Kiss Now, Lie Later
Page 22
The absent excitement finally begins to appear. Not because I’m growing closer to the game, but because I’m growing closer to her. Glenmont’s parking lot is packed when the bus pulls up. We file off one by one. Coach Blake doesn’t say anything as I pass him to lead the team out onto the field, but he claps me on the back.
When we appear on the field it’s to a barrage of boos. Alleghany fans are out in force, but they’re no match for the packed home crowd. The demeaning sound fuels me the same way it does at every away game. Adrenaline pumps through my system.
It’s expected: the noise, the crowded stands, the electric atmosphere. What’s not expected? The solitary speck of royal blue among the sea of maroon comprising the Glenmont side.
I freeze as soon as I see it. I never asked for my extra jersey back after the night we first had sex. I would have bet money it hadn’t survived through the tumult of this past week.
And yet there Maeve Stevens sits, wearing my blue jersey in a sea of Glenmont fans. She’s seated only a few rows back from the field. I can see my number emblazoned on the front from here.
Chris lets out a low whistle as he comes to a stop next to me. The rest of the team keeps walking, although there are a number of glances back at me. “That’s one hell of a gesture, Cole.”
Maeve’s choice of attire is drawing plenty of attention, from both sides of the field. I see Liam Stevens glancing between us. Matt Crawford is giving me a death glare. And I’m still stupefied. I can’t believe she did this.
“So . . . you standing here like a statue is not exactly inspiring confidence you’re ready for this game,” Chris adds. “She’s probably going to regret wearing your jersey if you’re too busy imitating a figurine to actually play.”
The zeal and zest I’ve been missing all day finally appears in full force. “Oh, I’m ready, Fields.” I give him a hubristic smirk as I start to jog towards the bench.
The face-off with Liam Stevens and Matt Crawford for the coin toss is awkward, to say the least. Even the referee looks uncomfortable with the palpable tension as I call tails. Especially when the coin doesn’t come up as the heads Stevens called. It’s a small victory, one that will likely end up being meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a win nonetheless.
Rather than the blind rage that possessed me the last time we were on this field, I’m ebullient. It’s not a feigned air of indifference, the way I’ve played games in the past. It’s genuine. I’m enjoying myself.
Based on the grim set of Liam Stevens’ mouth, he can’t say the same. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile. He’s got an almost militaristic persona on the field, and Glenmont follows every command with perfect precision.
I’m not surprised when they cap off a series of meticulously plotted plays with the game’s first touchdown. They’re punctilious, but they’re also predictable.
Loud cheers resound around the field as I stride out with our offensive unit. Not for me, they’re residual applause for Glenmont. I even catch Liam Stevens with a slight grin. The sight doesn’t bother me. Out of everyone in Glenmont, I get why he hates me. Especially now. I’m also confident they won’t be ahead for long. I mutter the play I want to run to Chris as we take our positions on the field. We break our starting stance, and Glenmont’s doing its damnedest to get to me. I only have seconds. My eyes find Chris, right where I told him to be.
This split second is why I love playing football. Why I love being the quarterback. I started out as a receiver, and I was a good one. But once my coaches realized I could throw, I was shifted to quarterback. I’ve retained the uncanny ability to know exactly where the ball should go, though. Where I would need it if I were the one about to run. My finger finds the sweet spot between the laces, and I let the weathered leather fly. It spirals through the air in a deadly arc. Deadly, because it lands in Chris’s waiting arms, and travels in them to the end zone.
Hello, momentum.
Our kicker makes the extra point, and we’re tied. The blue side of the bleachers is jubilant, and I don’t look at Glenmont’s side. I haven’t since the game began.
Glenmont can’t manage to generate anything offensively, despite their best efforts. They slow us down, but they can’t halt us completely. We score two more touchdowns before the final whistle blows.
It’s eerie, how one side sits silent while the other erupts. I’m mobbed. My jersey is yanked, my facemask is grabbed, my helmet is clanked against every one of my teammates’. They’re acting like we just won the state championship, and I know for many of them this is an even sweeter victory. It’s a testament to the power of Alleghany’s rivalry against Glenmont. With the exception of me and a couple other guys, all my teammates grew up coming to Alleghany High games. They spent their middle school years watching Coach Stevens’ team trounce ours. Hearing about how Liam Stevens was coming, and Glenmont would be unstoppable. We just ensured that never happened.
We halt our celebrations for the time-tested tradition of shaking hands and repeating the mantra of “good game.” It’s a ritual I respect, but right now it feels a little bit like forcing the same poles of two magnets together. The hatred emanating off Glenmont’s team feels tangible, choking the air between us as the two lines start to move.
Suddenly, I realize the hand I’m shaking is Liam Stevens’. “Good game,” I repeat to him. He says the same, but keeps gripping my hand, holding me in place. He opens his mouth like there’s something else he wants to say, but he thinks better of it. He closes his mouth and lets go of my hand. I grab the next Glenmont player’s hand. Which happens to belong to Matt Crawford. “Good game,” I say again. He mutters it back to me, looking like he’d rather tell me something much less complimentary.
As soon as the last two players shake hands the cheerleaders come off the track to join our celebration, and several of them give me hugs, including Emily, making me hope Maeve isn’t watching. Then, parents start to appear as well. I’m in the midst of a second detailed discussion of my first touchdown pass with a teammate's father when I spot a familiar figure making her way towards me.
Mr. Baylor departs with one final pat on the back, just as my mother stops in front of me.
“Mom,” I state. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in the city? With Dad?”
“I turned around and left as soon as we arrived. I should have changed my plans as soon as your game was moved. It’s just—I felt like I needed to—”
“I know, Mom. I know why you go with him,” I say, so she doesn’t have to.
“I know you do, Wes. And I hate that you do. I hate that your relationship with your father has become what it has. I stayed with him for a lot of reasons, but the primary one has always been to keep our family intact. But it hasn’t felt that way for a while.”
“That’s not your fault, Mom. It’s his.”
“He’s embarrassed, Wes. He knows you judge him for it.” I open my mouth, but she continues. “I’m not defending him. He deserves judgement for some of the choices he’s made.”
“He hasn’t done much to fix things.”
“Your father wants to be someone you look to for advice and support, Wes. He knows he’s not, so it’s easier for him to not be present for these moments than to be here and for you to ignore him.” I start to talk, but my mother holds up her hand. “I’m just sharing with you what he told me. But you’re right. That’s why I told him earlier if things don’t change, I’m done. The way things are right now, they’re not healthy for any of us. I should have done it a long time ago, but I was worried. Worried the affairs would come out. Worried about you. Worried your father might just leave. And I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Mom,” I assure her. “It’s a shitty situation.”
For once, she doesn’t correct my foul language. Instead, she lets out a teary laugh and pulls me in for a tight hug. I squeeze her back. “I’m so proud of you, Weston,” she tells me. “You’re
a better person than either your father or me, and I couldn’t be more grateful you’re my son.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I mutter past the lump in my throat.
She pulls back, looking equally emotional. “Enough heavy stuff! This is a celebration. Go be with your teammates, and we can talk tomorrow, all right?” She gives me a wide smile.
“Okay," I reply, grinning back.
“And be home before curfew,” she instructs, sounding more like her usual self.
“I will be,” I promise.
“Good.” She gives me one last hug, and then disappears into the crowd.
I finally let myself look for Maeve. My teammates are starting to pack up their gear, eager to return to Alleghany and celebrate. Unlike most of our away games, we never bother to change here. A line of blue jerseys is already headed towards the bus that’s loitering along the curb, just past the bleachers. The stands are half-empty, more so on the Glenmont side. It’s hardly surprising, I doubt many of their fans were willing to stick around to watch our celebration. I thought she might, though.
“Cole, you coming?” Adam calls from halfway across the field.
“Yeah,” I reply, swinging my bag across my shoulder and starting towards the bus. The bleachers hid how crowded the parking lot still is. Glenmont may not have wanted to watch us celebrate on the field, but they certainly stuck around. Parents, cheerleaders, and players all wearing maroon mill about. Which is probably why “We Are the Champions” is blasting from our bus. I’d bet money Charlie was the one who put in on. He’s always been obsessed with Queen. I toss my bag in the luggage compartment under the bus, and start towards the stairs.
“WES! Wes!” I turn to see Maeve jogging towards me. There’s a group of maroon-clad students standing behind her with an open gap in their circle, staring after her with wide eyes. She slows to a walk, and then to a stop a couple of feet away from me. She plays with the hem of my jersey, which she’s tied off to the side to compensate for the fact I’m six inches taller and at least eighty pounds burlier than she is.
“Um, hi,” she finally says. Her blonde hair is messy, and her green eyes are timid. It’s a stark contrast to her bold greeting a few seconds ago, which attracted plenty of attention. Scrutiny I can still feel on us.
“Nice jersey. I wasn’t aware you’re an Eagles fan,” I state. It’s stupid, but I can’t think of anything else to say, and the silence between us is starting to drag. I need some cue from her on what she wants, and she’s giving me nothing.
Maeve takes a deep breath. “Wes. I live in Glenmont. I play for Glenmont. I’ve been rooting for the Stallions for as long as I can remember. Because that’s what you do. You cheer for your home team. And you hope they win. Plus, my home team is coached by my dad, and it’s led by my brother. My friends play for and cheer for my team. But you don’t. And that’s made things confusing. Because—you—Wes, I’m wearing an Eagles jersey. But not because I’m an Eagles fan.” She rolls her eyes to emphasize how asinine my comment was. “Because it’s your jersey.” She takes another deep breath. “It would have been really easy not to wear this, Wes. Way easier. The way saying things will never change is easy.”
I flinch slightly at her pointed reference to my words last night. “But you wore it.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“I was worried you might not choose me,” I admit. My mother and I are more alike than I realized. “If you had to take sides. I didn’t want to know what you'd do. And didn’t want you to have to. Ending things fixed that.”
“I know you meant what you said about the rivalry. But, I also thought you didn’t want people to know we were in an actual relationship. That you felt trapped because people were starting to find out and you wanted to go back to being with a different girl every weekend. That I was the only one clutching onto us.” Maeve tells me quietly, dropping her gaze.
“Maeve, all I did was kiss Emily that night. And it was only because you showed up, and I was still so mad, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I haven’t slept with her, or anyone else since that night I first kissed you.”
“I think I would have forgiven you. If you had.” Vulnerability seeps across Maeve’s face, and I think of the first time I looked into her viridian eyes, how she told me she could never forgive cheating and I told her the same. I know what the admission means to her. What she’s really trying to say.
“You won’t ever have to,” I promise.
“I won’t?” Her voice is hesitant. Hopeful.
I reach out and use the material of my jersey to pull her closer. “You won’t,” I murmur.
Maeve kisses me first. In the parking lot of the Glenmont football stadium. With most of the town watching. Wearing my jersey.
And it feels better than winning the game.
chapter twenty-seven
Maeve
“I don’t really think the coffee table needs to be wiped again, Mom. It’s not the President coming to visit, it’s just my arch nemesis,” Liam remarks caustically from his spot on the coach. I glance back from my spot in the armchair by the window to watch our mother give him a sharp glance.
“I know you’re not thrilled about who our dinner guest is this evening, but you will not like the consequences if you are anything less than polite tonight, Liam. Understand? Football aside, this boy is important to your sister, and he is welcome in this house.”
Liam grumbles something under his breath that I doubt is an agreement.
After the game last night, Wes went off to celebrate with his teammates. He offered to skip it or have me come, but I wanted him to have his moment. Plus, I had two unpleasant conversations waiting for me at home. Liam didn’t say much when I told him I had gotten back together with Wes. My father was even more inscrutable. My mother said she was happy for me.
This morning, I woke up to a loud argument. The just? My mother wanted to invite Wes over for dinner. My father was less than enthused about the idea.
I entered the kitchen just in time for my mother to tell my father that “our daughter’s happiness is more important that a grudge” and to tell me to invite “Weston over at six.” I expected Wes to have some ambivalence about the idea, but he accepted the invitation immediately.
Wes’s Range Rover pulls into my driveway, and I leap up from the armchair I’ve been perched in for the last hour, even though it’s only just six now.
The grandfather clock next to the fireplace starts to chime, and Liam rolls his eyes. “He’s probably been parked around the block, waiting to pull up exactly at six.”
“You’re annoyed he’s on time? Seriously, Liam?” I question as I head over to the front door. I open it as soon as I hear his steps on the stairs, and Wes gives me a smile that makes my stomach flutter. He looks at ease, but he’s dressed up somewhat. Aside from when he picked me up from Chase’s and his birthday, I’ve only ever seen him in athletic apparel. Tonight, he’s wearing a pair of dark wash jeans, and a gray sweater that hugs his muscular chest. He’s clutching a bunch of flowers.
“Hey,” he greets, leaning in and giving me a kiss.
“Hi,” I reply, beaming up at him. I know I have a dopey grin on my face, but I don’t bother to hide it. This moment feels surreal, and I’m determined to enjoy it.
“You must be Weston,” my mother says, appearing in the front hallway. I step aside and shut the front door so she can greet him.
“Yes, I am. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Stevens,” Wes replies. “These are for you.” He holds out the bouquet.
“Thank you, these are lovely!” my mother exclaims. Unlike my father and Liam, this is the first time she’s ever seen Wes in person, up close at least. I can tell she’s a bit taken aback by how good-looking he is.
Liam comes and hovers in the open doorway between the front hallway and the living room.
“Hi, Liam,” Wes greets magnanimously.
“Weston,” Liam grits out in a much less amicable tone. I send him a glare, and my mother does the same.
“I should put these in some water,” my mother says before heading into the kitchen, flowers in hand.
“This your attempt at a van Gogh?” Wes asks me as she disappears, peering at the framed painting of a star-filled sky on the wall.
“What gave it away?” I ask wryly. “Does it not look like the original?”
“It looks like a fresh take on it,” Wes offers with a dimpled smile.
“Smooth, Cole.”
“I’ve got game, Stevens.”
“Oh, I know,” I mutter. We wouldn’t been standing here if he didn’t. Based on his grin, Wes heard me.
“Dinner’s ready,” my mom says as she re-enters the entryway. “Are you two ready to eat?”
“Sure,” I reply. Wes nods. For the first time since he arrived, he looks a bit nervous. I’m guessing it has to do with the one member of my family he hasn’t yet seen tonight. I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile, but to be honest I have no idea what to expect from my father tonight. He's rarely verbose, and he’s been even more reserved around me since my outburst yesterday morning. Me bringing a guy home is uncharted territory. Me bringing home a guy from Alleghany? It goes against the rivalry he’s been an avid supporter of since his childhood.
My father and Liam are already seated at the table when we enter the dining room. I know it’s a purposeful move, a show of solidarity between them. I know it’s not lost on Wes or my mother either.
Wes walks over to the head of the table, where my father is sitting. He holds out his hand. “It's nice to meet you officially, Coach Stevens.”
I hold my breath as my father studies Wes’s offered hand. Finally, he stands and shakes it. The air leaves me in a whoosh. Wes rounds the table to take his seat, and I sit down next to him. My mother settles at the head opposite my father. The only sound in the dining room is the clink of metal against china as we pass the dishes containing dinner around the table. I heap my plate with grilled chicken, salad, rice, and roasted vegetables.