Wes follows my train of thought. “Yeah,” he sighs. We rarely discuss the rivalry anymore. Not because it’s become any less a part of our relationship—the exact opposite. Every piece of myself I give to Wes is a part I lose elsewhere. It was one thing to talk to Wes, to confide in him. A mistake, but a minor one. A forgivable one. Kissing him? I know everyone in Glenmont would consider it a betrayal. Treason. Even Brooke and Maggie, despite their repeated comments about Wes’s attractiveness. Having feelings—serious, fathomless—feelings towards him? Inexplicable.
And can only end badly.
“There a bathroom in this place?” I ask Wes. I need a minute. Away from his knowing blue eyes.
“Yeah, through the kitchen to the left,” he informs me.
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
I head towards the kitchen, barely registering the decor through the rest of the cabin. The building extends back farther than I estimated, I pass two bedrooms before I come to the bathroom. I realize why when I enter the bathroom. I look out the window into a grove of pines. It gives the impression of being inside a treehouse, which I realize was probably the architect’s intent. I go to the bathroom, and then study my reflection in the mirror above the sink as I wash my hands. I look the same as always. Blonde hair, green eyes, smattering of freckles. My straight hair’s a little more mussed than usual, which I blame on the wind I can hear howling outside. Wes’s hands also probably deserve some culpability.
I don’t look any different. But I feel different.
Something changed between Wes and me in the car earlier. Aside from the obvious. I didn’t realize how much I trust Wes. How the original attraction and fascination between us has hardened, deepened into emotions I’ve never felt.
Maybe my brazen actions started as a way to prove something to myself, as a way to mark my claim. But I wouldn’t have followed through unless I trusted Wes. Fully. Not just believed he was a good person, believed he would keep what I told him in confidence. But really trusted him.
I’m in deep with Weston Cole. I’ve known it for months, and I think I knew there was the potential for this when we first talked in the woods almost two and a half years ago. Before he told me about his dad. Before I told him about mine. I don’t believe in love at first sight. You can’t love someone, really love them, just based on how they look. You love someone based on their dreams, their character, their hopes, how they make you feel. But I do believe you can spot potential at first sight. Because I had an inkling Weston Cole had the potential to implode my cautious, predictable world from that moment in the woods, long before I had any real reason to suspect he might.
He’s chipped away at one of the things I thought was set in stone for months, and with one bout of jealousy I just forever altered it. I’m from Glenmont. I’m obligated to hate anyone from Alleghany. And I don’t hate Weston Cole. I love him.
Most girls would probably be thrilled about this realization. And a part of me is. But it also poses a serious problem with no easy answer. I’m screwed either way now. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, between Glenmont and Alleghany. Between love for Wes and my allegiance to my hometown. To my brother.
When I re-emerge into the living room, it’s to find Wes has started a fire in the wood stove. It fills the room with a cozy crackling sound and welcome heat. He’s also sprawled across the massive couch, looking completely at ease. His expression doesn’t change when he looks at me, and I’m relieved. I was half-worried he’d be able to read my amorous feelings for him on my face.
“I was going to start a fire in the fireplace instead, but I wasn’t sure how long you wanted to stay for,” he explains. “The wood stove can just die down on its own.”
“I’m good to stay for a bit,” I tell him. “My parents think I’m at Sarah’s still, and won’t be expecting me back for a while.” I take a seat on the opposite end of the couch. It’s a testament to its length we’re both able to fit. Wes is easily over six feet, and I’m five foot eight.
“You have your trip tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” Wes replies. “It was supposed to be right before Thanksgiving break, but I was nominated for this award, and Coach Blake said I needed to attend.”
“An award?” I ask.
Wes is confident, but I wouldn’t describe him as cocky. At least around me. So I’m not surprised when he looks a little diffident when he replies. I’m guessing it’s also because the sport he plays is a sensitive subject when it comes to us. “Yeah, it’s for the senior who contributed the most to the school’s athletic program. They don’t give it out every year, so it’s kind of a big deal, I guess.”
“Sounds like a big deal to me.”
Wes shrugs a silent affirmation.
His reluctance boldens me. “Do you think you’ll win? Against Glenmont?” I ask, despite the epiphany I just had in the bathroom. Maybe because of it. We’re rapidly approaching the peak of the Alleghany and Glenmont rivalry. The moment everyone’s been anticipating ever since Weston Cole and Liam Stevens first collided as freshman. The finale.
Everyone but me. Everyone else has already chosen their side. Everyone will think they know which side I’m on.
But I don’t.
Wes had been staring at the fireplace, but his blue eyes leap to mine as soon as the words leave my mouth.
“Do I think we’ll win?” he repeats.
It’s my turn to nod. I keep my face blank, not wanting to sway his response one way or the other. I know how badly Liam wants this, but I know Wes does too. And I don’t think Wes will lie to me.
“Yeah, I do,” he tells me seriously, and I feel a rush of elation and unease. Elation because I want him to succeed. Unease, because him succeeding means other people I care about won’t. Not just my father and Liam, but Matt, Sam, all of the Glenmont players who I’ve watched prepare for the final battle against Alleghany with single-minded determination.
“Okay,” is all I say in response.
“Okay?” Wes echoes, searching my face.
“I was just wondering,” I tell him. “There wasn’t a right answer. Or a wrong one.”
Wes’s probing gaze makes me worried he’s going to push for a more telling explanation, so I lean forward and grab a deck of playing cards off the coffee table.
“Do you know how to play Spite and Malice?” I ask him.
“Should I take the name personally?” Wes replies, sitting up.
“I didn’t come up with the name,” I promise him, smiling slightly. “It’s my grandmother’s favorite card game, and how I spent most of the week in South Carolina.”
“I’ve never played it,” Wes informs me.
“Want to?” I ask, starting to shuffle the deck.
“I told you I’m good with whatever you want to do.”
“I thought you were talking about sex, not card games,” I reply, as I begin dealing the cards.
Wes smirks. “I was, but it applies here too.”
I can’t help but smirk back at him as I start to explain the rules of the card game. And contemplate what a dangerous offer that is.
Because when it comes to Weston Cole . . . I’m rapidly learning there’s not much I don’t want to do with him.
chapter fifteen
Weston
The start of the trip to Lincoln University is expected. My parents smile in public, and argue in private. I was surprised my mother decided to come with us. There’s not much we do as a family these days. I tend to avoid being around my father as much as possible, which he doesn’t seem to have any problem with unless he needs me for some reason.
Of course, that’s the whole point of this trip. For my father to relive his glory days, and to show me off. Interestingly, my father never played football. People always assume that he did, and I can tell it irks him. He played baseball in high school, and never pursued any sports in college. He plays it off when people ask, saying he was too busy with academics to worry about a game, or that he chose to get involved
with other activities on campus. He’s never discouraged or encouraged me playing, but I know the accolades I receive from football are a source of pride to him. Maybe the only source, where I’m concerned. They’re also the centerpiece of this visit.
Lincoln’s campus is stunning. Perfectly maintained, imposing, and impressive. Brick buildings line the smooth path that cuts through the very heart of campus. I’ve let my father’s urging negatively color my impression of the school, but walking along the tree-lined pavement, coming here doesn’t seem like such a hardship. The feeling is amplified when the football stadium comes into view.
Alleghany’s football stadium is larger, and nicer than most high school facilities. But it pales in comparison to Lincoln’s. I catch my first glimpse of the massive structure looming ahead long before we reach it.
A gray-haired, stoic man is waiting for us outside the main gates. Even before he introduces himself, I can tell he’s the head coach. He has the same no-nonsense, I-have-the-power-to-make-you-run-until-you-puke air about him Coach Blake always exudes.
Sure enough, he gives my hand a firm shake and introduces himself as Coach Alberts. I follow him through the main gates and down a long, cement-paved walkway. And then we’re inside the stadium.
“Wow,” I breathe.
Coach Alberts seems to appreciate my reaction. “Yup, it gets me every time, too,” he admits. “Even after fifteen years.”
The thrill of running out onto Alleghany’s football field in front of a screaming crowd always electrifies me, but Lincoln’s stadium has an undeniable presence all of its own. Even empty. Thousands and thousands of seats gleam under the late fall sunshine, curving upwards to allow every occupant the best possible view. I can only imagine what it would feel like to play in front of such a massive audience. Like you’re on a stage? Under a spotlight?
Coach Alberts leads me and my parents through a side door I hadn’t noticed, into the team locker room. Once again, it’s nicer than Alleghany’s excessive facilities, almost ostentatious. Every surface gleams, and each locker is made out of a dark brown, almost black wood, with a gold nameplate above each one inscribed with a player’s jersey number and last name. Past the array of lockers, I see a laundry room, kitchen, and an array of training and physical therapy equipment. A giant mural is painted on the wall displaying the university’s mascot, with the words “No Excuses, No Egotism,” prominently painted over it.
“I like the tagline,” I say, nodding to it.
“One of my former players came up with it. Bit ironic, since he had an ego roughly the same size as his home state of Nebraska. The team voted to have it painted when he won us a national championship a few years ago.” I grin as I study the elaborately drawn letters. “Come on, I’ll show you folks the rest of the facility.”
I follow Coach Alberts deeper into the locker room, with my parents close behind. The plush surroundings continue on and on, until we finally reach the end of the long hall. He leads us out another doorway, down a hallway, and we’re back outside the stadium in the same spot we started.
“Well, there you have it. If you’d like to grab lunch on campus, you should have received meal tickets for the dining hall from the Admissions Office,” Coach Alberts tells us.
My father replies before I have a chance to. “We did, but I wanted to show Weston around Lincoln’s downtown and eat there as well. I haven’t had one of Joe’s burgers in years.” My mother and I both look at him in surprise.
“They are the best,” Coach Alberts agrees. “You’re in for a treat, Cole.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I respond.
“All right, then. We’ll be in touch with your coach and you directly, Cole,” he tells me. “I’m not authorized to tell you anything official, but between us, I think there’s an excellent chance you’ll be invited to suit up in Lincoln green next fall.”
“Thank you, Coach Alberts,” I reply. “I appreciate it, and you taking the time to show us around today.”
“My pleasure, Cole. Every player who receives an official offer has an opportunity to come back to campus and practice with the team. I hope to see you then.”
Coach Alberts shakes my hand, and my parents’, and then heads back inside the looming stadium.
“That went well,” my father remarks as we head in the direction of the parking lot where we left our rental car.
“I thought so, too,” my mother contributes. “Seems like you’ll definitely have Lincoln as an option, Wes.”
“Option?” my father scoffs.
“It’s his decision, Richard,” my mother replies. Her response is unexpected. I thought she would back my father up on this.
To my surprise, my father nods. Not surprising? “He’d be a fool not to, though. And I know I didn’t raise a fool.”
We reach the sedan rented from the airport, and head back in the direction of the small downtown area we drove through on our way to campus. My father parks the car in front a small bookstore.
“Come on,” he urges my mother and me as he climbs out of the car. We both climb out, and follow my father along the cement sidewalk. It’s a cute town, probably twice the size of Alleghany, but still retaining the charm and individualism absent from most cities. The storefronts are all displaying handmade decorations of turkeys and fall leaves in anticipation of the upcoming holiday. Pedestrians milling around us stop to say hello to each other.
As we walk along, my father slings his arm around my shoulders while he points out coffee shops, bars, and restaurants he used to frequent during his college days. It’s strange. There’s no one around to see us, no one that we know, at least. And yet my father is acting like the present, loving figure I recall from my early childhood. The one who would sneak me extra s’mores around the campfire after my mother had cut me off. The dad who would spend hours attempting to catch the throws that would often reach the grass long before him, back when my forearm was shorter than the football I was attempting to toss.
It’s a foreign feeling, the heavy weight over my shoulders. Not only because I’m taller than my father for the first time since he’s done this. I thought I hated my father. That any chance at a functioning, normal relationship died with his fidelity. It’s both reassuring and alarming to realize that might not be the case.
Knowing my father, it won’t take long for him to set fire to this olive branch, though. So I don’t shrug his arm off. I let it rest there. I pretend like I’m a normal guy, with normal problems and normal parents. I pretend the Alleghany rivalry with Glenmont doesn’t exist and my father didn’t fulminate our family.
We reach the end of the downtown area, and my father turns to the right. Set back from the street is a small building with neon lights proclaiming it to be “Joe’s Burgers,” and my father heads towards the front door. It’s one of the last places I can picture my pretentious father stepping a loafer-clad foot inside, and my mother looks equally startled by our destination.
“Come on,” my father urges. “I’m starving.” My mother and I trail after him reluctantly. The small restaurant is bustling with activity that swirls around the grease laden air we emerge into. My father flags down a waitress who directs us to a small booth that contains some of the last available seats.
I drop down on the cracked vinyl, and my mother sinks down next to my father rather reluctantly. The last time the three of us went out to eat together was for my birthday, and the mix of boisterous chatter and loud eighties music surrounding us is a stark contrast to the upscale steakhouse where that strained meal took place.
Another waitress comes over as soon as we’ve sat down, depositing glasses of water and menus on the metal tabletop. She looks to be close to my age, and she eyes me with an interest that seems a bit excessive, considering the fact I’m obviously here with my middle-aged parents.
“Afternoon, y’all!” she chirps, snapping her gum. “Any drinks besides water? Gathering you’re not locals, so I’m guessing you’ll need a minute on the menu.”
“I went to Lincoln,” my father informs her. “So I already know what I’ll be ordering.” He gives her a charming smile, and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. “But these two will probably need a few more minutes.” He gestures to my mother and me.
“No problem,” the waitress says. “I’ll be back in a bit.” She sashays away, and I drop my eyes to the laminated menu.
“What are you getting, Dad?” I ask.
“Their original burger,” he responds. “You should try it, son. Best burger I’ve ever had.”
I’m surprised by his response. Not only because he called me ‘son,’ but because he’s talking as though he’s genuinely nostalgic. I always thought he was pushing Lincoln on me for the satisfaction of telling his business partners and clients I would be attending one of the most competitive schools in the country. For the continuation of his legacy. Looking at him leaning back against the cheaply upholstered booth, I wonder if that’s actually the case.
“You shouldn’t order a burger, Richard,” my mother comments. “You’re supposed to be watching your cholesterol.”
“Catherine, I have been. I even ate that broccoli casserole you made last week. One burger is not going to kill me.”
“Famous last words,” my mother retorts.
“What if I get a side salad?” my father negotiates.
I view my parents through fresh eyes as I watch them argue over the health of my father’s heart. I’ve always wondered how the facade of a perfect family could be so important to my mother she’d be willing to endure my father’s infidelity.
But listening to her listing off the studies she’s read about reducing cholesterol, I wonder if that’s really the reason she’s chosen to stay with him. I figured love fled their marriage the same time my father’s eye started wandering, but watching them together now, I wonder if that’s truly the case.
If my feelings for Maeve have taught me anything, it’s that sometimes you love the people you shouldn’t. Because I do. Love her. Even though there are a lot of reasons why I probably shouldn’t. Those reasons have never made sense, though, and they’ve become sillier and sillier the more time I’ve spent with Maeve. I have no reason to hate anyone from Glenmont, really. I don’t want to beat their team any less, but the rivalry with the neighboring town is meaningless. Pointless.
Kiss Now, Lie Later Page 13