Page 74

Jubal had been smiling when he came off the field after the touchdown, accepting the hands that slapped against his helmet as the offense crowded around him, but the smile I’d caught from him a few minutes later was different. Easton had said something I couldn’t hear while they waited to go back onto the field, and Jubal shoved him away with one hand before laughing hard enough that his head tipped back. I remember watching him longer than I watched whatever they put on the video board because I’d never seen him look quite that unguarded with the team before Sunday.

I reach for my phone because he needs to know Easton has escalated the campaign to electronic warfare. My thumb is already moving across the screen before I remember I don’t have Jubal in my contacts. We’ve never needed to exchange numbers. If I wanted to talk to him, I’d eventually find him somewhere in the facility, or he’d find me first. Except now I have something stupid I want to tell him, and waiting until I see him again feels like an actual inconvenience.

I could ask Easton for it, which would accomplish two things at once: get me Jubal’s number and guarantee that Easton knows I wanted it. The second possibility kills the first before I seriously consider it. Tuck would probably hand it over without asking a single question, which might somehow be worse because Tuck’s silence has become significantly more observant since Friday. I put my phone down before I start wondering whether Jubal’s number would already be in it if Tuck and Easton hadn’t walked into the locker room when they did.

I reopen my laptop and focus on the practice set in front of me. I read the explanation for question eighteen again, tracing the logic from the passage to the answer I should’ve chosen. I understand the mistake almost immediately without the clock running, but that only makes the new block I added to tomorrow’s schedule feel more justified.

“You know headphones work better when they’re on your ears.”

I look over to find Jubal standing in the doorway, gaze dropping from the headphones in my hand to the laptop in front of me. He has on the standard Valor workout gear, but there’s a faint crease along one side of his face like he spent part of the last hour leaning against his hand.

The satisfaction that hits me at seeing him is immediate enough to be annoying.

“You have bigger problems.”

His eyebrows lift as he enters the room. “Do I?”

I turn the laptop toward him and tap the Bluetooth menu with one finger. Jubal leans down beside my chair to read it, and his mouth tightens.

“That motherfucker.”

“I thought you should know the campaign against you has moved into the digital age.”

“King scored one touchdown Sunday and lost his damn mind.”

“One? I seem to remember him having two.”

“Are you counting his touchdowns now, Pea?”

I keep my expression perfectly innocent, but the way he’s looking at me makes it harder than it should be. I hadn’t thought twice about remembering Easton’s touchdowns until Jubal pointed it out, but they aren’t what I remember most clearly. I remember the way Jubal laughed with him on the sideline and how his whole face changed when he did.

“I remember things.”

His expression changes. The teasing is still there, but it’s no longer the only thing behind his eyes. “Yeah?”

The way he waits for me to continue makes me wish I’d kept my mouth shut. I could tell him I remember the touchdown because Easton celebrated directly in front of the section where I was sitting, making this about football and giving both of us somewhere easier to put it. Except that wouldn’t explain why I remember Jubal’s face better than I remember the play.

“You looked happy.”

“We won.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepens as I turn my chair toward him a little more, giving him my full attention.

“When you came off the field after Easton’s touchdown, you looked happy because you scored. A few minutes later, he said something to you, and you laughed.” I lift one shoulder, suddenly aware that describing a moment he probably didn’t know I witnessed reveals more about where my attention was. “That one was different.”

Jubal goes quiet for a few seconds. I can’t tell whether I’ve made him uncomfortable or if he’s trying to remember the moment I’m talking about.

“He told me I should retire while I was ahead.”

“During your first game?”

“Apparently, going out on top is important.” Jubal smiles, and this one is smaller than either of the smiles I remember from Sunday.

I still know it’s real before he glances down at the table. For weeks, Jubal has been remembering things I said once and noticing things I didn’t realize I was showing him. I hadn’t considered what it might feel like from the other side until now, with him standing here knowing I watched long enough to learn the difference between his smiles.

What bothers me more is the possibility that he thinks I was paying attention because he was the quarterback and I was sitting in the stands watching a football game. I wasn’t. After the touchdown, I stopped paying attention to what was happening on the field and watched Jubal instead. Now that he knows, I don’t want to pretend otherwise.