“Oh.” That made more sense. “So, he’s not allowed to tackle anyone?”
“Rachel, how many games have you been to?”
I wasn’t really sure what that had to do with anything.
“No idea. I came if a date brought me or I was meeting someone. And of course all of the home games this year with you.”
Amy nodded. I could see her doing a quick tally in her head. “So, between the nine home games so far this year and all your dates and potential dates, that’s at least thirty-five games.”
Wow, that was a lot of time hanging out on this field. Maybe there was some type of spectator’s scholarship.
“And,” she continued. “You have no idea at all what’s going on out there, do you?”
I glanced over at the guys again. I was a little shocked to see Chris standing between Luke and the other guy with his hand squarely on Luke’s chest as if holding him back. Coach had stopped shouting and was talking to one of the team’s assistants in low tones. This must be serious.
“Looks like another riot.”
Amy threw down her pen. “I mean besides that. The game? The players? Any idea at all?”
I’d dated a guy for, like, two weeks who played town league and he talked about soccer all the time. I had to know something.
“Um, there’s a bunch of guys, and they stand in lines trying to get the ball in the other guys’ net. And some of the lines’ job is to stop the ball from getting in their net, but only some of them get to use their hands. And,” now I was working up some steam. “I mean really, the ball is so small and that net is huge. Why the heck is it so hard to get it in there? I mean, are these guys really that good?”
I could see Amy struggling to not throw her hands in the air.
“On that field right now are four of the best high school soccer players in the state. Three of them are on our team. Yes. It really is that hard.”
“Oh.” I was saved from more Soccer 101 when a whole lotta yelling rose from the crowd behind us.
“Oh, crap.” Amy was on her feet again, pacing the sidelines. All I could tell was there was a lot of shouting on the field, and I couldn’t tell who was shouting at whom about what. But now everyone seemed to be looking at Luke. He leaned past Chris and the ref, brushing the ref’s shoulder. With a quick motion, Luke shoved the other team’s player while he shouted at the ref. Next thing you know this red thing was being waved in the air and tossed on the ground.
One of the other guys stepped forward, to let Chris throw an arm over his shoulder and backed him out of the chaos.
“Oh, crap,” Amy said again as Coach threw his clipboard on the ground and marched across the field.
Everyone seemed to hush and lean forward collectively. Maybe none of them knew what that red thing meant either. On the field, Coach was tugging at his hair and talking to the ref but Luke was still shouting.
Only now Will, one of our guys, was shouting at Luke about being two men down. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but I wasn’t even sure why the ball had to be black and white. Why not black? Why not white? Could they just not decide?
Ben jogged in out of nowhere. He met Luke chest to chest, and threw an arm over his shoulder, walking him backward, pushing him.
Ben shouted at Will while Will shouted at Luke.
Luke shouted at the guy on the other team.
Coach shouted at Luke. And then he shouted at the ref before turning back to shout at Luke some more. And shouted. And shouted.
This was better than staying in. This was better than a double-header of Brad Pitt movies and magically-fat-free ice cream.
Luke must have calmed down because Ben stopped and stepped away. But Will just kept going. I guess Ben wasn’t worried about Luke attacking someone on his own team—again. In one swift motion, Luke grabbed the bottom of his team shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it in Will’s face before starting across the field toward us.
I glanced at Amy. She was smiling this weird little smile but shaking her head at him as he came.
“Parker!” Everyone turned as Chris pulled his shirt off and threw it straight at Will’s chest with a smirk.
Luke waited as Chris hobbled over to him. It was obvious to everyone his knee wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. Chris braced his arm against Luke’s shoulder and together they finished the walk, the crowd behind us cheering and stomping their feet.
Two soccer gods—shirtless.
“Good Lord, I hope someone gets a picture.”
Beside me, Amy burst out laughing. Thank God, I thought if anything tonight would earn her wrath it would be that. Luke and Chris traveled a pace slow enough to challenge molasses to the table where she waited for them. Both of them. When they reached her, Luke threw his free arm around Amy and lifted her into a kiss that if that red card meant what I thought it meant, should probably have earned him another one.
The three of them stood there—Luke grinning and Amy shaking her head at him, Chris leaning on the table staring up at the daylight-bright lights—waiting for Coach to clean up the mess with the ref and probably do some shouting of his own at them.
And then Chris turned his full attention on me, and my stomach dropped. I stood—separate—on the opposite side of the table feeling as if I should do something. As if I could make something better. As if I could make that fresh look of panic on Chris’s face go away.
Luke looked up and gave Chris a little jab in the ribs, stealing his awareness away. Both of them were grinning again, but I could still feel the tension underneath it all and suddenly doubted that it had much to do with Amy anymore.
“Why the hell is he standing up?” Coach rubbed at his messy hair and shouted at Amy. “Whalen, is there a reason my starting left wing is maimed and doesn’t have an ice pack?”
Coach pointed at the chair Amy had been in and Chris collapsed into it and lowered his head to the table. From beside him I could see the pain etching lines around his eyes. I’d known he was hurt, but it didn’t dawn on me until right then that it could have been serious.
Without thinking about it, I sat next to him and put my hand on his shoulder…his bare shoulder. He turned his head on his arms to look at me.
“You’re not okay, are you?” I said as quietly as I could. Somehow I knew he wouldn’t want everyone to know.
“I’m screwed.” His hand came up and covered mine as he raised his head. We were nearly nose-to-nose, but he still whispered. “You’re not going to back out, right? On helping me with classes? The trial run?”
Oh my God. I could hear the panic in his voice.
“You’re going to be fine. That Early Acceptance is still in the bag.” His hand tightened on mine. “I swear it. They’ll patch you up and you’ll be okay.”
He was shaking his head before I finished. “Even if it gets better, the wrong type of tear and I’m done. No college.”
I was sitting there, my hand trapped under his, watching his dream die.
“Don’t be an ass. All this drama for a sprain. You need to get over yourself.”
His lips lifted, just a bit, but I could still read the pain in his eyes.
That’s when I realized, the smile, it was for me. To make me feel better and not worry.
“Kent, you ready to go?” The assistant coach guy stood behind him, a first aid kit and warm up sweatshirt flung over his arm.
Chris nodded and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. The coach drew Chris’s arm over his shoulder and led him away at a hobbling snail’s pace—if, you know, snails could hobble. Before he’d gotten too far, Chris turned around and looked right at me.
“Don’t forget. You promised.”
It was still there, the panic. I would have done anything to hush it. So I did.
“I didn’t,” I said. “But I will.”
Chapter 23
“Rachel?” My heart stopped when I heard his voice. “Can you come get me?”
Chris sounded more messed up than he had at the field. Som
ehow things had gotten worse. I hit pause on the movie I was not really watching and sat up. Behind him there was a rumble of other voices.
I hadn’t been able to focus since he’d left. But, I didn’t really have the right to call and see how he was. I was watching the clock to make a covert call to Amy—you know, one of those I was just calling to say hi calls and hope she’d let me know if they’d heard anything.
“Where are you?” I was already reaching for my keys.
“I’m at home.”
That stopped me. I’d assumed Chris was at the hospital or back at the school or something. I couldn’t imagine what was so bad he wanted me to get him at his house. Then I remembered he had the anti-parents.
The little part of my brain I was trying to ignore screamed that maybe he just wanted to see me. The girl who realized she’d just been someone else’s “flavor” knew that wasn’t it.
“On my way.” I clicked the phone shut without saying goodbye and jogged up the stairs. This might not go as well.
“Mom?” I knocked on her door and pushed it the rest of the way open. “I have to go out.”
She laid the James Patterson novel down and looked at me. That mom look. Was she getting better at it?
“Why are you going out?”
I wish I could replicate that tone of voice when talking to my sisters.
I glanced at the clock. “It’s Friday and technically it’s an hour and a half till curfew, so you should be okay with it.”
“That wasn’t what I asked you.”
She’s lucky I loved her so much or here is where I would have thrown one of those stereotypical teen-angst fits.
“Chris is hurt.”
She was off the bed before I could say anything else, tugging jeans on over her pajama shorts.
“Where is he?”
Wow, my mom loved. I’d always known that, but it was amazing to see that once she took you in, you were in. I waved my hands trying to get her attention.
“Wait. He’s at home. He got hurt and they took him to the emergency room. But something’s going on and he called me to come get him.” I thought about the angry voices I’d heard in the background and what it probably meant. “I think his dad is there.”
I hadn’t shared with her anything he’d told me. It just seemed like there were some things that went no further than the two of us. Okay, a lot of things.
But, no big surprise, my mom’s expression softened as she started pulling her jeans back off.
“This might be a good time to discuss bumping my curfew till one.” I batted my eyelashes. It worked on certain guys, so why the heck not.
“Tonight. We’ll discuss a permanent bump later.”
I stopped at the door and rushed back to her, throwing my arms around her. “Thanks, Mom.”
I knew she knew how important this was.
“Bring your phone.”
“Got it,” I yelled, as I rushed down the stairs and out the door.
~*~
Two cars in the driveway. Not good.
I slowed to a stop, wondering if I should text him or go knock on the door when I saw him shuffling around the side of the house on crutches. I reached across the passenger’s seat and pushed the door open before he reached it.
He angled himself a couple directions, trying to get the crutches out of the way and in with him, before tossing them aside. He shoved the seat all the way back and collapsed into it, pulling the door shut behind him. Then I was driving before anyone could open the front door and accuse me of kidnapping.
I’m not sure I knew where I was going, but we were at the bridge before a decision really needed to be made. The night was dark, the trees’ shadows on black. I turned the car off and tossed the keys in the cup holder.
No idea what I was supposed to say. No idea what had even happened.
“He’s pissed.” Chris sounded defeated. Like he was giving up or something. “He’s so pissed. He wasn’t even there, but it must have been my fault.”
“He wasn’t there?”
Chris laughed—well, kind of. It didn’t really sound like a laugh, but I’m not sure what else to call it.
“He was banned from the field last year when he almost hit a ref.”
Wow. How’d I miss that? Better question, which flavor was I paying so much attention to that I missed that? Jared had been a harsh mirror today.
“My mom and dad were both in the waiting room when they let me out of the ER. Arguing. Loud.”
I could imagine.
“Why weren’t they with you?”
He turned his head on the headrest, our eyes lined up with just the space between the seats distancing them.
“They never made it that far. They were too busy shouting at one another.”
My dad may be completely out of the picture—the jerk—but my mom would never have been kept from me if I was hurt. She would have stormed the hospital. She’d stormed other things to save me.
“That sucks.” What else was I supposed to say?
“He’s just such an ass.” He threw a hand over his eyes, blocking everything out. “He’s screaming at her for God knows what. He’s screaming at the doctors and nurses. He screamed at Coach Johnson for taking me to the hospital. We get back to the house and he’s standing on the porch talking on his cell to one of his girlfriends. In front of us. And so he and mom started screaming at each other again.”
He was shaking his head. I could see him trying to push it all away.
“God, Rachel, I don’t want to be him. I can’t be him.”
“You’re not.” I took his hand and pulled it down, off his eyes. Stole his cover and held it between my own hands where it was so big and so warm, even if he wasn’t feeling that way. “You’re not.”
I have no idea how it happened. I just wanted to make him feel better. I wanted to be the one to be there for him.
I crawled over the emergency brake and onto his lap, holding his hand the whole time and trying not to bump his braced knee.
“You’re not.” I kissed his forehead. His cheeks. His nose. His eyes. I tasted the salt he didn’t want me to know was there. He wet his lips and my eyes drifted down there.
“I swear it,” I promised him with everything in my heart.
I’m not sure who kissed who first, but his lips were on mine and I would have killed the person who tried to take them away. I slid my hand into his hair, afraid he’d leave me. Afraid he’d realize who he was kissing and push me away.
But I’d never felt this…any of this, and I wasn’t letting go. He was going to have to kick me out of his life at this point.
I could feel the heat of him coming from everywhere, surrounding me. All I wanted was to be closer. Just closer.
His hands slid under my shirt. They felt large and hot and strong against my skin. His thumbs brushed the bottom of my bra before he wrapped them around me and pulled me closer. Closer.
I couldn’t stand it any longer. I reached down and pulled away long enough to yank my baby-tee over my head.
His eyes fell to where my bra was left trying to cover me. I’d never had a guy see me like this, with just a scrap of white satin edged with little blue flowers. His gaze was as hot as his hands.
And then his eyes shut. “Shit, Rachel.”
His hands dropped away. He pulled back, as far as he could with me across his lap in the front seat of a compact Honda.
“Put your shirt back on.”
Oh my God. This is what happens. This is what happens when the guy you’re falling for finally takes a good look at you compared to every other girl he’s seen naked…number unknown.
I scrambled off his lap, pulling my T-shirt on as I went. I lowered my head to the steering wheel, refusing to cry. Afraid that if I looked at him, if he said anything, I’d lose it. We sat there, at the bridge, for who knows how long before I snatched the keys up and drove down the dirt road half blinded by humiliation.
I was almost to his house when he finally said som
ething.
“Don’t take me home.”
Please tell me he wasn’t going to ask to come to my house.
“Take me to Mark’s.”
Ouch. There was no relief in that. None. He was asking me to dump him at the soccer party house. Mark’s parents would be gone or oblivious to the insanity raging in their basement as usual.
Fine. I’d take him there. I’d dump his ass at that party and not look back. I would not—would not—lose myself in hysteria because of his rejection. He was in a bad place, and he wouldn’t drag me down there with him, no matter how willing I was to go.
I’d have followed him into that pit if he’d asked. But not like this.
We were almost to Mark’s, when he finally spoke.
“Rachel, this isn’t about you. I’m not going to use you for sex.” He still didn’t look at me. “I won’t use you.”
Each word was punctuated as if it were important; its own sentence.
I pulled into the driveway and tried to figure out if I was supposed to shut the car off or not. Holding on hard to the steering wheel, I said the one thing guaranteed to scare the crap out of him.
To scare the crap out of both of us.
“It wouldn’t have been just sex.”
If seconds were drops of rain, I’d have had to build another ark.
When the silence got too painful, I finally looked at him. But his eyes were locked on the lights splashing from the house windows. And distant, his gaze was distant like he was already gone.
He pushed the door open and left me there in the driveway as he made his way toward the chaos of the RV team’s winning party. Hobbling, but still going.
~*~
I almost didn’t go home. I almost went to Amy’s to have a good cry. But now that her dad was around again, there was no way I could just show up at this hour.
Plus, how humiliating could it get? Hi Amy. The school slut wouldn’t sleep with me when I threw myself at him, even after you reminded me how dangerous he was. How was your night?
Yeah. Not so much.
Plus the whole she’s-probably-out-with-her-Mr.-Perfect-boyfriend-anyway thing.
Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) Page 17