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I half-smile, my first attempt in a while. My cheek muscles feel stiff and under-used. “Yeah.”
My dad is making an effort, I’ll give him that. He’s cut back on the football talk with me—even though I’m sure he talks to Arlington’s coaching staff on a regular basis. And he’s made a point to ask me questions about other topics. Except, all that really consists of is school, now. The one time he asked me if I was going out with the same girl again, I replied with a curt “No.”
He hasn’t brought it up again since. There’s a chance he’s seen the video.
I throw him a bone, recapping this morning’s practice and running through my schedule for the rest of the week. His lack of questions confirms my suspicions he talked to Coach Nelson, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it once would have. There are worse things than having a parent so invested in your pursuits—in your success.
For example, Natalie’s don’t seem to give a shit.
I shut down the thought as soon as it appears, same as I have every time she crops up in my thoughts, which is far too frequent.
I finish the conversation with my dad and hang up, checking the time on my phone. Still an hour and a half before afternoon practice. I tilt my head back, wondering if I’ll be able to fall asleep in this slouched position. I feel more tired than I have in a while, which is a good sign.
My eyes are drifting closed when I hear the creak of a rusty step. I squint into the sun, watching the slight figure approach. For a split-second, I think it’s her, and it feels like my heart is flying out of my chest. But then I realize it’s my sister. Disappointment and lingering annoyance sharpen my tone. “Soccer field is on the other side of the athletic center.”
“I had no idea. Thanks.” Maeve’s voice drips with sarcasm as she drops into the chair next to me.
“How did you get in here?” Aside from game days, access to the football stadium is supposed to be limited to players and coaching staff.
“I have my ways.”
I don’t ask for details because I don’t really care. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Yep. Got that memo in the past month you’ve barely spoken to me.”
“Great. I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
Maeve sighs. “Liam, I’ve apologized a dozen times.”
“I know.”
It’s a dozen more than anyone else has. And most of my friends said worse about Natalie than Maeve did. But I expected it from them to an extent. I thought Maeve would be more understanding.
She’s apologized for what she said. But she’s never once said she didn’t mean it. Doesn’t believe it. Plus, I’m in a generally unforgiving mood.
“Brooke and Sam went on their first date last night.”
I glance over, surprise temporarily erasing annoyance. “Seriously? He finally asked her out?”
“Yeah.”
“How did it go?”
“That’s classified girl talk.”
I roll my eyes. “Who am I going to tell?”
“Um, Sam?”
“I’m not talking to Sam.”
“You will,” Maeve predicts.
“We’ll see. I’m good at holding grudges.”
“No shit.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. It disappears when she asks, “Have you talked to her?”
