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I tune out the rest of my dad’s lecture. That’s the problem with him—I can’t win. If I’m training too much, I’m burning myself out. If I’m training too little, I’m slacking.
My dad is a fantastic football coach. If he hadn’t given up his job as head coach at Arlington University to be in Glenmont—not to mention manage his drinking problem, which as a family, we don’t speak about—he probably had a shot at making it as a coach at the professional level.
But he can’t separate coaching from parenting. With Maeve, it led to a disconnect. He knows nothing about soccer. Never played it, never attempted to learn the nuances. When Maeve started getting offers to play in college, he was totally taken off guard. And I know Maeve resented my dad—resented me—for the way footballalwaystrumped soccer. It was worse in high school when my dad officially became my coach, not just unofficially, like he’d been all my life. But it hasn’t gotten much better since I started playing at Arlington. My father has ties there too.
“Here you go.” My mom sets a plate of spaghetti and meatballs down in front of me.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, before taking a big bite.
My father’s face is disapproving, suggesting he noticed I stopped listening to him at some point. Weston looks a little uncomfortable, I note with a grim satisfaction. He and I have reached an uneasy sort of truce. Essentially, it’s that we have an inescapable common denominator—Maeve—and that arguing with each other only pisses her off.
I don’t like Weston Cole. I’m envious of his effortless talent and I think he’s an arrogant asshole. But as far as I can tell, he treats Maeve well. I know a couple guys on Lincoln’s football team, and both have told me they’ve never seen Weston with another girl.
Maeve’s happiness is the only reason I’m glad that’s the case. I heard the stories in high school about him being with a different girl each weekend. Saw the Alleghany cheerleaders swarm him after games. As much as I’d love a good reason to take a swing at the guy, I don’t want it to come at the cost of my sister’s heart.
“Did you and Matt have a nice time?” my mom asks.
I sigh. “Yeah.” Shovel more spaghetti in my mouth.
The silence that follows is awkward.
“Are you working tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
My lifeguarding schedule is hanging on the fridge, so she must really be grasping for conversation topics.
“I talked to Greta this morning,” my mother states, after another noticeable pause in conversation. “She’s excited to see us soon.”
Greta is my father’s mother. She and my grandfather moved to South Carolina about a decade ago. Each summer, we go and stay with them for a week. This year’s trip is supposed to take place late July.
I used to look forward to the visits as a reprieve from summer jobs and football camps. But slowly, as I grew older, they turned into less of a break and more of a continuation of preparing for the start of the season. Into disappointed comments from my grandfather and determined drills with my dad. Matt came along a couple of times in high school, but he declined last summer. I think an excellent guess would include Maeve in the reason he avoided the trip.
“And meet you, Wes,” she adds.
I choke on a chunk of tomato. Cough until my throat is clear. “What did you say?”
“Wes is coming with us to visit your grandparents this year. Isn’t that nice, Liam?” Every word out of my mom’s mouth drips with warning.
“Uh-huh,” I reply. “Nice is the first word I thought of too.”
That earns me a patentedyou’re on thin icelook from my mom. My dad does nothing, which is his typical response. He may like Weston, but he’s still the Glenmont football coach. The rivalry between the two towns is alive and well in his mind. Hell, he encourages it among his players. Nothing fires up a team like a common enemy.
And Weston fucking grins.
It disappears quickly, but I catch it first.
That’s the worst part. If I hadn’t seen him with his tongue down my sister’s throat and he didn’t drive a fancy car with anAlleghany Footballbumper sticker, I might actuallylikethe guy. He has a sense of humor.
But he broke every Alleghany football record. Beat my team’s morale into the ground. I’m sure he’s done a lot more than just kiss Maeve, and he’s got my parents drooling over him as well. The only thing I can control is how I act around the guy.
Call me childish, but I refuse to hand my approval over to him with everything else he’s taken from me.
I swallow the final few bites of my dinner and shove the plate away. “May I be excused?”
My mom glances at Weston. “Maybe you two could—”
“I should get going, Stephanie. I told some friends I’d meet up with them tonight.”
