Our eyes lock and I snap the picture. While Ryne walks over toward a wooden railing I scrutinize the photo. Oh yeah, that one’s definitely a keeper. I smile and shut off the screen. The photo itself is a keeper too.
There’s a bench on one side of the lookout area that we settle onto. We sit quietly, watching and listening, and the longer we sit, the more and more I don’t want this morning to end. The Ryne I was met with at tryouts and the diner is nowhere in sight. This Ryne sitting next to me is more camp-Ryne. The guy who went for a run with me not ten minutes after we met under the pretense of needing another workout, but who looked more than a little relieved when I managed not to pass out and then finally ate some lunch. The guy whose curious eyes I found in the near-dark almost as soon as mine popped open on more than one of those early mornings. The guy who smirked as he gave me his phone number when I asked for it, but then made me text him right then and there so he could save mine, too. Of course, camp-Ryne is also the guy who apparently had a brain transplant at some point over the last two days of camp, but I’m not going to dwell on that right now. Instead, I turn to him.
“So you’ll be playing soccer at EGSU, right?” Ryne studies me and nods once. “Then what?”
The light in his eyes fades and he turns away. “The plan is to try to go pro, like my dad. I’d like to finish college first though.” His tone is dull and rather robotic like he’s reciting a speech and doing a poor job at it.
I bite my lip and frown. “Cool. What do you want to study?”
“Dunno,” he replies, facing me again. “Maybe business or something. Seems like it would be a good background to have with a pro career, even if the thought of studying it sounds totally and completely mind-numbing.”
“Isn’t that what they make agents for?”
He scans my face and shrugs. “Can’t rely on other people. Everyone’s got their own best interests in mind. There’s no way I’m fully putting my life in someone else’s hands. I don’t wanna get screwed.”
That’s a depressing perspective.
“What would you study if you weren’t gonna play soccer after college?”
He stares at me so long I assume he’s not going to answer.
“Architecture.” His cheeks flush lightly. I’m not surprised at his answer, considering how much passion came through when he told me about the work he does with his uncle.
“Why can’t you study architecture? It seems like you’d have some business classes as part of that, enough to not get screwed over while playing soccer anyway,” I tease.
Ryne rolls his eyes and shifts in his seat. “What’s the point? It’s not like I’d do anything with the degree, assuming my plans unfold the way they’re supposed to.” The way they’re supposed to? Not the way he wants them to? That makes me sad for him. But at least he has a plan. A family wanders into the area, two young kids with their parents. When the dad hoists the boy up onto his shoulders, Ryne turns to me. “Anyway, what is this, twenty questions?”
His tone is snippy. Tough shit, Ryne. Answering a few questions won’t kill you.
“It’s hardly twenty questions, more like six. And I only have like eighty more.” My lips twitch at the look of pure horror on his face. It might not kill him, but it sure seems like torture. “Okay, I’ll rein it in. Like seventy-five tops.” He opens his mouth to protest but I cut him off. “It’s my birthday weekend. You can’t deny me anything on my birthday weekend.”
Ryne’s eyes flash and his grimace morphs into one of his trademark smirks. “You better be careful what you ask for in that case.”
He taps his fingers on the edge of the bench seat. I lounge back and survey the area. The little boy giggles when his dad reaches up and gently pokes him in the side, and his sister jumps up and down and points to something in the distance. A warm breeze whips through and carries with it mist from the falls. It sprinkles down on all of us, and the kids laugh. It makes me chuckle, and when I turn back to Ryne I suck in a breath. He reaches over and swipes his thumb over a few droplets along my brow.
“What kind of music do you listen to, Dacen?”
Ryne’s eyes widen slightly and my eyebrows shoot up. I’m not sure which of us is more surprised by his question.
“Um, most anything really. Right now I’m kind of obsessed with Dermot Kennedy.” I involuntarily shiver and Ryne looks at me, his lips quivering in amusement. I smile sheepishly. “His voice… I kind of have a thing for Irish accents. What do you like?”
Ryne’s still staring at me oddly, but he blinks and relaxes. “Rock mostly. Hard rock, punk rock, heavy metal, grunge. AC/DC, Ozzy Osbourne, and Black Stone Cherry are some of my favs.”
I twist on the bench and prop one leg up on the seat to face him. “You definitely seem like a rock kind of guy. Ever been to any concerts?”
His face lights up again, a welcome sight after the detour into grumpiness from the college and soccer topics. “Yeah, a few. Last year the guys and I went to see Black Stone Cherry. We were so close to the stage. It was insanely loud. My ears rang for an entire day afterward but it was so worth it.”
“Oh wow, that sounds pretty epic.”
He sounds way more excited about the concert than about the prospect of playing pro-soccer, which seems very strange. You’d think a career as a professional athlete would be a top-of-the-list kind of thing. I’m starting to wonder how much of Ryne’s drive to play pro comes from his own interest versus some sort of external pressure, real or perceived. I mull that over while he checks something on his phone. He pockets it again and looks my way.
“One more question and then we should probably head out before it gets too crowded.”
“I have two more questions.”
He stares at me with his head cocked to the side. I make my best wide-eyed cheesy smile and it works.
“Fine.”
