Kiss Now, Lie Later

by C. W. Farnsworth

  It’s brutal. And the bar was high after the last three years. It’s not even because of my own personal investment. Everyone feels it, and I see Sarah flash me a few concerned looks from her seat three rows down. Probably because the shift is largely because of Wes. He’s always beaten Glenmont with an ease, an indifferent air. Maybe it was because he moved here freshman year and didn’t grow up coming to these clashes the way the rest of us did. Maybe it was to separate himself from his parents and their focus on perception, the way I theorized to him when we went swimming in the lake.

  There’s no serene composure tonight. This game is personal. Because of me. It’s terrifying, realizing that power. Watching Wes bark orders and take risks. Watching his rage bleed across the field. I don’t want the responsibility.

  And it’s not just personal towards me. I watch Matt take sack after sack. I’m not the only one who notices. “Jesus,” Becca mutters. “Did I miss something at the start of the game? How did Matt manage to piss off Alleghany so much?” I wince.

  With two minutes left to go in the first quarter, Wes scores Alleghany’s first touchdown, breaking the deadlock at zero. There’s no sign of the showboating I’ve seen him perform at previous games, though. His expression barely changes as his teammates celebrate around him. He looks haughty, and I see him glance at Liam. My brother stands like a statue as the scoreboard changes. He rarely lets emotion out, he gets quieter and stiller the more upset he gets. And this game was already progressing poorly, even before Wes’s touchdown. Alleghany is the better team.

  Thunder rumbles in the distance, and it's a foreboding sound if I’ve ever heard one. “Is it supposed to rain?” I ask Becca.

  She shrugs. “No idea. I don’t bother to check the weather. It’s usually wrong.”

  My question is answered a few minutes later, as the second quarter is just about to start. The rumbling is no longer in the distance. Menacing black clouds encroach the sky overhead. Rain begins to pour. And a flash of lightening illuminates the entire world for a split second. Both teams halt their progression onto the field, looking to their coaches. There’s a cover over most of the bleachers, but the field is completely exposed to the elements. And the deluge of water is rapidly puddling on the field.

  My father walks over to the referees, with the Alleghany coach close behind him. They huddle briefly, and then the loudspeaker comes to life. “Looks like that’ll have to be it for the night, folks. We’ll discuss with both teams and reschedule.”

  The whole audience sits in shock. Not a single other game I’ve attended has been halted due to the weather, and this is the game against Alleghany.

  “Well, all right then,” Becca states, standing. “You guys all coming to Sam’s?”

  Everyone confirms they are, and more people begin to stand, accepting the unexpected ending to the game. I finally do as well.

  We join the rest of the crowd that’s filing out of the stands. Each group pauses before leaving the coverage, and then makes a mad dash through the rain. When it’s our turn to make a break for it, I halt too. But not to locate the sedan, or to assess the buckets of water still falling from the sky. I hesitate to watch the line of blue jerseys filing onto the coach bus with “Alleghany Athletics” printed across the side. There's a solitary figure trailing behind the rest of the team. I don’t need to look at the name or number on the back of the jersey to know who it is.

  Wes doesn’t look domineering or stoic now. He looks broken. Head down. Shoulders slumped. He looks like he just lost. I watch him board the bus, and the leaden weight on my chest doubles in size.

  “Maeve! Let’s go!” Becca calls out, already starting to bolt through the rain towards my car. I follow after her, with a few more of our teammates close behind.

  The mood at Sam’s is an exuberant one. We were losing, and now Glenmont is going to have a clean slate. Also, I’m guessing most of the team is aware there’s a good chance they won’t be celebrating after the rescheduled game. This is a partial victory all of its own. I don’t see Liam, and I avoid Matt. I mostly stick to the living room, talking with my teammates. Brooke and Sarah show up about an hour after we arrive.

  “I had to change out of my cheerleading outfit,” Brooke explains when they walk into the living room. “We got totally soaked out there.”

  I’m talking to Becca about some of the drills I came up with for morning practices when I feel my phone buzz. My heart quickens. I pull it out, but it’s not him. It’s Maggie.

  “Hey,” I answer. “What’s up?”

  “Can you come get me? There’s something wrong with my car, and my mom’s in Vermont for some girls weekend. I’d try to talk someone here into driving me, but they're all wasted.”

  “Sure,” I respond. “Where are you?”

  “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Maggie replies. “I’ll text you the address.”

  “Okay.” I hang up and look over at Becca. “I’m going to head out. Maggie needs a ride, and then I’ll probably just go home. Early practice, you know?”

  Becca grins. “Yeah, my captain’s a real hard-ass, too.”

  “Hilarious, Collins.”

  I head over to where Brooke and Sarah are standing. “I’m headed out, guys,” I reply.

  “What? Why?” Brooke asks, pouting.

  “Maggie called. She needs a designated driver to pick her up. Plus, I’m exhausted. I’m running extra morning practices all week to prepare for the championship next week.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Sarah offers.

  “No, no, it’s fine,” I’m quick to say. The last thing I want is to be trapped in a car with Sarah right now. The only person who knows about Wes. I’m sure she has questions after the spectacle earlier. “Have fun, guys.”

  I give them both hugs, and head outside into the rain. Maggie’s already sent me the address, and I plug it into my phone’s GPS and start driving. As soon as I pull up outside the stately house, she rushes off the front porch and towards my car. I don’t look over as she opens the passenger door and climbs inside. I’m too busy staring at the house. It’s the house. The location of the Alleghany party Maggie dragged me to at the start of the summer. And Wes’s black Range Rover is parked in the driveway. I turn off the car.

  “Uh, what are you doing?” Maggie asks. Her voice is filled with confusion.

  “I’ll be right back.” The thunder has stopped, but the rain still hasn’t. I’m drenched as soon as I step out of the car, but I don’t care. I do waver for a minute, though. Based on our last conversation, this could be bad. But I need to see him.

  I haven’t tried to call or text Wes since last night. I’m worried he’s blocked me. But mostly, it’s because I know this is a conversation we need to have in person.

  I can’t watch another repeat of tonight, and if nothing changes between us before the next game, I know that’s exactly what it will be. This is my best chance at talking to him in person. I can’t show up at Alleghany High, and I don't want to risk going to his house again. The last Alleghany party I attended, no one but him gave me a second glance. I hope that'll be true tonight.

  I march up the brick path and inside, on a mission now. I recoil slightly at the wall of noise and exuberance that greets me when I open the front door.

  “Maeve!” Maggie calls behind me. Her shout attracts a few glances, but I forge ahead. He’s not in the living room. I head into the kitchen. Not here either. I spot an Alleghany football player heading towards a door around the corner. He opens it, revealing a set of stairs he heads down. I follow him.

  The basement is better lit than the first floor. Bright enough for me to see Alleghany football player after Alleghany football player. But not the one I want to see. There’s no music playing down here, just a babble of voices, although the bass pounding overhead is audible. I reach the bottom of the stairs, and am about to turn around to go back up, when I see him.

  He’s slouched against the wall in the corner, and there’s a girl draped ove
r him.

  His gaze meets mine, and then he bends his head and kisses her.

  I feel all the blood drain from my cheeks. It’s a slap to the face. A blow so forceful I’m surprised I manage not to stumble. I said it first. That I couldn’t forgive cheating. And he’s doing it in plain sight. For everyone to see. For me to see.

  He might as well have just stabbed me. It feels like he did. And the wound bleeds out all the guilt, angst, and uncertainty I’ve felt ever since Matt kissed me. All that’s left behind? Fury. He pulls away from the girl to take a sip of beer, and his beautiful blue eyes meet mine.

  I finally hate Weston Cole, but it’s for all the wrong reasons. I don’t hate him because I’m a girl from Glenmont and he’s a boy from Alleghany. I hate him because I was stupid enough to think our hometowns didn’t matter. Dumb enough to give the last person I should have the power to hurt me.

  There are a lot of things I could say or do right now, but most of them would stoop me down to his level. And I refuse to do that. Because he’s the one in the wrong here, not me. Regardless of what he thinks. But I’m not going to let him think this is acceptable. Let him think he can treat me this way.

  “You’re a fucking coward, Weston Thomas Cole!” I don’t raise my voice above a normal volume, but there’s enough wrath in my tone the basement goes mostly silent. I’m staring at Wes too intently to register anyone else’s reaction. I watch him flinch, and I know that my pointed words have found their mark.

  I spin and start up the stairs, bypassing Maggie, who’s standing there with her mouth agape. She scrambles to follow me as I push back through the exuberant students assembled in the living room and emerge outside.

  I’m not sure if the water streaming down my face is rain or tears. Probably a combination of the two. I climb back into the car, and I’m glad I have a few seconds head start on Maggie. It gives me time to scroll through my phone. She climbs in the car, and I press play on the first song I see. The intro to “Dancing on my Own” by Robyn starts to thrum out of the speakers. The lyrics are eerily fitting.

  “I’m guessing you don’t want to talk?” Maggie asks when she climbs inside. I can barely hear her over the loud music. I look over, and burning questions fill her eyes.

  I shake my head, and turn up the music.

  chapter twenty

  Weston

  I’m drunk. And furious. It’s a lethal combination.

  I’m mad that the game got cancelled when we were going to win. I’m mad that Coach Blake announced on the bus the game was rescheduled for next Friday. Meaning I have to wait a whole week to get closure against Glenmont. Meaning my parents won’t be there because my father has a business trip scheduled and my mother will go because she feels like she has to babysit him. I’m mad that it’s raining and I’m stuck in Josh’s hot, stuffy basement.

  And I’m so fucking pissed at Maeve Stevens I can hardly think straight. I hate that she came here. Hate that I care. Hate the confused stares I’m receiving after the vitriol she publicly spewed my way.

  Most of all, I hate that it doesn’t make sense. She should be consoling Matt Crawford right now. Instead, she came here and yelled at me. In front of half the football team.

  Charlie makes his way over to me, and I hastily crack open another beer and take a long sip.

  “Jesus, Cole, leave some for the rest of us,” he tells me.

  I shrug and take another long pull from the can.

  “You alright, dude?” Charlie asks. I’ve been in a shitty mood all day, and I know it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice. I’m usually easy-going when it comes to football. Serious, but I don’t let it become more than a game. That wasn't the case tonight. I was merciless.

  I like to lead by example. Tonight, I shouted at anyone who stepped a toe out of line.

  “I’m fine. Celebrating.” The words sound flat to my own ears.

  “Adam said Maeve Stevens was here. What the fuck?”

  I clench my fists at the reminder, and the metal can contracts loudly in protest. I take another sip from the bowed shape.

  “Cole, you’re kind of freaking me out. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I grit out. “Maeve Stevens hates me. No surprise there.”

  “I’m not surprised about that. I’m surprised you’re acting like you give a shit.”

  “I don’t,” I refute.

  “Is it your parents?” Charlie knows my home life is far from idyllic, but I’ve never told him the full extent of it. Only her. And that only makes my angrier.

  I told her I couldn’t forgive cheating, but that was before I was in love with her.

  I know my mother’s decision to tag along on all my dad’s business trips back to the city to “catch up with friends” is simply an excuse. She’s going to try to curb my father’s wandering eye. I don’t feel that way about Maeve. The possibility she might cheat on me never crossed my mind until I saw that photo. Is that because I love her more than my parents love each other? Or because I want to believe her? That she somehow ended up on Alleghany’s football field with another guy’s tongue down her throat by accident?

  It doesn’t make any sense, but neither does anything else. Despite the accusations I flung at her last night, I don't really believe Maeve went into our relationship with any nefarious intentions. It was too unexpected, too genuine. Too risky. She had as much on the line as I did. Maybe more.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I finally answer. My voice is hollow. I’m wavering, and I hate myself for it. But it's nothing compared to how loathsome I felt when I saw the look on Maeve’s face after I kissed Emily.

  A junior linebacker stumbles over to us. “Sick throws tonight, Cole,” he compliments me.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, taking another long drag of beer and hoping he’ll take the hint.

  “Who was that hot blonde yelling at you? I’ve never seen her before. Man, I would love to get a piece—”

  I push away from the wall, and stalk off. Before I can continue my series of stupid decisions. Like punch out my teammate for talking about my enemy.

  The rest of the night is a blur of more beer and loud music, and when I wake up in one of Josh’s guest rooms the following morning, it’s to a blaring headache. It feels like a hammer is pounding against my temple. Thankfully, I’m alone. I’m not sure how I feel about Maeve right now, but I know having sex with someone else would haunt me. It’s bad enough I kissed Emily.

  I stumble out of the bedroom into the hallway. The house is a total wreck. Red plastic cups, empty beer bottles, and random articles of clothing dot the pathway to the kitchen. Josh is standing at the stove frying eggs when I walk inside. Caroline’s perched on the island, drinking from a mug.

  “You look like shit,” she greets, appraising me over the rim of the ceramic.

  “I feel like it,” I say, slumping down on one of the island’s stools. “There coffee?”

  Caroline nods to the fridge, and I see a coffeemaker tucked in the corner. Thankfully, the glass pot is filled with dark brown liquid. I heave myself up, and look through three cabinets before I finally locate the mugs. I pour myself some steaming coffee, and sit back down.

  “You were quite the party animal last night, Cole,” Josh informs me as he flips the eggs.

  I groan. After Maeve left, most of the evening is spotty. Mainly because her appearance sobered me up, and I overcompensated on the alcohol after she left as a result. “How so?”

  “Hmmm, where to begin?” Josh says, obviously enjoying this way too much.

  “Don’t fuck with me,” I warn. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Oh, I know. You were in quite the mood yesterday, too. Long before you started drinking. Want to expound on what that was about?”

  “Just having a bad day,” I reply, taking a sip of coffee. It does nothing to alleviate my headache, but the jolt of caffeine helps some. “So? What did I do last night?”

  “Lots of drinking. Gave a five minute speech about how much you hate the rain.
Little bit of dancing.”

  “Any girls?”

  “Not that I saw. Aside from the kiss with Emily, but that was before you got really wasted, so I’m guessing you remember that.”

  Chris stumbles into the kitchen then, his dark hair looking like a bird spent the night in it. “Morning.” He yawns.

  “Perfect timing, Fields. Was just filling Cole in on his drunk shenanigans.”

  “Wouldn’t miss this,” Chris says as he fills his own mug of coffee. “You break the rain poem to him yet?”

  “I’m calling bullshit on that,” I interject.

  “How come? You’re a total English nerd. Remember when you won that essay award sophomore year?”

  I roll my eyes. “That wasn’t poetry.”

  “All right, fine. It wasn’t a poem. If I wasn’t so hungover myself, I could have come up with a better story. You don't usually drink until you have amnesia.” Chris gives me a questioning look.

  I shrug. “Bad day.”

  Chris takes a seat on the stool beside me. “So, you and Emily are just friends?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “I was drunk.”

  “Yes, we’ve been over that, Cole. Doesn’t change the fact you adamantly said there was nothing to your adorable ice cream outing, and then made out with her last night in front of half the team, according to the rumors I heard. You didn’t do that even when you guys were a thing.”

  “Sure would be nice if people could mind their own business,” I mutter into my mug.

  “Which brings me to the second bit of buzz I heard I missed while I was playing Flip Cup. Maeve Stevens came here and called you a, and I quote ‘fucking coward,’ and then stormed off?”

  My grip tightens on the mug the second he says her name.

  “Yup,” I say briskly.

  “Why the hell would she do that?” Chris wonders.

  I shrug again.

  “Maybe it was a dare,” Josh speculates. I look up at him, and see Caroline studying me closely. I shift under her shrewd gaze as I finish my coffee and stand.