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I lift my hand to shield my gaze from the setting sun. Rebecca is standing on the field, her auburn hair shining more red than brown. A summer dress teases her knees, her arms curled around the letterman jacket.
My letterman jacket.
Something swells inside me, my hand rising to rub at the middle of my chest. “Hey, you. What are you doing here? I thought you headed home.”
Recently, Rebecca had started to drive her younger brother around. That meant that she only caught the beginning of the practice before she had to go pick him up at his school.
“I did, but I had to go buy something in town, and since youdidn’t answer any of my text messages, I figured I’d pass by the field on my way home.”
“Practice ran late.”
One dark brow quirks upward in a challenge.
“It did,” I defend.
“I don’t see any other players hanging around.”
“Okay, I might have stayed a bit longer.”
Not only did I use every spare minute to practice so I could get the best chance at attracting any prospective college scouts coming to our games this season, but staying late here meant spending less time at home with my dad. I’d take it; however, I’d pay for it tomorrow by waking up at the crack of dawn so I can do my share of work before I go to school, but it’s all worth it.
“How are things at home?” Rebecca asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“Fine.”
She moves closer. Even though I have a good foot on her on a typical day, she looks even tinier when I’m in my full football gear. Her hand lifts, rubbing at my cheek.
“You know I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
Closing the last of the distance, I slide my hand to the back of her neck. She sucks in a breath, her lips parting as my fingers slide between those gorgeous, silky strands, tightening as I pull her toward me.
“And I’ll always be there for you, too, Red,” I whisper as I crush my mouth against hers in a hard kiss until neither of us can breathe. Only then do I let go, my eyes blinking open to find an almost starstruck look in her eyes. “You’re my ride or die, Rebecca Williams. My forever.”
Now
I blink the memory away, but it’s harder to push back the conflicting feelings that that broken promise awoke inside me.
Before we were a couple, she was my best friend.
I should have been there for her, just like she was there for me when I needed her.
For the better part, anyway.
Running my hand through my hair in frustration, I turn my back to the football field and go to my truck. My movements are automatic, which is good because my mind is still stuck on what I saw.
The faraway look that appeared on her face before she started toward her mom. Like she was shutting down all of her emotions and bracing herself for what was to come.
The careful way Rebecca handled her mother like she might break at any time.
The stiffness of her shoulders.
The way her lips pressed together almost imperceptibly.
Today clearly wasn’t her first rodeo with a situation like this.
How many?
How many times has something like this happened? How many times had she had to take care of her mom? How many times did her mom go away without telling anybody? How many times did Rebecca look for her all alone because she was too stubborn to ask for help?
