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“Did you just see the point he made?” Malik ran up to us.
“No, I was too busy being murdered,” I muttered, dropping the stick and rubbing my chest when she rolled off.
“Whelp, we lost!” Her mother came over to us. “There was nothing we could really do when Masoa, the big cheater, had to jump in.”
We had been playing for a little over an hour. I’d scored the first and only two goals of the game, but then her father had come out and decided to epically crush my pride. For a man who'd had a heart attack a month before, he was in damn good shape.
“Anyway, I had Jeremy run back to bring the food I made.”
I tried to get up, but my body just wasn’t feeling it. “I’m just going to lay here for a moment.”
Roy snickered, kneeling down. “And this is why we call it laying the grass.”
“Yep, I got that.” I groaned again.
“Gwen, you just going to lie there, too?”
She flipped him off, her eyes closed. “Screw you guys for making me play again. I hate lacrosse so much.”
“Why did you play in high school?” I looked toward her.
“Her dad was the coach.” Roy grinned, standing up and putting a water bottle beside me. “You weren’t half bad, Eli.”
“Using my name now, I see.” I finally sat up.
“Don’t get all excited about it.” He frowned, walking away.
Guinevere sighed, turning onto her back and lifting her leg up, trying to stretch it. “I get stiff legs.”
“I know, give them to me,” I said, taking her leg and placing it in my lap.
“Eli—”
“Were you injured while you played?” I asked seriously, pressing on her calves.
Releasing a breath through her nose, she sat up beside me, eyes on her dad, who stood beside her mother, still rubbing in his victory.
“My dad loves lacrosse. He played with his dad, and he played with my brother. So when he passed, I made sure to play, too, no matter what. I got hurt my senior year. Remember Chloe Drake? The woman who was waiting and holding Taigi?”
I nodded.
“She tripped and stepped on my leg.”
I winced at the thought of it. “That’s Chloe with an extra 97 pounds?”
“Yep, and my leg broke. She felt so bad, and everyone teased her about it. It was practice, and I remember secretly telling her that I was kind of thankful because I didn’t have to play anymore.”
“But you still played after you healed, didn’t you?” She didn’t even have to answer, I just knew it. “Are you sure it’s not you who is the rock?” I asked, helping her off the ground, because from where I was looking, it looked like she was bearing a lot of weight on her shoulders.
She grinned. “Never in any of the stories I have ever heard from my father did a person beg for the rock to come.”
“You lost me.” I held her hand, walking back to her family and friends.
“The symbol for rain is the thunderbird, and if you beg hard enough, it sometimes comes. But the rock, no matter how much you beg, will stay in its place, bearing whatever weight is on its shoulders. My father needed some way to make a connection with me after my brother passed. And I came and gave him one. I don’t regret it. Every once in a while my legs get stiff, but I have so many memories of him running to me after a game, cheering at the top of his lungs, lifting me up and spinning me around. It’s not a burden for me.” She smiled, wrapping her hand around my arm. She reached up and kissed the side of my cheek. “You were great, my father just doesn’t like to lose.”
“Gwen.” Masoa held up a water bottle toward her.
She rolled her eyes, knowing he just wanted us to break apart, but went to him anyway.
