by Ginger Scott
“You ready to get this show on the road, folks?” Sean moves to the back of my dad’s chair, and I wrinkle my brow at him.
“Abso-tudily-ludily, Skipper!” I tease him for being so colloquial.
“I’m being polite. I didn’t want to call you all ass-hats,” my pal says, guiding my dad out of the house and to their SUV.
“Ass-hats would definitely…be accurate,” my dad says.
I shrug and laugh.
“He’s right…Skipper,” I joke again, dodging his fist as it flies to my arm.
I chuckle my way to the car, getting into the backseat and sliding to the other side making sure everything’s ready and out of the way before stepping out again. My dad has gotten good at getting into vehicles as long as there is enough room and nothing unexpected, like arm rests. Sean helps my dad into the vehicle while I move his chair to the back and fold it up as small as it will go. My friend helps me get it in after my dad is settled, and he brushes his hands together after he closes the back hatch.
“See, that was easy,” he says.
“It’s not the driveway I’m worried about navigating,” I answer.
I climb in the backseat with my dad, and Becky takes the front passenger side. Sean starts in quickly with small talk about the team, and the new quarterback, and I fill him in on the fact that we might have to kill the guy since he’s dating Peyton. Sean makes a few jokes about how this is the ultimate payback for me, but Becky’s mostly silent. I don’t ask why, but I have my suspicions. They’ve been trying to have kids for years, and Nolan told me a few months ago that they’re on their last attempt. I wonder if that attempt has come and gone.
Nolan and I had our struggles too—before and after Peyton. But we have Peyton. She is our blessing, even when she makes us yank our hair out.
When we get to the school, I direct Sean through the back gates. I step out of the car to swing the security gate open when we get to it, and he drives through until we’re parked right next to Nolan’s car. This lot is for the boosters, which means we technically get a spot here, but we told them we’d need two tonight since Buck was coming.
Everyone’s waiting in the lot for us, along with a cluster of parents anxious to talk to me. I must wear the frustration, because Sean jumps from the driver’s side and holds up his hands before anyone can step closer and start firing away with questions and autograph requests.
“Hey, folks,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder. I bite my cheek with my laugh. “Wheelchair coming through, so if you all could give us some space for just a little bit, I’m sure Reed will come over and visit for a few minutes.”
I’d rather sneak in and never come back out, but I get it. And normally, I don’t mind. I’m just so high-strung tonight that my mood is less…grateful athlete. I’m more depressed has-been.
“How you doing?” Nolan’s arm slips around me and she hugs me tightly as my lips find the top of her head.
“I don’t know,” I breathe out.
“It’ll be fine. Even if all of us have to carry your dad in his chair like some king of an empire,” she says, and I cringe at the thought.
“Yeah, that’ll be real subtle,” I say, letting go of her and pacing a few steps while my dad works his way from the car to his chair.
“Your dad doesn’t give a shit what people see. Is that what’s bugging you so much? That people will see your dad like this?” Nolan steps in front of me with her arms crossed and hip jutted out.
“No…it’s not that. I just hate that he has to go through this,” I lie. She’s always more right than wrong.
“No, you’re not.” She calls me on it and steps in closer so she can speak in a whisper. “You hate that people will see him going through this and start to talk about how you’re getting older, too, Reed. Well, guess what?”
She steps back with her arms outstretched and palms up.
“We all get older. Some of us just age with a lot more fucking grace.” Her eyes narrow and I feel the chill that’s meant from them.
“Noles, stop. That’s not it…” I put up a pathetic counterargument and give up quickly when she catches up to the other girls and walks away.
Sean, Micah, and I begin maneuvering my dad through the thick gravel and onto the weed-filled grass. If I had any sense, I would have come here this afternoon and smoothed all of this out or laid plywood for a ramp.
“Not very ADA compliant,” I mumble.
“It’s fucking…Coolidge,” my dad jokes. Sean laughs with him, but all I can do is stew over the fact that this is hard when it shouldn’t be.
We get my dad to the track and the edge of the field, and most of the old-timers have gotten up from their seats to greet him. He’s been insistent that he’ll walk to his seat from here, but with dozens of other senior citizens surrounding him, I don’t know if he’ll ever make it. I’m not sure he cares anymore, either, because his face is smiling larger than it has in months—at least compared to the times I’ve seen him.
I step back and thank Micah, sending him to the seats with the girls while Sean hangs back with me. My dad’s in his element, talking with people about his physical therapy, but more about what a damn good-luck charm he is. If the Bears win tonight, my dad will take full credit.
Maybe he’ll deserve it.
“He’s gonna be busy for a little while. You wanna go do this with me?” I point over my shoulder to the now doubled-in-size crowd clustered around the concession area.
“Sure, man. I’m like your personal body guard. This is awesome.” My friend rolls the sleeves up on his sweatshirt and puffs out his chest, trying to look bigger than he is. It makes him walk stiff, though, and the entire visual makes me laugh, genuinely.
“What? I’m a tough guy,” Sean says, adding a little skip to his step along with a fake piece of gum that he chews on one side of his mouth.
“Yeah, you’re tough. Like the way a kitten is when it can’t quite climb to the top of the couch yet,” I say, barely getting the last few words out between laughs.
My friend spins on his heels and flips me off while we make our way back to the crowd. Sean manages to stay close to me at first, despite the dozens of pens and random pieces of paper people thrust at me to sign. I think one of the papers is a bank statement.
“You playing this weekend, Reed?” One of the older guys shouts his question from the back and I squint to focus on him.
“Hard to say. Depends on how my MRI goes tomorrow.” I hand back one pen and paper and take another.
“Yeah, like you’re not playing just because you’re injured,” someone heckles from my side. I ignore him and keep signing, but I can feel the burn start in my chest.
“How’s the leg feeling?” An older woman I sort of recognize asks me while I sign a stuffed football for her and hand it back.
“Good…thanks,” I say, scanning her face in an effort to jog my memory.
“Mrs. Stetson,” she says, seeing my struggle. Her reminder sends me back to my junior year physics class.
“Oh wow, how are you?” I relax a little and put my hands in my pockets to get a break from signing things being shoved at me.
“I’m good. I retire this year, so I’m glad you came back now. Next year, I’ll be in Costa Rica.” She holds up the ball I signed. “Thanks for this. My grandson just loves you.”
I nod.
“That’s some retirement…wow!” I mentally flash to my own life, imagining it in some remote place away from here.
“It’s a lot more affordable, and ya know…teachers,” she shrugs in jest at her pathetic salary.
“That’s why I went into football,” I joke.
“You should have retired this year, buddy.” The voice comes at me from my side again, and this time I give in and turn to find out the source. I was half expecting to recognize him as some old teammate or something, but this guy is definitely a stranger, and he’s embarrassing his son, who’s standing next to him and getting smaller by the second.
“Maybe,” I say, faking out a laugh and deciding to be the bigger man. I am, by the way…the bigger man.
I turn my focus to the kid standing next to him and make the gesture for the old Chargers hat he’s holding with a pen in the other hand. The kid’s maybe a freshman, but he’s small, so I’m guessing he’s still at the junior high. He smiles enough that his teeth show, but as I reach to take his hat, his dad pushes it back down.
“No maybe about it, Johnson. You’re a shit quarterback, always have been. We don’t want your signature on nothin’.”
I breathe in slowly through my nose above my tight-lipped grimace, and I spot Sean a few people behind this guy, making a gesture with his hand to tell me he’s pretty sure the dude is drunk.
“That’s okay, man. I know not everyone likes me. Your boy play?”
I probably should have just left it there, with the bit about liking me, but I don’t know—something makes me want to string this guy along. It’s a bad idea, and I know the second his face sours because I dared to talk about his son.
“He’s gonna start here someday…break all your records,” he says, and I keep it positive and start looking for a way out.
“I hope so,” I say, nodding and lifting my hand to say goodbye and make my way back to my family. Before I turn and join Sean, I make eye contact with the kid.
“Best thing you can do is take your practice seriously. Do that, eat right, and lift a lot.” I reach out and pound the kid’s fist, and his mouth quirks up in a faint smile as I begin to walk backward. I make it a full three steps before the jackass sets me off.
“You should be riding around in a wheelchair like that old man, Johnson!”
Everyone hears it. I know they do because everything gets hushed. Or maybe the switch flips so hard in my head that it rings my ears and renders me deaf. In a blink, my fist is smashing into the side of the guy’s face, and in a beat, he’s scrambling backward away from me, sliding on his ass and feet and palms while yelling that he’s going to sue.
He will, too. Maybe that’s all this was, but I think it was more than that. I think this guy’s a drunk, and probably a gambler. Maybe I threw an interception that cost him some serious cash. Perhaps I only cost him pennies, or was a source of jealousy behind his failed marriage.
Whatever it is that drives him to be a dick, it shouldn’t happen in front of his kid. And it sure as shit shouldn’t be an insult to my dad.
“You’re going down, Johnson! You broke my face, you fucker. That’s bank!” The man stands and spits blood on the ground as he pulls his phone from his pocket and begins dialing the police. The resource officer shows up during his call, though, so I stand back and wait while this enraged man begins swinging his arms around and pointing fingers.
“If you didn’t hit him, I would have,” Sean says as he leans into me.
“I probably should have waited for that,” I say, sucking on the sore set of knuckles that met his bone. They’re gonna bruise, but not badly.
I sigh as I look over my shoulder and catch Nolan and Rose watching me. It was far enough away that my dad didn’t notice, still surrounded by old friends and talking about the good times. But everyone else saw.
Nolan saw.
And she already thinks I’m a mess.
Maybe she’s right.
Chapter Eleven
Nolan
Reed gave a statement, and I overheard a lot of the other witnesses talking to the officers when I went to the concession stand to get my husband ice for his hand. It sounds like this man is going to have a hard time getting someone to back him up, which is both good and bad. If something got Reed suspended, that would be one more long break from stress. Stress for me.
Selfishly.
That’s a terrible way for me to think.
From what I heard from Sean, Reed had every right hitting that guy anyway. Not that violence is a solution, but people shouldn’t say things like that about anyone. Especially about Buck. And that man has no idea how many nightmares I’ve had where Reed’s been confined to a chair like his dad, or worse—been brain dead.
Dead.
The clock is dwindling, and it looks like the Bears have made good on Reed’s challenge. They aren’t just winning, they’re killing Liberty. Reed’s falling a little more in love with Bryce, too. It’s fun to watch him watch someone young be so good.
“Look at his steps.” He’s giving Sean play-by-play, and Sean is just as invested. Per the norm, Sarah tuned out after her dance team performed at halftime. Now that the clock is showing just seconds left, she’s antsy for making plans for whatever comes next.
Peyton slips under the bleacher railing and climbs up a few levels to where we’re sitting. She moves into the space between Reed and me, and before she can try to work the daddy’s-girl angle, I beat her at her own game.
“You’re going straight home. Don’t even think about it,” I say, garnering a heavy breath that pushes the stray hairs from her face. It’s strange how much she looks like me but acts like her father.
“But everyone’s going!” The lip pout follows, and I lean forward to ignore it just in time for Sarah to guarantee my daughter will go directly home.
“Oh my God, yes! Let’s go! Desert party! Becky, Sienna…Reed…” She dips her chin and puckers her lips, taunting my husband into reliving his youth. “You know you wanna go. It’s our thing, y’all! We invented this shit!”
“Uggg,” Peyton huffs, slipping back from the bleacher steps and onto the track with the rest of her cheer squad.
“Thanks,” I say through laughter. “No way she’s showing up if there’s even a threat her parents will be there.”
“Girl, I’m not threatening. I was legit making plans. We’re going. In fact, Becky and I are leaving right now to get the beer. We’ll see you bitches there in an hour.” Sarah tugs Becky to stand by her arm, and our shyest friend shrugs in obedience, knowing there’s no use arguing with Sarah.
It actually sounds kinda fun, and it would be nice to spend a night just being all of us—like we used to be.
“I gotta hit the road early; I don’t know…” Reed stands to stretch his arms, and I can tell by the lost reflection in his eyes that he’s not really present. “Besides, maybe I’m wanted by the law.”
“You are not. And maybe you come out to the desert with us and for once,” I pause with an exaggerated gasp as I cover my mouth. “Perhaps you play this party sober.”
His lips draw into a tight smile, one eye smaller than the other as he looks down at me.
“I’m not eighteen anymore,” he says with a roll of his eyes.
“That’s the truth,” Sean says, standing and grabbing at his belly, which has grown a little—a lot—since high school. “Come on, man. We won’t stay late.”
Reed rolls his head side to side, finally staring off at the scoreboard as he considers it for a few long seconds before finally giving in.
“Maybe an hour or so. Okay, fine,” he says. I stand and squeeze him at his side. I step away enough to look up at him, and for a small breath, everything else goes away; we’re just us. He leans forward to touch the end of his nose to mine, and I lift myself with my toes to press my lips against his, a welcome warmth in the growing frosty air. The desert at night is cold; it’s been so long that I had almost forgotten.
We all caravan back to our house to get Buck and Rose home before we climb into the Jeep. It takes a little longer to get out of town than it used to. More stoplights have popped up, and more stores have crowded street corners. A lot of our favorite parts have given way to more of the same, and we pause at what used to be our favorite corner where nothing but concrete footings remain.
“I can’t believe they tore down MicNic’s,” Reed says, his arms folded over the steering wheel.
“I can,” Sean says from the backseat. “That place was a serious health hazard.”
I laugh.
“It’s true. I’m pretty sure the cook dropped actual ash from his cigare
tte into the meat once.” I fake a gagging sound, but Sienna makes a real one behind me.
“Sounds like it was amazing,” Micah says. He never had the pleasure of the MicNic burger, so Reed assures him he wasn’t missing out, but the rest of us all know the truth. MicNic’s had the best burgers ever, ashes or not.
Reed peels out at the last stop sign, and I grip the handle on the passenger side and laugh up at the moon as my hair whips violently around me.
“Drive, baby!” I scream, righting my gaze in time to see the smile stretch across his face. It’s a wild abandon that he hasn’t had in years. I think maybe I’m the cause of it disappearing, or at least part of the cause.
We weave into the night around the cactus-peppered hills, the road only lit a few feet in front of us at a time. It could be pitch dark and we’d all still know the way. It’s burned in our fabric, and time hasn’t caught up with this part of our home yet. No homes built around here, other than the eastern stretch of property that now belongs to Reed and me.
“Do you remember when we walked home through this?” Sienna reminds us all. I hear her begin to explain the memory to Micah, not wanting him to feel left out, while Sean, Reed and I joke about it.
“It was always so much farther than you said it was,” Sean says, pushing the back of Reed’s seat. “You ass!”
Reed laughs and looks his friend in the eyes through the reflection in the rearview mirror.
“You were just lazy,” Reed says.
I remember that first walk, and I know Reed’s thinking about it now. I can tell by the way his smile softens just before he reaches for my hand, gripping it and pulling it to his mouth to kiss the back of my hand. He holds his lips to my skin for a few seconds and when he sets our tethered hands down on the center console, he flits his eyes to me to make sure I’m all right with this memory now, too.
Reed was dating Tatum then. It all seems so stupid and trivial now, which I suppose it was, but at fourteen, that night was my whole world. Feelings were bigger somehow, and things cut deeper. I was a girl with a crush, and he was a boy just figuring out how to deal with desire. And Tatum…well…she’s a stripper now, so I guess not much has changed.