by Kate Stewart
I’m able to sneak her out easily due to the collective commotion in the living room. The irony is that half of that room is filled with teammates. I’m halfway back up the steps when I hear Troy call my name.
“Yo, Lance.”
“‘Sup?” My whole body is thrumming at the possibility he just saw her leave, but the air about him is relaxed. “We’re watching the game. Want to come down and hang? I’ve got a beer with your name on it.”
“I’m good. Got shit to do.”
He gauges me as if he’s trying to figure me out and I simply stare back.
“All right, man, suit yourself, but consider it an open invitation.”
“Will do.”
Troy takes the stairs up two at a time until we’re eye level.
“Something else?” I ask, my guard up.
“Yeah.” He looks back at the front door and then to me. “Is she worth it?”
Shit. I hang my head. We’ve been too careless, and a part of me just wants the secret out. I want to be in the open with my girl. I’m not much into PDA, but I have a feeling with Harper I won’t give a damn. Problem is, at this rate I’ll never know.
“Troy, I can’t—” I scrub my jaw, “this isn’t just about me.”
“Hand to God, man, your secret is safe.”
“If you say a word, it will end me.”
“Trust me, I’ve done my fair share of locking it down when it comes to important shit. But do us both a solid. Give me a text or heads-up next time she comes, so I can make sure the coast is clear. Neither of us needs the drama.”
“Will do.”
He makes his way down, and I call after him. “Troy?”
He turns around and grins up at me. “Swear to God, it’s safe with me. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Sure.” He taps the edge of the staircase before disappearing back into the living room.
Harper
Harper: Good luck today. You’ve got this.
Lance: Thanks, Priss. Are you coming?
My chest zings at his term of endearment. What was initially an insult is a namesake I now hold dear. The first two games were a solid victory for the Rangers. Lance’s interception and thirty-yard gain at the last game has been the talk all week long in the halls and in classrooms on campus. Though he’s pretty incognito, I know he’s being watched, not just by the school but by those who matter to his end game. And for the first time in my life, I have a boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other a little over two months. When we aren’t together, I keep a sane schedule to keep suspicion low for my parents. My dad is slowly coming around. We’ve resumed our game day breakfast. He stares at me now across the table at The Pancake House.
Harper: Wouldn’t miss it.
“Who is that?”
“René. He was telling me to quit school and join him in New York.”
Dad’s shoulders tense, and he pauses the work of prepping his pancakes. “And you told him?”
“Two more years, Dad. We made a deal. I’m not planning on backing out of it.” I take a large bite of the fluffy cakes. “So, what’s your feeling on tonight?”
“Not sure. The defense has stepped up big time. Prescott is a beast. We’re going to use him a little on special teams. Got a couple on offense stepping their game up.”
“Prescott is good,” I nod without looking up. “You think he’ll get called up?”
“It’s not looking good for him, no,” he says easily. “I think his hesitation to enter last year may have cost him. But if he keeps it up and gets an invite to camp this year, he might have a shot.”
Dread fills me. I know how much he needs this, but I can’t linger on him.
“What about Troy Jenner?”
“Hard to tell. He’s gotten some interest. They’re talking about him. I think he’s a shoo-in and will get an invite to camp. But he seems a bit distracted this year. He’s going to have to get it together if he really wants it. We need this season.”
“I know, Daddy.”
I thank God I haven’t raised suspicions with my questions, but Dad is too focused on tonight’s game at the moment. The Rangers barely snagged a bowl game last year, and in the last five years, the team has declined in the rankings.
We spend the next thirty minutes mulling over the team and the possible outcome of the season, his strategy, along with his other favorite subject, my mother and sister. He’s a family man through and through. Most coaches wouldn’t wake up at five a.m. to have game-day breakfast and indulge their daughter in ball talk, but most coaches aren’t Ryan Elliot. Though his concern for my personal life is now mostly misplaced, I understand his protection of me. And that fierce protection in my eyes equates to nothing but love. My dad’s demeanor might be hard to penetrate, his moods sometimes impossible to navigate safely around, but his priorities never change, his family, his team, all of it comes down to his love and his respect.
But as we leave the diner and I kiss my father’s cheek, I can’t help but think back on the beginning of our conversation.
If Lance doesn’t get drafted, what will he do? How will he survive? How will his family fare if they lose the ranch? Clearing my head, I focus on faith; the faith I have in Lance, in what he’s done on the field so far this season, faith in his capabilities. It’s then I get an idea of just how much pressure he’s under and vow then and there to do anything in my power to help him.
He’s become far more than my experiment. For the first time in my life, my father isn’t the only man who’s taken up residence in my heart. Driving away from the restaurant, it sinks in, I’m falling.
Lance
“Everyone, this is Harper,” I grip her hand in mine and squeeze. I can feel the slight tremor in her stance. She’s nervous. And I have to admit, I am a little too. I used fall break as a chance to bring her home for two reasons, one to possibly help us with the books, and two to introduce her to my family. The shitty part is I only have her for one night and have to get her back to her family for Thanksgiving tomorrow. I caught my dad’s gaze when we walked in, and it was one that told me, ‘we needed to talk.’ Ignoring it, I made quick introductions. “This is my Mom, Jeannie, my Dad, Jack, my Aunt Dotty, and Uncle Pete, and this little shit here is my little brother, Trevor.”
“Nice to meet you all,” she says cordially. “You have a beautiful home.”
This earns points all around, and I’m quick with my weaponry when my dad scrutinizes her further. “She’s all about ball talk, Dad, so I hope you’ve got more beer than usual.”
“Fan?”
“You have no idea,” I spout proudly, wrapping protective arms around her briefly before letting go. I don’t miss the shock in Mom’s voice when she speaks.
“Just about time to eat,” she says, clearing the emotion from her throat.
“Can I help with anything?” Harper offers.
“No, hon, all set. Everyone grab a seat at the table.”
Harper sits to the left of me as everyone joins hands. After short grace, the ball busting begins, and Harper is quick with every quip, even joining in on the cracks on me. She fits in, just like I thought she would, but I can clearly see the change in her expression when she watches my dad’s hand tremor while he attempts to get a bite on with his fork. He’s concentrating on his task, too fucking stubborn to ask for help and I can’t say I blame him. Harper’s eyes begin to shimmer before meeting mine, and I see the instant realization sets in.
“You know for all the driving we did, I forgot to wash up. Would you all,” she drops her eyes just as Dad drops a heaping glob of mashed potatoes in his lap, “excuse me.”
Trevor, Dad, Uncle Pete, and I stand, and she holds up a hand. “No need to get up. So sorry. I’ll be right back.” She calmly makes her way from the table.
“You know, I didn’t wash up, either. I’ll be right back.” I toss my napkin down and stand before I make headway down the hall and catch Harper just before she s
huts the door. I lock us both in the bathroom, my hands behind me on the knob.
She stands in the middle of the small room, her back to me. “I have to go.”
“What?”
“To the restroom.” Her voice is filled to the brim with emotion, “give me some privacy.”
“You’re lying.”
She turns on me, her eyes filled with tears. “How does it feel?”
“It was an omission.”
“It’s lying! You didn’t tell me he was sick!”
“The tremor’s gotten worse since I saw him a few weeks ago.”
“So what? You didn’t think I’d notice? Doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t tell me!”
“The last thing that man wants is your pity. Trust me.”
“You should have told me.” She’s on the verge of bursting and I can feel the crack inside her. “Harper, I don’t understand. Are you angry I didn’t tell you or that you have to look at him?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” She practically shouts, but I don’t flinch. We’re too far from the table for anyone to hear.
“I’m dying inside just watching him.” Tears fill her eyes and quickly soak her face. “That poor man.” She points past my shoulder. “Is it early-onset Parkinson’s?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“And this is why the ranch is in trouble?”
“Yes. I mean we’ve always been hand to mouth but, yeah, it’s gotten dire since his symptoms have worsened. We can’t afford help or the medical bills. It takes him three times as long to do the work now. Trevor helps, but he’s only fourteen, and well, he’s Trevor.”
“Jesus,” she sniffs. “You could have told me, prepared me.”
“I didn’t realize you would care so much.”
“Care? I’m in love with them already from what you’ve told me and now being here,” she says, her face falling so far I feel it in my bones. I move to gather her to me, but she shakes her head. “Don’t, I’ve already ruined my makeup, if you touch me, I’ll lose it.” Her eyes burn with more tears. “I’m sorry. I’ve embarrassed myself. They probably know something’s wrong by now. You should have told me. I don’t want your dad to know I’m upset.” She furiously wipes away her tears as I stand there feeling like the shit I am. I should’ve told her. There’s no excuse.
“I’ll be right back.”
“What? No!”
“Trust me.”
Her glossy eyes find mine. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.” I make my way back to the table. Mom is fully aware when our eyes meet, but the rest of the family is clueless. “She’s, uh, got an upset stomach, so let’s give her a minute.”
“Got some Pepto in the cabinet, son,” my mother says, passing me a message, sympathy pooling in her expression.
“On it.”
I make my way back to Harper and see her eyes water over again. “I told them you had a stomach ache.”
“Great, now everyone thinks I have the shits.”
I burst out laughing, and she slaps my chest. “God, you are in so much trouble.” She pulls me to her and cries in my neck. “I hate you so much right now.”
“Harper, I’m getting whiplash.”
She sniffs, bringing her face to mine, her cheeks splotched. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t happening to me. It’s you. Your dad, your family, I just…”
“Well, you’re a drama queen.”
She musters a smile. “Exactly.” Her face falls, and I chuckle when she starts blubbering again.
“Jeez, am I glad I invited you. Life of the party right here, folks.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I want to.”
“You can’t. You’ve got the best heart of anyone I’ve ever met,” I say, pulling her to me despite her protest. She gives way in my arms and rests her head on my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Lance. I’m so sorry. This has got to be so hard on your family.”
“We’re making it through. It’s going to be okay. You told me, I’ll be drafted, right?”
“Right.”
“And if I don’t, I’ll be a rich as fuck boxer.”
“Exactly.”
“That means better medical care and fixing this place up. Hiring help. Letting Trevor be a kid. Getting Mom a nurse to help her out when it gets hard. And a motorcycle for me.”
“Gotta be something in it for you, huh?” She sniffs.
“Well, I am the one who’s gonna have to ice my knees for the next ten to fifteen years.”
“You say I have a good heart. Look what you’re doing. What you’ve been taking on. It’s like I read the story in seconds without being told.” She sniffs again, and I tip her chin up so I can see her eyes.
“Tenderhearted thing, aren’t you?”
She blows out a stuttered breath. “Any ailment, any illness like that, when I see it in person, I just lose it. And the fact that it’s you, your dad. God, I just can’t imagine. My whole life is about movement, Lance. I can’t imagine not being able to dance, to move when I will myself to. It’s my worst fear.”
“I get it. I think it’s mine too. The more I see him, the more I realize how lucky I am.”
“I’m sorry,” she crumbles again.
I hold her tightly to me. “It’s okay, baby, it’s going to be okay.”
“I know, I mean it’s horrible, but that’s not why I can’t stop crying.”
“Then, why are you crying?”
“Because I fell in love with you, Lance Prescott, and I’m not quite sure it was the best move to make on my part.”
That statement zings through my chest, lighting me up in a way I’ve never imagined possible, and I do the only thing that comes naturally. I laugh. I throw my head back, and I laugh hard until small fists pummel me.
“You. Total. Asshole.”
“I’m sorry,” I chuckle. “God, I’m sorry. It’s not that I think it’s funny.”
“Don’t look so pleased, you smug bastard. I’m terrified.”
“Me too.”
“So not what you’re supposed to say,” she tries to mask her own smile.
“No, I mean, I feel for you too.”
“Oh, well, good. I’m glad you can pick off a ball because you’re shit at sentiment, Shakespeare.” We both crack up as she looks on at me, her eyes softening. “Hook, line, and sinker. I’m officially a sucker for your ridiculous and inadequate charms.”
“I’ll get better at the Shakespeare, I promise.”
“Coach’s daughter falls for a football player. Like how cliché can it get?”
I lift my palms. “We can wear matching Christmas sweaters, adopt a dog, and take ‘almost a family’ photos.”
“Sounds good to me. Can we give the dog a ridiculous name?”
“Sure.” I wipe the tears from her eyes
She nods. “Just give me a minute to glue myself back together.”
“You’ve got two.”
I open the door as she primps in the mirror, wiping the black beneath her eyes. “It’s so obvious what just happened. I’m mortified.”
I kiss her cheek. “Hurry up before I change my mind and keep you locked in here.”
“Lance?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re okay, I guess.”
We share a smile, and I wink before I close the door. After dinner, beers with dad, and two rounds of pie, I whisk my girlfriend away from the chaos and make love to her all night in my childhood room. Skin to skin, we wordlessly bind ourselves, nose to nose, chest to chest. The next morning after breakfast Harper locks herself in Dad’s office for a few hours with the books before she calls my parents and me in.
“I’ve found you five grand, I think.”
My father looks skeptical but walks over to where she stands.
“This is owed, right? You have this crossed-out, but I’ve checked, and double-checked the numbers, and this makes sense, here.” She leans in analyzing my dad’s chic
ken scratch. My father pulls out his phone and steps outside.
“Whitty, you didn’t pay me for those heifers I sold you. Nope. Looking at the books right here. All right, see you after a while.” My dad walks in and nods. “Thank you. So much, really.” He’s too proud to show much more than that, but I know he means it.
“Jeannie,” Harper summons from dad’s desk and my mother walks over to stand behind where she sits. “I’ve put a few suggestions here and here,” she says. “They may work for next month.”
“Thank you,” my mother says, staring down at her with adoration before looking up to wink at me. I wink back.
“We need to get on the road,” I remind Harper, who looks up at me and nods. And I feel it, without her saying it. I feel it to my bones. She loves me.
We hold hands the entirety of the ride home. I drive her RAV4 as she sings Christmas carols while I try to find the right words to tell her what a difference she’s made in my life in the months I’ve known her. Rehearsing and re-rehearsing in my head how to put into words the way she makes me feel. Words that stem from any emotion have always been my weakness. But for her, I want to try. I want to tell her so much. How much she’s surprised me. How I never thought I could feel as much for any woman the way I feel about her. That I love her too, though I’m positive she knows.
Our smiles are never far from our lips as she rattles off future plans for Christmas. Our plans. And I don’t object once, because it’s a given for me as well. The transition from friend to confidant, to much more has been so effortless on both our parts, I wouldn’t object to any decision she made regarding us at this point.
Put simply, Harper makes me happy.
Turning into my neighborhood, I glance her way as she sings, committing the moment to memory while dreading her imminent departure to spend the rest of the holiday with her family. Her smile disappears and shock covers her features when I pull into the driveway. Following her line of sight, I hit the brakes a little too hard when I see her father, my coach, standing in front of his pickup, his arms crossed and hellfire in his eyes. Dread tightens my chest and defeat creeps up as I throw her SUV in park and put on my game face. Though the only thought racing through my mind at that point is game over.