But she didn’t.

  “Not now, Eli. I’m not ready. I can’t tell you what you want to hear, and I can’t—” She sighed, a long shuddering breath escaping her lips. “Eli, I tried to be who you wanted. Who you needed. But I can’t be that person. I’m not capable of it.”

  I wanted to pour out denials on the flames of her words. I wanted to make her see how wrong she was, how many lies she was believing about herself—and about me. But she was right about one thing—this wasn’t the time or the place to launch the kind of talk we needed to have.

  So instead, I only said, “I don’t agree with you. But I won’t argue. Not here. Not now. Just remember that I’m not going anywhere. All the things I ever said to you are still true.” I squeezed her hand, and then I did the hardest thing in the world.

  I let her go.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zelda

  “This is the lamest movie in the world.” Quinn’s mom Carrie scooped up a handful of popcorn and stuffed it into her mouth, munching as she complained. “This is not an accurate depiction of what it’s like to get your heart broken. This chick is way too neat and clean about it. Look at her. She’s crying, but her mascara isn’t running. She’s just phoning in the hurt.”

  Next to me, Gia sighed and poured herself another glass of wine. “You’re not wrong. My grief doesn’t look all shiny and pretty like this. My grief is—it’s ugly. It’s heaving sobs and screams and puffy eyes that never seem to really stop leaking.”

  I slid my arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “Your grief is real, G. That’s the dif
ference.”

  “Did you ever have your heart broken, Mom?” Quinn finished her wine and set down the glass. “I mean, aside from losing Dad.”

  Carrie rolled her eyes. “Of course, I have. I’m a woman, aren’t I? Your father wasn’t the first man I dated, Quinn. But he was the guy who hurt me the most. He broke my heart a long time before he died, back when we were first dating.”

  Quinn’s eyebrows rose. “I never heard that story.”

  “It wasn’t one either of us liked remembering, so we didn’t talk about it. We’d been together about six months—this was when we were in college, right after we first met—when Bill stopped calling me. He just kind of vanished from my life. At first, I figured it was that we were both busy, and we kept missing each other, but it wasn’t. A week passed, and he never came by my dorm or called me on the phone . . . no text or email in those days. I had too much pride to call him and ask what the fuck was going on—”

  “Mom!” Quinn sounded mildly shocked. “Language.”

  Carrie laughed. “Get over it, sweetie. Mom cusses sometimes. Where do you think you get it?”

  Quinn shook her head. “I don’t want to think about that. So what happened? Clearly Dad came back to you eventually, since you ended up married.”

  “He did, but not right away. I’d see him on campus, but he always avoided me, and after a while, I started avoiding him, too. It was humiliating and hurtful—and the hardest part was that I had no clue what I’d done to make him change his mind about how he felt.”

  In Carrie’s words I heard an echo of what Eli had said to me earlier today. I don’t know what happened, but I know I did something wrong. He had no idea how deep that struck in me—because I knew it was true. He didn’t know what happened, because he’d done nothing wrong. He’d been my best friend, my lover and my one safe harbor. It was me who wasn’t worthy. It was me who’d realized how deficient I was, how incapable of holding onto anything real and lasting.

  “Then one day, just before the end of the semester, I came back to my dorm and there he was, sitting on the floor outside my room. He looked pitiful. He begged me to hear him out . . . and I did. Eventually.” Carrie winked at us, and Gia laughed.