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“Wow.” I’m starting to get that Isla and Gabe’s parents must have put a lot of pressure on them to succeed. From what I know about the two of them so far, they’re insanely successful already. “They must be so proud of you both.”
“They are, but there’s always this edge to it, like we could be doing better if we were more like them and if we’d made the decisions they wanted us to make, instead of our own. My dad thinks football is a waste of time. If it doesn’t make money, then it’s not worth doing, according to him. My dad thinks Gabriel should quit football and concentrate more on his investments.”
“There’s huge money in the NFL, though. Crazy money. Do you think Gabe will go pro?”
“Gabe is already making a lot of money through his portfolios. I don’t know if he’d even want to go pro. Oh, look, there’s the restaurant.”
The main street of Hawthorne is quaint and looks like a postcard of an idyllic New England town. It’s starting to get dark earlier now and the street is lit by the rows of old-fashioned street lanterns and the golden glow of the many bars and restaurants. It’s busy with returning students and there’s an air of excitement. We’re not the only ones who are here to have a good time and discover ourselves. “Here’s to being free birds together. Masters of our own destinies.”
“That’s us, roomie,” she grins, leading me toward the door that has Hawthorne Steakhouse etched into the glass of the door. “This is it.”
I’m a little nervous to be meeting more of Gabe’s friends. I finger the silver arrow necklace at my throat, the one my mother gave me on my fifteenth birthday. I’ve hardly taken it off since. It’s a habit, touching it when I feel out of my depth. But I remind myself that I belong here, just as much as anyone else does.
The restaurant is bustling. Walls are decorated with Hawthorne sports memorabilia dating back at least two generations. Even though I grew up in Hawthorne, I’ve never been to this restaurant, mainly because it’s where the football players hang out and my dad was never much of a going-out-to-restaurants type, especially if it was where his players were partying.
Walking into the crowded scene now, it feels good to be a part of something bigger than myself. Traditions being made in the here and now. I can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement as we make our way to the table where Gabe, West and another guy are already seated.
I glance at Isla and she’s feeling it too. Her cheeks are pink and her golden eyes are bright. I can’t help wondering if there’s more to it than just the coolness of the night air.
The guys see us coming and Gabe stands from his chair, giving Isla a hug. “Hey, Pix. Hey, Zara. Glad you could make it.”
“Hi, Gabe. Hi, West.” I’d forgotten how freaking big they are. Then again, it’s not surprising. They’re football players. They have to be big. And fit. And muscular as all hell. I mostly see them on screen and I’m not used to the sheer up-close-and-personal physicality of them.
Isla is released from her brother’s bearhug. She introduces me. “Zara, this is Jake Bowie. Jake, Zara Fox.”
Jake is the tallest of all of them. He has mink-brown hair, green eyes and an observant, laid-back vibe. “You’re the coach’s daughter?” I have a feeling I’m going to be getting that question a lot, but I don’t mind it. It gives me a buffer from worrying about any of them getting any ideas beyond being friends with Isla’s roommate. I’m completely off-limits and it’s a relief in some ways.
I haven’t really had a lot to do with boys—or men. Partly because my dad is so protective. But even more than that, I coped with my mother’s decline by basically retreating into my own headspace. My room is the attic of our house and takes up the entire fourth floor. It’s both my room and my studio and is, at this point, full to bursting with my art. Possibly not entirely healthy to live as an art-mad hermit, but it’s got cozy nooks and good light and it provided a sanctuary for me at a time when I needed it.
While most of the girls in my high school were trading make-up tips, flirting with football and hockey players and staging their Instagram shoots, I was trying to figure out how I was going to survive losing my beautiful mother while also making sure my dad was able to remain stable enough to keep his job and his sanity.
I’ve always been an introvert anyway, and it gave me an excuse, maybe. Sorry, I can’t go to the movies with you on Friday because my dad’s dealing with a lot right now and I think he needs some company. Maybe another time.
It never felt like a hardship. None of the boys in my high school really interested me. Their hobbies and banter seemed a million miles from the world I was occupying.
I didn’t expect people to understand. How could they? Their family units were whole. Their Thanksgivings and their Christmases hadn’t been ravaged by tragedy. Their worlds were still intact.
Mine wasn’t, and it almost made it worse to hang out with people who were more carefree than I could relate to or deal with at the time.
I’m as over it as I can be, and at this point I’ve trained myself to be upbeat and as outgoing as I’m capable of. But I can still sometimes feel that degree of distance.
So these huge, strapping football players are a little intimidating.
But Isla pulls me into the booth next to her. She falls into easy conversation and I start to relax a little.
“Where’s Elias?” Isla asks. “I thought the four of you usually traveled in a pack.”
“He’s got a meeting about one of his new endorsement deals,” West says. “Our boy is in hot demand. He’ll be rolling in money before we know it.”
“He already is,” Gabe drawls.
“Elias gets mobbed wherever he goes,” Isla tells me.
“Oh.” Of course the star quarterback would get mobbed. I’ve heard my dad discussing his players over the endless replays he and his assistants are always discussing when they come to our house. I never really took a lot of interest in the conversations they were having about football because I was too distracted by other things.
But Elias O’Shea is a name that comes up a lot and it’s usually handled with a certain amount of awe. He’s very good: that much I did pick up. A prodigy, my dad once said about him. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of player for a coach.
“He lives with these three idiots,” she says, elbowing Jake playfully. He elbows her back.
