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“Thanks, Mom,” I mutter past the lump in my throat.
She pulls back, looking equally emotional. “Enough heavy stuff! This is a celebration. Go be with your teammates, and we can talk tomorrow, all right?” She gives me a wide smile.
“Okay,” I reply, grinning back.
“And be home before curfew,” she instructs, sounding more like her usual self.
“I will be,” I promise.
“Good.” She gives me one last hug and then disappears into the crowd.
I finally let myself look for Maeve. My teammates are packing up their gear, eager to return to Alleghany and celebrate. Unlike most of our away games, we never bother to change here.
A line of blue jerseys is already headed toward the bus that’s loitering along the curb, just past the bleachers. The stands are half-empty, more so on the Glenmont side. It’s hardly surprising; I doubt many of their fans were willing to stick around to watch our celebration.
I thought she might, though.
“Cole, you coming?” Adam calls from halfway across the field.
“Yeah,” I reply, swinging my bag across my shoulder and starting toward the bus. The bleachers hid how crowded the parking lot still is. Glenmont may not have wanted to watch us celebrate on the field, but they certainly stuck around.
Parents, cheerleaders, and players all wearing maroon mill about. Which is probably why “We Are the Champions” is blasting from our bus. I’d bet money Charlie was the one who put it on. He’s always been obsessed with Queen. I toss my bag in the luggage compartment under the bus and start toward the stairs.
“WES! Wes!” I turn to see Maeve jogging toward me.
There’s a group of maroon-clad students standing behind her with an open gap in their circle, staring after her with wide eyes. She slows to a walk, and then to a stop a couple of feet away from me. She plays with the hem of my jersey, which she’s tied off to the side to compensate for the fact I’m six inches taller and at least eighty pounds burlier than she is.
“Um, hi,” she finally says. Her blonde hair is messy, and her green eyes are timid. It’s a stark contrast to her bold greeting a few seconds ago, which attracted plenty of attention. Scrutiny I can still feel on us.
“Nice jersey. I wasn’t aware you’re an Eagles fan,” I state.
It’s stupid, but I can’t think of anything else to say, and the silence between us is starting to drag. I need some cue from her as to what she wants, and she’s giving me nothing.
Maeve takes a deep breath. “Wes. I live in Glenmont.Iplay for Glenmont. I’ve been rooting for the Stallions for as long as I can remember. Because that’s what you do. You cheer for your home team. And you hope they win. Plus, my home team is coached by my dad, and it’s led by my brother. My friends play for and cheer for my team. But you don’t. And that’s made things confusing. Because—you—Wes, I’m wearing an Eagles jersey. But not because I’m an Eagles fan.” She rolls her eyes to emphasize how asinine my comment was. “Because it’s your jersey.” She takes another deep breath. “It would have been really easy not to wear this, Wes. Way easier. The way saying things will never change is easy.”
I flinch slightly at her pointed reference to my words last night. “But you wore it.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“I was worried you might not choose me,” I admit. My mother and I are more alike than I realized. “If you had to take sides. I didn’t want to know what you’d do. And didn’t want you to have to choose. Ending things fixed that.”
“I know you meant what you said about the rivalry. But, I also thought you didn’t want people to know we were in an actual relationship. That you felt trapped because people were starting to find out and you wanted to go back to being with a different girl every weekend. That I was the only one clutching onto us.” Maeve tells me quietly, dropping her gaze.
“Maeve, all I did was kiss Natalie that night. And it was only because you showed up, and I was still so mad, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I haven’t slept with her, or anyone else since that night I first kissed you.”
“I think I would have forgiven you. If you had.”
Vulnerability seeps across Maeve’s face, and I think of the first time I looked at her, how she told me she could never forgive cheating, and I told her the same.
I know what the admission means to her.
What she’s really trying to say.
“You won’t ever have to,” I promise.
“I won’t?” Her voice is hesitant. Hopeful.
I reach out and use the material of my jersey to pull her closer. “You won’t,” I murmur.
