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“Well, go figure it out somewhere else. I have practice, and I don’t want anyone to see you.” I spin around, only to see most of my teammates are already assembled on the bleachers, staring at us. “Shit,” I swear under my breath. I walk reluctantly over to the metal risers. “Morning!” I say in the most cheerful voice I can muster. “Usual warm-up, and then I’ll explain the first drill.”
My teammates scramble off the bleachers to head toward the running path. Either my voice was more commanding than chipper, or they’re that eager to gossip about what they just witnessed. Probably both.
Becca lingers behind, just like I knew she would.
“That was Weston Cole,” she states.
“Yes.”
“Weston Cole was at Glenmont High, yelling at you.”
“Yes.”
“You were yelling back at him.”
“Yes.”
“So Weston Cole is the owner of the superior abs you were talking about?” Becca asks.
I’m caught off guard she makes the leap so quickly, so it takes me a moment to remember what she’s referring to. “Uh, yeah. He is.”
“I’m sorry, Maeve.”
“It’s fine. I was stupid to think we’d ever be anything more than enemies.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or brave.” Becca starts after the rest of the team before I have a chance to respond.
Throughout the day, I catch about a dozen random stares. I’m not surprised. We’re far from the only team with early practices, and I doubt Wes managed to arrive and leave Glenmont High without being seen. Alleghany’s quarterback doesn’t pay social calls in Glenmont.
And I don’t know what his visit means. He was still plenty angry, but he came. Because he has regrets? Because he needs closure? The only thing I know about his visit is it means I need to have a conversation with my brother. And it’s one I’m dreading.
After my second soccer practice of the day ends, I head straight home. I shower first and then eat my dinner alone in the kitchen. Everyone else has already eaten, and my parents are out at a friend’s. I eat each piece of fettuccine individually, trying to avoid the inevitable.
Finally, I drag my fuzzy sock-clad feet up the stairs.
“Hey.” I knock on Liam’s half-open door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” He stops scrolling through his phone and sits up on his bed.
I take a seat backwards on his desk chair. “I know we haven’t really talked since Friday. I’m sorry the game got postponed. Hopefully this week’s goes better.”
“Thanks, but I doubt it will.” Liam heaves out a long sigh. “They’re better than us. He’s better than me. One thunderstorm isn’t going to change that.”
He flops back on his bed. “Eagles can’t manage to string a decent team together for years. The four I’m eligible to play… Weston fucking Cole moves to town.”
I clear my throat awkwardly.
“Sorry, I’ll stop complaining. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and Cole will still be in a shitty mood next Friday. He wasn’t doing himself any favors terrorizing his receivers. Wish I knew what set him off so I could replicate it.” Liam lets out a slight laugh.
I close my eyes. I’ve imagined having to say this a lot of times. The reality is worse.
“Maeve?”
“I have feelings for him,” I blurt. “For Weston Cole.”
Liam bursts out laughing. The hysterical sound fades slowly when he realizes I’m not sharing his amusement.
Eventually, even the grin slides off his face.
