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Connor’s lashes fall, and he’s slow to open his eyes again. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles.
“I can’t hear you!”
Connor’s chest rises as he stands taller again. He clears his throat before answering, his voice stronger, “Yes, ma’am!”
Mom offers him a smile. “Good boy. Now give me a hug.”
With a crooked grin, he tells her, “I’m all sweaty.”
Rolling her eyes, she responds, “I had my arm blown off in Afghanistan, Connor. I can deal with a little sweat.”
Connor laughs now, embracing her. “Just half your arm, Miss D. Stop trying to milk it.” Mom laughs, too, and she squeezes him tighter. After releasing her, he turns to me. “I should hit the showers.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “You call me whenever you get home, okay? But take your time. I’m sure you want to let loose a little.”
“Where are you going?” Mom asks me.
“Home.”
“No, you’re not. You stand by your man.”
“But, Mama—”
She raises a hand, stopping me. “I will go home. I will take my happy, sleepy pills, and I will go right to bed.” She looks at Trevor. “Right, Trevor?”
Trevor nods, facing me. “I got it, Ava. You should stay with Connor.”
I look up at Connor. “Do you want me to?”
He clucks his tongue. “Second dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”
“I’ll see you at home,” Connor’s dad says, his hand out for a shake. Connor slaps it away and embraces him just like he did my mother. Corey’s fingers curl in the back of Connor’s jersey. “I’m proud of you, son.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I run a hand along his arm. “I’ll wait for you out in the lot.”
“Okay.” Then he eyes the members of both our families, before moving in, kissing me quickly. “Love you. Thanks for coming.”
“Thank my mom,” I say, just as Connor’s main opponent walks past us.
He leers at my chest. “Damn, ho. You ever want to drop that has-been and get with a winner, I’m right here.”
Five voices all at once:
“Hey, now,” Corey says, the tamest of them all.
I snap, “I’d rather eat shit and die!” at the same time Trevor warns, “Say that shit about my sister again and see what happens,” and Connor who grunts, “Watch your fucking mouth.”
But Mom—she pulls out the big guns: “Eat a bag of dicks, you cocksucking little twerp!”
* * *
We all walk out to the parking lot, saying bye to Corey first, and then to Trevor’s truck. I make sure Trevor knows exactly what meds Mom takes in what order and what time, and he assures me he’s got it handled and reminds me that I’m only a phone call away if he needs me, which Mom promises he won’t. And while a part of me is fearful that I won’t be around if anything does happen, a more significant part of me knows that I need to stay. That I need to be here for Connor.
I watch them leave, all the way to the point of their taillights disappearing in the distance. When I feel safe enough to move, I start making my way to the exit of the locker rooms where Philips’ fans are still on a high and the parents and friends of our team stand around, waiting to show their support. Rhys and Mitch are standing by Rhys’s car, and I almost go up to them—just so I can punch them in their lopsided testicles.
I don’t.
