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“Smooth, Cole.”
“I’ve got game, Stevens.”
“Oh, I know,” I mutter. We wouldn’t been standing here if he didn’t. Based on his grin, Wes heard me.
“Dinner’s ready,” my mom says as she re-enters the entryway. “Are you two ready to eat?”
“Sure,” I reply. Wes nods.
For the first time since he arrived, he looks a bit nervous. I’m guessing it has to do with the one member of my family he hasn’t yet seen tonight. I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile, but to be honest, I have no idea what to expect from my father. He’s rarely verbose, and he’s been even more reserved around me since my outburst yesterday morning.
Me bringing a guy home is uncharted territory.
Me bringing home a guy from Alleghany? It goes against the rivalry he’s been an avid supporter of since his childhood.
My father and Liam are already seated at the table when we enter the dining room. I know it’s a purposeful move, a show of solidarity between them. I know it’s not lost on Wes or my mother, either.
Wes walks over to the head of the table, where my father is sitting. He holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you officially, Coach Stevens.”
I hold my breath as my father studies Wes’s offered hand. Finally, he stands and shakes it. The air leaves me in a whoosh.
Wes rounds the table to take his seat, and I sit down next to him. My mother settles at the head opposite my father. The only sound in the dining room is the clink of metal against china as we pass the dishes containing dinner around the table. I heap my plate with grilled chicken, salad, rice, and roasted vegetables.
“Dinner is delicious,” Wes compliments as we eat.
“That’s very sweet of you to say, Weston,” my mother replies. Liam lets out a quiet snort that earns him a harsh look from our mother.
The room descends into silence again, and I keep stuffing my mouth with food so I don’t choke on the awkwardness. I risk a glance at Wes. I wouldn’t blame him if he was about ready to bolt from the room. I’m surprised by how at ease he looks.
“So, Weston, how is your senior year going?” my mother asks, breaking the silence.
“It’s going well, thanks.”
“Do you have a favorite subject in school?” she continues. I’m tempted to roll my eyes at her lame question, but I resist. I know she’s just trying to help. Liam doesn’t do the same, and I frown at him as Wes answers.
“Probably English. I’ve always loved to read.”
“Really?” My mother grasps on to the tidbit. “I was an English major in college. Any favorites?”
“Shakespeare,” I toss out between bites, and Wes grins.
“I like novels too.To Kill a Mockingbirdhas always been a favorite,” he tells my mother.
“I’m impressed you find time to read with all the other activities you have going on,” she replies, tactfully avoiding any mention of football.
“I tend to read on the bus to away games,” Wes responds. “It helps me get out of my head.”
“That’s nice,” my mother responds. “I’m sure you’ll miss it now that the season’s over.”
She realizes her mistake at the same time everyone else at the table does, but Liam is the one who corrects her.
“He’s from Alleghany, Mom.Theirseason isn’t over.” His voice is dripping with derision.
Silence falls again as my mother scrambles for a way to navigate the topic back to safer waters. She settles on me.
“Did you hear about Maeve’s game yesterday?” she asks Wes. Before he can answer, she continues on a detailed, embellished description of the game.
Finally, I intercede, embarrassed. “Mom, he knows. He was there.”
