by Shae Ross
His topaz stare glimmers with sincerity, and I see what I’ve been looking for in him since he first took me to lunch back in the spring. “I think you’re doing the right thing, but I’d be here for you even if I didn’t,” he says, squeezing my shoulder and moving to sit in the first row behind me. I didn’t grow up with my dad, but if I had, I imagine this moment is what it would feel like. I like to think that even though my dad’s not with me, his energy still is. It’s humbling to have people in your life who will stand by you in the hardest moments.
I turn back to the board. “I’ve had three years to prepare, and you’ve all read my statement. I’m ready.” I pull out my chair and sit.
Forty minutes later, I’m watching the last board member leave the room. They’ve stamped the “suspended” brand on my forehead, which effectively means my season is over. I felt the sizzling burn the moment they said the word—I knew I would. It’s still smoking inside my brain, but I feel something else, too. Something I haven’t felt in years. Freedom.
I told them every detail I knew of Martin’s scams. I also told them about the money I borrowed from Mr. Russell, Amelia’s father. Despite the repeated questions about our coaches’ knowledge, I held firm. I don’t know what my coaches knew or didn’t know, and I can’t speak for them.
With the board gone, I lower a contemplative look to the floor then turn back to my new agent, Duffy McCray.
He’s shrugging his lips and nodding his head slowly, smoothing his hand over his chin as if he’s considering everything I said. “You did the right thing, Rush.”
“I’m ready to sign that paperwork now, Mr. McCray. That is if you’re still interested.”
His grin widens, and he stands and extends a hand. “You’ve got to start calling me by my first name now.” We walk slowly up the aisle, and he dives into damage control mode. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to organize a press conference to get ahead of any negative spin. You’ll tell everyone exactly what you told the board today.” He pinches his lips and stops to think. “The board will report everything you said to the NCAA for further review, but your only NCAA violation was borrowing that money—and potentially they could find it’s not a violation because you had an existing relationship with Mr. Russell before college football.” He stops and stares at the floor, then nods decisively. “Yeah, that’s good. And here’s the more important thing—you borrowed that money for the right reason. To help your mom. Who could possibly fault you for that? And you made the right decision to stand up for Little Bo Peep. You don’t become a hero by being a bystander. Sound good?”
“Yeah. Sounds…really good.” Unbelievably good. “So, you think this will hurt my draft chances?”
“It may set you back a round. Then again, it might not. You’ll still make it, though. I’m sure of it.”
We walk out, and he moves off at a quick pace. “Going to get on it,” he calls, patting my back and pulling out his cell. “I’ll have the paperwork over to you tomorrow.”
I watch his bow-legged stride moving fast, and notice a still form to my right. Priscilla is sitting on a bench alone, waiting for me. My head stalls. She comes to me without hesitation, circling my shoulders with her arms. I inhale and breathe her in, sweeping her close. I’ve come this far and she’s still here, but I need to tell her about my own NCAA violation and the money I borrowed from Amelia’s father—the last piece of the puzzle
“Can you come home with me?” I whisper. She doesn’t speak, but I feel her nodding against my neck. I hold her hand as we walk to the parking lot behind Lockhart Hall. “You’ll have to drive—Jace insisted she chauffeur me here after the parking lot brawl. My truck’s still in the student lot.”
I stick to discussing soccer, interrupting her only with an occasional “turn right” or “left here.” The excitement radiates through her as she talks about the semi-final games, their biggest competition and her team’s strengths. Fifteen minutes later, we’re passing the golden block graffiti “Welcome to Hamtramck” letters.
“Are you taking me home?” she asks, an anxious tone distorting her voice.
“Yep.”
“Like to meet your mom?”
“Like that. Like to meet my aunt and cousin, too.”
“Oh, okay,” she says.
“I need to tell them what’s happened and rather than repeat my story three times, I’m going to gather you all together and say it once.”
“Shit,” she murmurs, flexing her fingers around the steering wheel. It makes me want to smile, in a way.
We turn down my block, and I point to the open curb in front of my duplex. She parks, and I lead her into the house. Kaja comes flying down the hallway at the sight of me.
“Przem!” she says, jumping to stand on my foot with both of hers and wrapping her arms around one thigh. I hold the top of her head and swing my leg toward Priscilla.
“This is my cousin, Kaja.”
“Hello,” Priscilla says, bending her body to her level.
Kaja raises a quick hand then clamps it around my thigh again, staring at her like she’s a Disney princess.
My aunt enters the living room, followed by my mom, and I introduce them both. I watch my mom extend her good hand to Priscilla. They smile at each other, and I feel my chest expand. Despite the fact that I don’t have a nine bedroom Grosse Pointe mansion full of rowdy siblings to offer her, I wouldn’t trade the love I feel from my family for anything. Aunt Julia offers to make tea, and Priscilla follows her into the kitchen, leaving my mom and me alone in the living room for a moment.
I’ve never brought a girl home, and I know she sees what Priscilla means to me. She casts me a long, knowing look, raises her eyebrows twice, and spins her Zip-Scoot toward the kitchen.
We sit at the table making small talk while the kettle crackles on the burner. I’ll give them until the whistle, then I’m calling this meeting to order.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Priscilla
Whistling from the teakettle pierces my senses, triggering a flashback to the alley behind the Rathskeller. Preston’s Aunt Julia rises to tend to it, and he leans back from the table rubbing his jaw. Despite his polite contributions to the easy conversation I’ve been having with his family, I know something’s bothering him. I can see it in the distance behind his steely gray gaze—I think his mom sees it, too.
I’m still not sure why we’re here. I could guess and say that the traumatic day made him want to come home, but why bring me? I’ve been trying to be patient and not prod him, but my mind is swimming with questions—the biggest one being where do we stand? Now that he’s fulfilled his promise does he just want to be done with me? I wouldn’t blame him if he just wanted to concentrate on getting his football career back on track—now that I’ve derailed it. He was clear that he couldn’t offer me anything in the future, and I agreed to accept that. A pulse of sadness tugs at my heart, and I push it down. After all he’s done for me, I am not going to make him feel guilty about saying good-bye.
Preston’s aunt sets the steaming tea in front of me, turning the delicate cup a notch on the saucer to hide the small chip. “I’m serving Priscilla peppermint tea, and it’s hot, Kaja, so watch your elbow,” she explains. My left hand is spread on the table, and Kaja is leaning half of her body over my forearm, painting my fingernails, and the occasional cuticle, turquoise. The tip of her pink tongue is pressed in concentration against her upper lip.
“No, I’m fine,” Preston, says, waving off his aunt’s offer of tea, and when she sits he leans forward, drawing everyone’s attention except Kaja’s. “I need to tell you all about something I’ve done that I’m not proud of. It could affect my future—which in turn could affect all of our futures.” His lips fight against each other, and his stare is distant for a moment, then he returns to us.
I see his mom’s gaze widening with worry, and he reaches a big hand to cover hers. “When I was a freshman at SEU, I was approached by a booster who offered to sponsor
me—that’s a nice way of saying he offered to put money in my bank account. I didn’t take money from that sponsor, but I did take it from a friend’s father, Carl Russell. At the time, I was dating Mr. Russell’s daughter Amelia,” he says, looking at me, “and I was fairly close with the family. I took the money as a loan.”
“Przem.” His mom says his name in a sorrowful tone. “It was the foreclosure money, no?”
“Yes, it was, Mom. Six thousand two hundred dollars.” She lowers her lids and rests them, moving her lips as if she’s saying a silent prayer.
“Mom and I had a house a few blocks over, but her prescriptions changed, and even with insurance we were paying over six hundred dollars a month. We had to choose between paying for her prescriptions and paying the mortgage. The house went into foreclosure, and I thought if I could get us caught up, we could keep the house. Long and short, it didn’t work. We got caught up for awhile, and then fell right back into debt.”
“Does he need the money back?” Aunt Julia asks.
“No. Mr. Russell has been very decent. I paid him back a thousand dollars last summer after my job ended and football season started. He tells me I can get the rest to him once I start working or playing, interest free.”
“Okay, other one,” Kaja’s sweet voice sings, reaching for my right hand. Ugh.
Preston lets out a long breath. “Now, here’s the problem. Taking that money was probably an NCAA violation because they have a rule that you can’t borrow money from a booster, and the definition of booster is really broad—basically it’s anyone that’s ever donated money to the college. I’m probably going to have a hearing that could cause problems with the NFL draft, and along with that, they’ll be news reports and rumors.”
I hold my turquoise tipped fingers to my mouth, inhaling the astringent scent. I’m shaking my head, feeling the sting of tears. God, I wish he had just told me. I look around the table at them all, and I just want to drop my head. When I think about what he’s given up for me…how can that be worth the risk to his family.
“Priscilla,” he says, seeing my distress.
“You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have saved me…”
“I didn’t save you, Peep. You saved me—and not just with your shepherd staff. You saved me from ending my college career in shame. I’ve confessed and made my peace. I’ve done the right thing, and no punishment the NCAA or anyone else can dole out would ever be worse than the mental battle I’ve been waging.”
He stops to explain to his mom and his aunt what happened at the Rathskeller, how we met, my suspension, and my hearing. Their heads shift between us, and in some moments, such as his description of my Little Bo Peep costume, or the hot dog I launched at his face, we smile at each other.
“That’s it,” he says. “The four of you are the people I care most about in this world, and I wanted you to hear it from me.” His words strike a chord, and a warm feeling hums through me. I really need to apologize to him. When I think about what he’s endured for his family and for me, I have to close my eyes to sort out the emotions flooding my brain. I’m in awe of his strength, commitment, and loyalty, and I know it comes from his heart.
His mom covers his hands with one of hers. “We’ll get by. We always have. You did the right thing, and the NCAA can kiss my ass.”
“I know what that means,” Kaja pipes up, swiping a wide line over my cuticle as she looks up. Beautiful. I don’t even like having my nails painted.
“Good. Next time you see your daddy, Kaj, you tell him that message from Aunt Lena,” Preston’s mom says.
“Your aunt is kidding you, Kaja. Do not tell your father that,” Preston’s aunt says, casting an exasperated glance at her sister. “Thank you for telling us, Przem, but in this house, those football people and their rules are the least of our worries. We know who you are, and we’ll always be proud of you.” She stands and kisses his cheek, and his ashy gaze settles thoughtfully on me.
We lapse into casual conversation for a few more minutes until Preston stands and holds out a hand to me. “I should probably get Priscilla back to campus. She’s got a big game coming up this weekend.”
We say our good-byes and head out, and as we walk to the car, I think about how he and I have had completely different experiences growing up—I was raised in a big, somewhat crazy, rich family. He was raised an only child, by a single mom with limited resources. Yet the most important thing is the same. Preston leaves his house knowing his family loves him as do I. The feeling of that love overflowing to me opens my heart.
“Thank you for sharing that with me.” He squeezes my hand and smiles tenderly, opening my car door for me.
We drive in silence back to campus, caught up in our own reflections on the day’s events, and I’m working out an apology in my mind and trying not to cry.
“There’s something I’ve always wanted to do with you,” he says.
“I thought that’s what Saturday was about.”
He laughs. “True. But there’s something else. Turn here,” he says, pointing to the football stadium.
“Seriously? You want to take me to the football stadium right now?”
“I’ve been playing on this field for four years, and I’ve always wanted to come here when the stadium is completely empty,” he says. He leads me to a side door, and our steps pad down the dim hallway. It’s after hours, but there are still a few office lights on.
The El Nino winter the experts are predicting is evident in the fifty-degree breeze puffing over us in the tunnel. The stadium is empty and quiet. It’s an oddly peaceful feeling. Preston takes two leaping steps toward the wall that separates the field and the stadium seats and pulls himself up to straddle it. He claps his hands and holds them out to me.
“C’mon, I’ll catch you. Just jump.”
I take three steps, pumping my arms hard and lunging for his legs. His body swoops low, and he catches me under my arms, pulling me up. I settle a leg over the wall and mirror his position, as a long breath eases out of me.
“I owe you an apology,” I say.
“Funny, I was just going to say the same to you,”
I gape. “For what?”
He pauses, narrowing his gaze. “For not trusting you.” He’s stealing my lines here. His hands hook under my knees, and he pulls me closer until my legs are resting on top of his. “I’m ashamed to admit this, but I think if I had trusted you, I would have just told you the whole truth from the beginning. I wanted to protect you, there was definitely that, but I was also ashamed to admit everything.”
I open my mouth to speak, but humility backs up the words up in my throat, and he continues. “We’ve got a group of guys on our team who haven’t been playing by the rules. I’ve been hesitant to turn them in because I’ve committed some of the same violations—albeit for different reasons. But those issues never go away. They could come out ten years from now, and our entire team could be stripped of the titles we’ve worked so hard for. I don’t want that hanging over my head. It’s much easier to deal with these things now. I vowed to save you, but somewhere along the way, I saved myself, too.”
“Did you really think what you did would change how I felt about you? You seriously underestimated me. I know you did it for your mom—for your family. Just because the NCAA has a rule that you can’t take a loan from someone who also donates money to the college, doesn’t mean that you did the wrong thing. If it had been me, I would have done the same thing ten times over. If anything, it makes me love you more.”
The disappointment on his face lifts instantly, and he leans to kiss me, but I stop him to say, “You can’t let me off that easy. You’ve said so much and I haven’t, yet. I have lot to apologize for, too.”
“You’ll have to tell me while I kiss you, because I can’t wait any longer, Peep.” His mouth lowers to mine.
“I should have trusted you,” I say, speaking against his mouth.
“True,” he says, his lips rising.
“I’m sorry I didn’t, and I’m sorry for being a bitch.”
“Which time?” he says, catching my bottom lip with his teeth.
“Sunday. I’m sorry, for Sunday,” I say, my words distorted by another kiss.
He nods, threading his hand through my hair, and slanting his mouth. “And…” he says leadingly.
“And that day at the gladiator games”—I lick his bottom lip—“when I launched that hot dog and it nailed you in the head.”
“Mm hmm,” he murmurs with a self-satisfied tone.
I raise my hands to his chest and push him back. “I’m really sorry I missed the second shot.”
His eyes spark, and he locks a hand around my wrist, holding it to his chest. “Are you saying you want a second chance?”
I nod my head slowly, staring into the depths of his smoky blue eyes. “I do—and a third and a fourth if I need that, too. But Preston, I promised you I’d be okay with what you could give me at the time, and if that time has passed, I understand.” My voice is a whisper, and the pain of saying the words flips my stomach. I can feel his heart beating steady under my palm as he nods.
“Our time is now. You’re the past, present, and future I want most, Priscilla, and I’d start a million days over for you.”
Epilogue
The National Anthem is playing. My hand rests over my thumping heart, and Jace and I are singing. We’re loud, proud, and slightly off key, but it’s one of our rituals to help to release our nerves, and mine are doing jumping jacks in my stomach.
The stadium is a huge oval above us, packed with fans ready to watch the championship Women’s College Cup soccer game.
“Big finish now girls,” Jace calls. Vibrations hum through my lungs as the last stanza crescendos, and my teammates’ voices stretch over the word “brave.” The music ends, and we fold the line.
“Whose house?” Jace chants.
“Our house!” We break and move to our positions.
Over the settling volume of the crowd, a voice is barely discernable. It’s my brother, Ben. He’s shouting, “Go, Slow, Go!” He’s here with Devi. They made the drive from New York and my mom and Cate and Chloe were coming, too. I’ll never find them in this crowd, but I raise a hand into the air acknowledging Ben’s cheer.