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Sawyer frowned as we made our way to the showers. “Cully, I think he was only joking,” he said.
Not knowing how to justify my hostility, I grunted and tugged at the towel around my shoulders. My shiver was involuntary, reminding me that I was on the verge of turning blue.
The fatigue after a game didn’t usually hit until the next morning. And no matter that you had the ice bath, wore compression gear, used muscle rub and took pain meds, there would always be some part of your body that ached. In fact, I couldn’t remember a time when a part of me wasn’t sore. Training and pain went hand in hand. It was a way of life. Dad was fond of saying that pain was your friend. If you were in pain, you were alive, and that was better than being dead. It seemed like an extreme comparison to me.
Though I wondered if Phoenix Carter would agree. Phoenix had been Covington Prep’s top tennis player, but he'd broken his pelvis in a car accident before summer. He was learning to walk again and used a walking frame. Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of him working out in the gym, and every time he stood up or sat down, it looked like he was in agony.
That’s what I was thinking about as I was gathered around the patio fire pit with the boys. I was wearing my Chargers hoodie with the hood up, but I still felt cold. I was going through the motions of socializing when what I really wanted to do was stretch out on the couch and sleep. It was one of the downfalls of being the Coach’s son and the captain—appearances meant everything. As well as leading the football team, I had to maintain perfect grades and keep a squeaky-clean profile and be seen doing the right things.
It was a bit much.
But then again, learning to walk, losing your tennis career—well, that had to be pretty bad, a whole lot bad.
I sucked up my self-pity and popped another Advil. Dad knew how important rest and recovery was, so he wouldn’t let the party go too late.
“Hey man, Millie and I are off,” Tennessee said, bumping fists with me.
“Already?”
“Yeah,” he said grinning. “Millie’s got a report to write and I’m done.”
“Is your knee okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” Tennessee said, though that didn’t necessarily mean it was, just that he was managing it. Tenn’s knee had been giving him some discomfort but a scan had shown no major damage. Better his knee than his hands. Tennesee’s hands were match winners.
I considered myself blessed that I was injury-free at the moment.
“So don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I joked.
“Whatever,” Tenn said, punching me hard in the shoulder as he left. I wished he hadn’t.
Several of the cheerleaders joined us, huddling around the pit, declaring how cold it was. I was tempted to tell them that it wasn’t t-shirt weather, but that was too obvious. Doing the right thing, I took off my hoodie and draped it over Siri’s shoulders. It was nothing more than a gesture of making sure someone didn’t suffer from hypothermia in our backyard, a sure thing that wouldn’t go down well with Dad.
“Thanks, Cullen,” she said, slipping her arms into the sleeves and zipping it up. She clung to my arm as if it was now her job to warm me up. I was thinking that my long sleeve compression top wasn’t much of a barrier against the cool air and that I should go inside and grab my jacket, but it was snug around the fire, and my arm went around Siri, our body heat merging.
Siri Darrow was co-captain of the cheerleading squad with Phoebe Bates. We’d gone to Homecoming Dance together and I liked her, but not enough to date her. It was one area where I was eternally grateful that Dad was the football coach. Relationships weren’t forbidden in the team, but they were discouraged, especially during competition season. Our sole focus had to be football. That’s why I was interested to see how Tennessee and Millie’s romance was going to pan out.
Dad had been quite chill about the fact that they were seeing each other, which was inconsistent with his frequent speeches about focus and distractions. Though he seemed to have a soft spot for Millie. Because of her, our profile had lifted and that meant he was being recognized by his peers.
Skyler had his arm around Phoebe, and Leylah, the only cheerleader wearing her own coat, stood with her hands in her pockets between Nico and Redmond. Red kept swinging his head around, scouting the patio. Probably waiting for Mom to bring out another plate of food.
Mom lived for these after game parties. She loved to cook and the freezer was stocked for spontaneous get-togethers. At the flick of a switch she could produce sandwiches and pastries and tarts. It was a shame I couldn’t indulge in half the stuff. Pastry, cream, sweet pies were out of bounds for me. Dad had me on a stricter, cleaner diet during play-offs. An energy drink was the only sugary treat I was allowed, and I could only watch in envy as Skyler and Red took a slice of Mom’s apple pie. I piously sipped on my seaweed drink which contained the phytonutrients and antioxidants which Dad was sure would give me an edge over my competitors. It was such a travesty that Dad allowed such high-calorie, low-nutritional food in the house, that he allowed Mom to make it. It was like I was constantly being tested on will power, like he wanted my life to one of perpetual penance and sacrifice.
If I made a fuss, he’d say, “Your time will come, Cullen, and then it will have all been worth it.”
And Mom would add, “I’ll make your favorite pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving and you can have it with lashings of whipped cream.”
I’d smile sarcastically. Sure, I loved pumpkin pie, but after months of deprivation, I’d be satisfied with a simple bowl of buttered popcorn.
As I stooped down to return my bottle to the ground, the smell of cinnamon donuts assaulted my senses. Returning to an upright position, I grimaced at the seaweed taste in my mouth, only to see Sierra holding a plate of cinnamon donuts toward me. Only, I saw the donuts first and sharply shook my head, and only in the next instant did I recognize her, not prepared for her transformation. But she’d already moved away and reoffered the plate to Skyler and Phoebe. Usually Sierra tied her hair into a ponytail, and at training she wore a cap and a fluorescent vest that was a size too big for her. But her hair was hanging loose and wavy and pretty down past her shoulders, and she wore a pink puffer jacket over a short denim skirt, with black tights and ankle boots. And it was a moment of wow. That she looked amazing, that her eyes looked sparklier than usual, that she was smart enough to wear a jacket in this weather. And then I realized Siri was leaning against me, wearing my hoodie.
I straightened up, pushing Siri to stand on her own. But it was all a moment too late. Sierra and her donuts were now under the watchful eye of Red, and he hadn’t been so rude to decline one, hearing him say with a full mouth, “You made these? You really made these?”
Of course she did. Sierra was a great baker, but I would have suffered Dad’s wrath for eternity if I’d eaten one. A small voice inside my head asked if I was willing to pay that small price for Sierra.
Gah, I was having conversations with myself now!
“Hey, there is no way you made these,” Red was saying, “These are from The Donut Box. They’ve gotta be.”
