love? It’s just a word. It’s a pretty word that scrambles my head and makes me scared. Hell, maybe it makes lots of people afraid. Terrified of getting hurt, of being left behind, of giving a part of yourself to someone while knowing they have the power to change your whole world.
But she’s worth fighting for.
Wherever she is, I kiss my fingers and send them up into the crowd. For her.
My name jumps onto the board as the third-fastest wide receiver of the day and the fifth-fastest overall. I stare up at the lights of the stadium, emotion tight in my chest.
I’m going to find her.
And this time I know what to say. I’m not going to be afraid. Maybe she’s given up on me, but I’m not letting her go.
32
“Goodness, you’re up early for spring break,” Ma murmurs as I make my way into the kitchen wearing old joggers and a baggy Waylon shirt. “It’s six AM, dear. I thought you’d sleep in after that late flight.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I mumble as I walk over to the coffee table and pour a cup. Fuck carbs, I think as I throw in a heavy dose of cream and stir.
“You look pale.”
I nod. I flew out of Jackson late Friday night and arrived last night around eleven. My body nearly collapsed when I walked in the door and Pop, Ma, and Mattie all ran over to throw their arms around me. They acted like I was a celebrity who’s been in hiding for months. Ma fawned over me, running her hands over my face and hair, Pop picked me up and swung me around, and then Mattie got his turn. Through the laugher and their questions, I fought back tears. I’ve missed them so much more than I realized.
I take a seat at our small table in the breakfast nook and stare down at the worn scratches and dents on the table. One is from when Mattie threw a butter knife at me over who got the last piece of pie, another from a plate Ma dropped and shattered on the wood when I told her I was accepting the full-ride to Waylon. There’s even a Sharpie mark I made when I was a kid, drawing a picture for Pop to hang in his office a few blocks over. It’s still up on the wall there, stick figures of me, Mattie, Paulie, and my parents.
She sits down across from me and clears her throat. She’s freshly showered and dressed in her usual slacks and nice blouse, hair coiffed, makeup on. Pop’s probably already gone. Running a small business never stops—even on the weekend. Plus, he’s putting Mattie through law school. That isn’t cheap.
“I’m worried about you. Is it…is it that boy in Mississippi? I thought you might bring him home so I could check his teeth or at least get a detailed history of his background.”
“He lost his parents when he was ten. They were drug addicts. He grew up with family who never paid him any attention. No one ever told him they loved him—” I stop and duck my head with my elbows on the table. I don’t want to go there and think about him, not now. It’s too fresh. It was hard enough to go into our psych class, knowing he was there when I took my new seat in the back. I’d gone to Dr. Cartwright beforehand and told him he had to move me, and after taking in my face, he did so on the spot, no questions. Maybe he knew. I’m sure he’s watched us all semester and knew there was a relationship there.
As soon as class was over, I left from the upper exit, leaving Blaze on the lower level. It wasn’t hard. Plus, he was wearing the boot, and he couldn’t exactly chase after me. I ignored all the texts he sent me and deleted every voice mail he left. I spent three nights at the library, in a far corner away from anyone, not coming home until late. I figured he’d show up at my house, and he did once he was cleared to drive, according to Penelope.
“Oh. Well, why didn’t he come with you?”
I reach out and take a slice of homemade coffee cake she’s set out for me.
She sets her cup on a saucer. “Fine. You don’t want to talk about him. Good, good. You’ve come to your senses. I’m planning a dinner tonight. Paulie and his wife are coming