October, in my old life, would have fit right into the middle of football season. I would have greeted it with a nod and an otherwise non-affected state of determination to keep doing what I’d done in September and drive my team closer to the championship.
But now, it wasn’t just October, the last month of football before we found out if we were going to the playoffs or not.
It wasn’t just October, cool weather and colorful leaves and homecoming and Halloween.
Now, it was October, the first full month of Sydney Clark being mine.
It didn’t matter that no one knew it but me — which was surprising, because it wasn’t my usual game to play. But after our discussion at her house the morning after our game against the Serpents, we fell into a rhythm, into a sort of dance where we kept our distance and remained professional at school and around Paige, but blurred those lines when we were alone.
We had a secret, and I found no one really needed to know that I was kissing her lips each night — as long as that fact remained true.
Currently, on the Monday night after our homecoming game against the Ranchwood Rockets — whom we absolutely crushed — Sydney was on my couch in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boy shorts, her hair loose and wavy where it framed her face, and she was popping candy corn into her mouth. She had her legs outstretched, feet in my lap, and I rubbed them as we finished the second movie in our Halloween movie marathon that night.
First was Casper: The Friendly Ghost.
And now, Hocus Pocus.
Turned out neither of us were big horror fans.
I tried to keep my attention on the movie, chuckling as the kids tricked the witches and the parents were put under a spell to dance all night. But I was more focused on my hands moving over her arches and pads, on the little groans of approval that she let slip from time to time, and on the unbelievable four weeks I’d had with that woman on my couch.
I wondered if she realized it, too — that one month ago in her backyard, she’d said she’d be mine.
Or maybe I was just a lovesick fool and should be ashamed that I even cared that it had been one month.
Still, though, I’d held my stern outward appearance at school and kept quiet around my family as per usual, when I was with her?
I couldn’t pretend.
I massaged up her calf a little, smiling as I recounted the time we’d spent together. I didn’t know which I’d loved more — watching her work with appreciation from a distance, sneaking kisses when the other coaches had yet to show up to the locker room, learning her as a woman on the nights Randy had Paige and I got Sydney to myself, or marveling at the role she played in Paige’s life as her mother when I spent afternoons practicing with that little girl in their backyard.
I was learning her favorite flowers and memorizing the look of determination she wore when she worked in the garden. I was learning about her childhood, about her parents and her sister, about her life traveling before finally settling down in Stratford just in time to finish high school. I was learning who she was when she was with Randy, how she’d changed since, and the ways in which she would never change — like the fact that she was, had always been, and always would be a woman who was curious about the way things worked, like the bodies of the players she worked on and the vegetables she tended to in the garden and her daughter, who threw her for a loop because she changed and grew each day.
It was like slowly peeling off buttery flakes of a pastry, discovering new tastes with every layer, and I cherished each morsel.
The more I got to know her, the more I struggled to understand Randy — who, up until that point, I had respected. It wasn’t that Sydney ever spoke ill of him, but she didn’t need to. I knew all I needed to know about him, the way he treated her, and their relationship by how she responded to being treated the way she always should have been.
Every game he came to with Paige by his side, I would chance a glance at him, wondering how he could have been so stupid as to let her slip away.
He always met my gaze with the same intensity, as if he knew something I didn’t.
As I became more familiar with Sydney, I revealed my own layers to her, too — letting her pass through walls I never realized I had built and fortified.
My smile faltered a bit as that thought settled in, because I realized one subject I’d yet to even broach with her was the death of my father — specifically, the hard drive and the journal and my discoveries so far.
And I knew it was on purpose.
That part of me — the young man who was left without a father, with questions never answered — he was tender and raw and I did everything I could to never expose him. The need to protect my father’s legacy and my brothers and my mom and myself was so deeply sewn into my being that it had sprouted roots.
But, something in my throat tightened that Monday night on my couch when Sydney leaned up, kissing my cheek before she scampered off to use the restroom down the hall.
I paused the TV, grabbed my laptop, plugged in the external hard drive, and opened the journal I’d been neglecting since Sydney had stolen my time and attention.
Not that I’d complained.
“Uh-oh,” Sydney said when she plopped back down on the couch beside me, leaning on the arm of the couch with one elbow. “Don’t tell me you got another new trick play idea or the sudden urge to watch defense tapes. We were just getting to the good part.”
She smirked, nodding toward the TV where the witches were paused on the screen, and I reached over to squeeze her knee.
“I want to show you something.”
Sydney rolled her eyes, but scooted closer, wrapping her arm under mine and reaching for her phone. “Fine. But I’m setting a timer, and after twenty minutes, no more football talk until the movie’s over. I don’t care how close we are to playoffs.”
“It’s not football-related.”
Sydney paused where she was reaching for her phone, her little mouth popping open into a soft o. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to hide my shock.”
She was teasing, but when she saw the sincerity on my face, her brows tugged together.
“What is it?”
My heart stopped altogether on my next breath, and I held it, turning my laptop until she could see the screen.
I watched as Sydney’s eyes roamed, her frown deepening the more she looked. “I don’t understand… what am I looking at? It’s like…” She reached for the computer, pulling it into her own lap for a closer look. “It’s like an old processor or something. Is this Windows Vista?”
“Mm-hmm.”
She frowned more, shaking her head at the document I had open. “And this is… well, part of it is in Latin, I think? But…” Her eyebrows softened, lips parting. “It says your father’s name. It says… it’s talking about the distillery.” Sydney’s eyes slowly found mine. “Jordan, what is this?”
I swallowed, realizing the jolt of nerves in my stomach wasn’t because I was afraid to tell Sydney about what my brothers and I had found.
It was because I’d found someone I wanted to share it with.
“It’s my dad’s journal.”
The tension between her brows released, her eyes widening. “Your… your dad’s journal?”
I nodded, pointing to the hard drive plugged into the side of my laptop. “It’s a long story, but… well, essentially, Logan and Mallory found this old, burned up, useless computer when they were tasked to clean out a storage closet at the distillery. He managed to get the hard drive out of it, and used this external hard drive,” I said, tapping the large silver square. “To host it, I guess. It pulled up dad’s computer as if we were logging onto it, but the problem was… it was password protected.”
Sydney listened intently, her eyes ever-widening.
“Mikey’s girlfriend — well, she was his friend at the time, but that’s another story — she’s smart, and has always had a fascination with coding and such. So, the two of them worked on trying to break in
to it. One day… they did.”
“Whoa…” Sydney looked back at the screen. “And they found this?”
“Among other things. It was mostly work files and emails and such, when they first started looking, but then Mikey found the journal. And see,” I said, reaching over to scroll on the mousepad until the beginning entries were on the screen. “At first, it’s just a normal journal — and really, it’s more like a daily log. Boring stuff. Him going to meetings, notes on what he needs to accomplish that week, random reminders. But then, something strange happens.”
“He starts writing in Latin,” Sydney finishes for me, scrolling down to the first entry in the old language.
“He starts writing in Latin,” I echo. “My brothers were confused, but I remember when Dad got on this kick about how so many of our words are based in the Latin language, and how he read an article that if you learn Latin, it’s a gateway to learn pretty much any other language in the world. I remember him listening to the tapes and studying this giant book he’d bought on it. And I got into it, too,” I added with a shrug. “It was kind of fun. Challenging. And it was time with my dad, you know?”
Sydney’s mouth pulled to one side, and she reached over, grabbing my hand.
“Anyway, I told my brother’s that with some time and some online translation tools, I thought I could go through and figure out what he was writing… see if it was anything important.”
“That’s what I guess I’m missing here,” she said, glancing at the screen and back at me. “I mean, I think it’s cool that you found your dad’s journal, but you’re just… reading it? Kind of seems like an invasion of privacy. Don’t get me wrong,” she said quickly. “I’m sure it feels good to be close to him in a way again, and have access to what he was thinking each day, but…”
“It’s not about that,” I explained. “Think about it, Sydney. When Logan found the laptop, it was in a box that had been stuffed in a corner, covered by other tubs and boxes, in an old storage room that no one touched for almost ten years. And in that same box, there were charred things from my dad’s desk — a picture of our family at the lake, a paper weight with a favorite quote of his, and some other things.”
“Well…” Sydney looked like she was afraid to say her next words. “I mean, that makes sense, doesn’t it? With the fire…”
“The fire was in Robert J. Scooter’s old office. Why would my dad’s things be burnt, if they were in his office? And why, when the Scooters cleaned out my dad’s office, did they not give any of the things in that box to our family?”
Sydney’s expression went blank, and she gripped the edges of the laptop harder as she sat back on the couch. “You think you’ll find answers in the journal.”
“Honestly, I don’t,” I confessed. “But… I guess there’s a part of all of us that hopes.”
“Have you found anything yet?”
I chewed my lip, taking the laptop from her long enough to pull up the entry where dad had mentioned he’d found Robert J. Scooter’s Last Will and Testament. I turned the screen back to Sydney, watching as she read over what I’d translated.
“Jesus Christ…” Her eyes found mine. “I thought there wasn’t a Will. I thought…” She shook her head, glancing at the screen and back at me. “There wasn’t a Will. That’s what the Scooters always said. I remember my dad telling me the story of the distillery when we moved here, and telling me about Patrick Scooter and his father and how he died from a random infection on a seemingly harmless injury and… and… there wasn’t a Will.”
I cocked one brow on a sigh. “Well, it seems there was a Will… which leads me to believe that maybe there is something to be found in this journal, after all.”
Sydney stared at the laptop for a long pause. “Does your mom know?”
“No one knows except me and my brothers,” I said. “Maybe their significant others, at least Michael’s girlfriend, Kylie, for sure. And, now… you.”
She looked at me then, her almond eyes wide and glossy, lips parted, chin quivering.
Anxiety flickered like a lantern in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, shutting the laptop. “Was that too much? God, you probably think we’re crazy, all the conspiracy theory bullshit—”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said quickly, turning to face me completely once the laptop was on my coffee table. Her eyes were sincere, her hands slipping into mine. “I think you’re right.”
I squeezed her hands in mine.
“Thank you, Jordan,” she whispered, gaze searching mine. “Thank you for telling me, for trusting me.”
I nodded, heart pounding slow like a fist was wrapped around it as she crawled into my arms. She kissed my neck, my chin, my jaw, all over until our lips fastened together and I pulled her tighter into my chest.
In that moment, I felt it — our hearts fusing together, our souls opening the door to each other’s, finding a room, making it home.
And in the same breath that I found relief and warmth, I was also overwhelmed with a sickly cold terror.
Because suddenly, it was real.
We were real.
And I couldn’t decide why, in the pit of my stomach, there was the gnawing notion that none of it could possibly last.
Sydney
“I’d like to make some toast,” Paige said, holding up her champagne flute filled with Welch’s grape juice and holding her chin high.
Jordan barked out a laugh, but lifted his glass, anyway, and I did the same, smiling at him from across my dining room table.
It was Saturday night, and less than twenty-four hours before, the Stratford High Wild Cats had clenched our spot in the Tennessee Division I High School Football Playoffs.
“To Coach,” she said, addressing Jordan. “You were a loser at the beginning of the season, but that didn’t stop you, and just like I heard Mom saying when she was making fun of you to Aunt Gabby one night, you found a way to win, anyway!”
Jordan laughed again, cocking a brow at me as I kicked Paige under the table. “You were making fun of my word of the season, huh?”
“Shh, I’m not done,” Paige said before I could defend myself. “To the players, who have worked their butts off.”
“That’s right,” Jordan said, pride beaming off him like a ray of light.
“And to my mom.”
Paige turned to me, then, her little eyes that looked so much like mine crinkling at the edges as she lifted her glass toward me.
“The strongest woman in the whole wide world, and the best athletic trainer Stratford has ever seen.”
Jordan held his glass toward me. “Hear, hear.” Our eyes met, and he smirked, making me blush.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said, heart squeezing as we all met glasses in the middle of the table.
“Here’s to winning not just our first playoff game, but all of them, and bringing another trophy back to Stratford!”
We clinked our glasses to the tune of a little yeehaw from Jordan and some giggles from me and Paige, then we all took a sip, setting our glasses back down and digging into the celebration dinner I’d made for us.
“That was quite a speech, Paigey,” I said, leaning over to help her cut her steak.
“I’ve been practicing.” She sat straighter, turning to Jordan. “Now, before we get too much into the celebrations, we need to talk about that defensive line and their low sack record. Jones is too big and powerful for him to not have at least ten this season.”
Jordan smiled, listening intently as Paige continued on, offering her suggestions and advice on virtually every single player and coach and play by the time we’d finished eating. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise — not that I minded. My heart was full sitting at that table with my animated, passionate daughter and my kind, patient…
Whatever he was.
My stomach flipped, and I sipped down the last of my champagne before I stood, starting to clear the table.
“Cake?!” Paige asked excitedly, clapping
her hands together and bouncing in her chair as she looked up at me.
I laughed. “In a little bit. Why don’t you go play in your room for a while.”
“But, Mom,” she groaned, her little nose wrinkling as she thrust a hand toward the television. “The Vols are playing Alabama. This is like the most important game of the season.”
I hung a hand on my hip, balancing the stack of plates in the other. “Jordan has spent the entire day playing football with you,” I reminded her. “Ever think that maybe he needs some adult time? You can watch it in your room.”
“Actually…” Jordan said, raising one finger up. He grimaced when I looked at him. “I really want to watch this game, too.”
“See?” Paige said, dragging out the vowels. “Come on, Mom. We’re celebrating tonight, remember? Football and cake and then I swear I’ll leave you guys alone.” She clasped her hands together. “Pleeeeease.”
Jordan mimicked her, poking out his bottom lip until I rolled my eyes and tossed one of the dirty napkins at each of them to the sound of their laughter.
“I am so outvoted in this party of three and I am not okay with that.”
“Thank you, Mama!” Paige stood on the chair to kiss my cheek before she leapt down off it and scampered into the living room, calling for Jordan to follow.
He stood, helping me carry the rest of the dishes to the sink, and when he glanced over my shoulder and found Paige glued to the television, he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me into him subtly.
“For the record,” he said, whispering in my ear with his hot lips brushing my neck. “I really am looking forward to adult time.”
His hand slid down, cupping my ass and squeezing it before he released me, and a flush burned through me as I bit my lip and swatted him away. He just grinned at me over his shoulder, and then he plopped down on the couch next to Paige, both of them kicking their feet up on the coffee table.
My hands were on autopilot as I washed the dishes, throwing some directly into the dishwasher after I rinsed them and spending time scrubbing the others. I found comfort in the warm, soapy water, glancing at Jordan and Paige in the living room from time to time, my thoughts wandering.
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