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“Didn’t look like much of a concussion protocol to me.” Even though schools have supposedly toughened up about that sort of thing.
“They’re letting me stay and watch. They’ll do some testing stuff in the locker room when it’s over.”
“Sounds like a plan. Well, I’ve done what I can, kiddo, but I can tell you right now I won’t be able to hold your mom back once the game is over.”
The bulky pads drop with his shoulders. “Yeah, she’ll be pacing outside the locker room, won’t she?”
“That’s the way I see it.” I thump my palms on the aluminum rail. “Alrighty. I’m going to let your mother know you’re not dying. See you in a bit.”
∞∞∞
I keep to the shadows and allow Hollie a moment with her son once he finally emerges from the locker room nearly a full hour after the Chandor Lions put aWin the win column. She’s so pretty. Breathtaking, really.
A cheerleader? Yeah, her beauty matches the stereotype, but the only times I’ve seen real cheer from her were with little Blakely.
I know what took the laughter out of me.
I wonder what stole it from her.
Jacob has a giant duffel on his shoulder, and his hair is still wet from a shower. I’m surprised when he allows Hollie a hug and a peck on his cheek, and even more shocked a minute later when he turns toward a buddy and follows him toward the parking lot. Hollie seeks me out with a ready-to-go raise of her eyebrows.
I meet up with her at the sidewalk. “Where’s Jacob going?”
“He’s got plans with some friends.”
I’ll bet he does. Sorry, but now doesn’t seem like the time to let the kid off the leash. He’s in enough trouble as it is without adding an underage party and all its associated risks to his list. Hollie’s the mom, however, and I do have some restraint. I’ll zip my lips on this one.
I dig my keys from my jeans. “How’s his head?”
She sighs. “He says it doesn’t hurt, which I don’t entirely believe. He did pass the concussion protocol, however, which is the only reason I’m letting him out of my sight. Now he’s just angry he had to miss the rest of the game for…” she pauses to etch air quotes with her fingers, “nothing.”
I chuckle and shake my head—but I actually get it. Things like senior year and football wins are big at this age. I was no different.
My fingers ache with the itch to feel Hollie’s fingers twined with mine as we cross the mostly cleared-out lot. At the car, I open her door, closing it once, so help me, I’ve watched her pull her long legs inside.
The post-game traffic on Main is still heavy as we wait at the light. Behind us, the stadium goes dark. I flip on the turn signal. “Let’s get something to eat.”
“I’m fine.”
“Not what I asked, Hollie.”
I feel her gaze. “I didn’t hear a question, John.”
Oh, am I telling rather than asking again?
I think her response was more playful than truly irritated, so I make an executive decision—I am the one behind the wheel—and join a drive-thru line wrapping the building of one of the few still-open establishments. Two hot dogs are close to nothing, especially since a conference call made me miss lunch today. I’m hungry enough to eschew my salad and lean, blah-meat regimen and go for a greasy burger instead.
The line is ridiculously slow, and the second we’re on the road, I unwrap my hamburger and take a giant bite. Lettuce shreds and diced onions tumble to my lap. I hear a tiny laugh. “Leave me alone, woman.” I shoot her a glare minus the heat, my voice distorted by the masticated cow in my mouth. “Aren’t you going to eat yours?”
“You mean the hamburger I said I didn’t want but you ordered anyway?”
“You haven’t had dinner.”
“I ate a hot dog.”
“Processed poison in a bun.”
“Which you fed me—and now this greasy thing?” She rattles the bag resting against her jeans.
