Page 21 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

His sincerity hits me in the heart, a little stab of guilt where it’s actually meant to be comforting.

I’ve let them down by being out of the picture for so long, at least socially. The mask I wear at school was only supposed to be for the girls, but over the past few months, it’s transformed into keeping even my closest friends at arm’s length.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say quietly. I haven’t been hanging out as much lately, since everything happened during the summer, and I know it’s been bugging them. They tried to be understanding at first and let me have my space to wallow. Recently my absence has struck harder. I’m always at practice and games, of course, but the social aspect of my life took a nosedive.

“I know. But it’s good to have you back.”

“Want to be my pong partner?” I ask.

“Really? Heck yeah!”

I nod. “Jake and I have the next game!”

More cheers. Internally, I roll my eyes. But I’ve missed this. Not the booze. But the friendship.

I watch the current game, roast a few hot dogs and slam them down covered in ketchup.

Jake and I get in position to take the losers’ spot. Someone cranks up the music, and a bunch of people dance and laugh to my left. A tennis guy chases two cheerleaders, trying to get back the hat they stole off his head. Everyone’s cackling as he catches one of them around the waist and hoists her up in a fireman hold.

Smaller groups of games have broken out, and whoever thought giving inebriated people access to bags filled with sand made a bad call.

I dodge right as a palm-sized bag zips toward me, nowhere near the cornhole board.

“Sorry, Simpson!” Jorge calls out.

I know for certain that some of these people aren’t planning on sleeping here tonight.

“Just a sec,” I tell Jake. I round up an armful of water bottles and hand them out to people who could clearly use them.

One of the football players refuses the water and keeps talking to his friend about how he’s going to hit up another party. He pats his pockets, looking for his keys.

A shiver of premonition runs down my spine. I paste on my charming façade. “Hey, Doug. I’m Rhoads. I think you have a class with me?”

He gives me the once-over with his glazed eyes, and he shakes his head. “Nah. I don’t think so. You don’t look familiar.”

I change tactics. “Lucas is about to bring out some s’mores stuff. You should stick around.”

Doug snort-laughs. “I don’t have time for that kid stuff. I’m going to Mia’s. She and I hit it off last weekend, and I think we’re gonna take a step further tonight, if you know what I mean.” He pats his pockets again, then pulls out a jingling set. “Later.”

Doug stumbles toward the part of the field where everybody’s trucks and cars are parked. Alarm bells go off in my head. I can’t let him leave. Not like this.

I look around for his friends, but they’re all equally spent and won’t be any help getting him to sober up.

I jog to catch up with him, my body just acting on instinct. He doesn’t see or hear me coming. Doug’s easily three inches taller and seventy pounds heavier than I am. I can’t exactly carry him back to the house and insist he chug the water I offered.

I do the next best thing, which is stick my foot out just enough that his sneaker catches on it. He falls. His keys hit the ground a foot away, and I snatch them up.

“What the hell?” Doug pushes himself clumsily off the ground. “Give me back my keys!”

I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. He could crush my foot with his pinky finger and end my soccer career in half a second. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you drive right now.”

“Who are you, my dad?” he slurs, reaching for me.

“Tonight, it looks like I am.” I’m faster and sober, which is my only saving grace. He has no chance of catching me as I sprint back to the house and drop the keys into a kitchen drawer. Burning adrenaline floods my entire body. I sit for a second to let the dizziness subside.

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. It’s not my responsibility to look out for everyone, but I was the only one who saw him about to leave. I couldn’t handle it if he’d gotten in a car like that.

My mind flashes back to that night in late summer. To the tox report. If only someone had stopped that guy.