Chapter 2
Nate
I don’t remember getting into my truck.
I went through the rest of the school day on autopilot, trying not to look as stupid as I feel, but somehow, between lunch and now, I’ve ended up here, gripping the steering wheel like if I squeeze it hard enough this feeling will go away.
She said no.
She was real nice about it, but it was still a no.
I turn the key, and the engine rattles to life, knowing that I should go home.
Instead, I start driving.
I roll the window down and let the humid Mississippi air wash over me. It doesn’t help, and the sun is too damn right.
I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me, like she felt bad for me for thinking I had a chance with her.
She said she wasn’t dating, but I know better. That’s what people say when they want to let you down easy.
It shouldn’t hurt this much. I know I shouldn’t feel like this. I barely know her, and I’ve been with plenty of women. Gone on dates, had my fun.
But Iris, she’s different.
I’ve never met anyone like her; it’s almost like I can feel this kindness in her.
She’s quiet and thoughtful, and that smile…
She’s the sort of girl you settle down with.
I slow my truck near the river, into a gravel pull-off spot we park at when we go fishing, and sit there a minute, staring out into the water like it could have an answer to why she rejected me.
I guess I should’ve seen it coming.
Guys like me don’t end up with women like her. She’s elegant and smart. An artist. She’s got that big-city feel.
I’m Nate Wesley, high school football coach.
No one special.
I never should’ve gotten my hopes up.
“Alex?” I call out when I get home and don’t hear him. Usually by now, he’d be parked on the couch with a snack or his guitar. His door’s open, but there’s no emo playlists blasting, no guitar strumming.
Only silence.
I rattle around the kitchen, looking for ingredients for some sorta dinner I can throw together. “I’m making grilled cheese,” I shout toward his bedroom. “Soup too. Real fancy.”
There’s nothing at first, but finally, I think I hear a muffled, “Cool.”
I toss a pot onto the stove, grab the bread and cheese. Normally, he’d be all over the grilled cheese. Out here bugging me to hurry up.
This time, he never comes out of his room.
At the table, Alex stirs his soup, zoned out, so I try to get his attention. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“You sure? You feeling sick or something? I can call Dr. Murphy and get you an appointment—”
“I’m fine,” He cuts me off, still staring down at his food.
And man, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. They don’t give you a handbook on what to do when your brother suddenly changes his entire personality.
“You going to the game Friday?” I ask, changing the subject.
Alex used to love going to games with me. He always thought it was awesome that I was the coach, he’d go around telling everybody we’d see-
Anyway.
He’s not much into sports anymore, but he’s never missed a game.
Seems like that was the wrong thing to ask, though. The kid damn near flinches at the mention of the game.
His spoon clinks against the bowl. “I dunno. Probably not.”
That throws me. “Since when do you skip games?”
He shrugs. “Not feeling it.”
“You’re not ‘feeling’ it’?”
“Not this time.”
I nod slowly, trying my best not to press him further. “Okay, well, if you change your mind…”
We sit in silence for the rest of dinner, until his phone buzzes in his pocket. “I gotta take this,” He mumbles, getting out of his chair and going to his bedroom.
The last thing I hear is a faint, “Sorry, Nate.”
I stare down the hallway after him until he closes his door, and I just know that something’s going on.
I know my brother.
And whatever this is, he ain’t just tired.
I manage to avoid seeing Iris for the next two days, which is lucky, ‘cause Rosehill High isn’t that big.
But by day three, my luck runs out.
On the way back to the gym after lunch, I find her standing outside of her classroom, talking to Layla, looking just as good as she always does.
Can’t even look bad to spare my feelings.
I turn away, suddenly fascinated by the bulletin board across the hall. Something about theater club sign-ups.
But I can’t help but glance back when I hear her laugh. She’s got her head tipped back, and damn, she’s beautiful when she laughs.
Layla notices me first, nudging Iris with her elbow before waving me over, and I guess I gotta go now.
“Hey, ladies,” I say, all fake confidence.
“Hey Wesley, looking extra muscly today.”
Layla carries on teasing me like nothing’s wrong.
Did Iris not tell her?
I figured everybody would know what an idiot I am by now, especially Layla, since those two are apparently best buddies now.
I tune back into Layla’s chattering when she gets to the part about a party. “You have to come, Nate. It’ll be fun, I promise!”
Sure, my idea of a fun afternoon is hanging out at their house while her husband glares at me.
“Come on, Layla, you know Grant don’t want me there. It’s gonna be weird.”
She waves me off. “He’ll be fine! Even Iris is coming! You don’t want to leave her without someone to talk to, do you?” She asks, wrapping an arm around Iris’s shoulders.
“No, I definitely wouldn’t want that.”
Layla punches me in the arm.
“Don’t be a d-i-c-k, Wesley.” She spells out the word, like the students around us won’t understand what she’s saying.
The bell rings when I open my mouth to respond, and Layla starts to walk back to her own classroom. “See you guys at the party!”
Once she’s gone, I find Iris’s honey colored eyes already locked on me, and god help me.
“Hey,” I say, quieter now that it’s just us, all that confidence I mustered up falling away under her stare.
“Hey,” she echoes, shifting, playing with her rings, the same way she did the last time we talked. “Sorry about that. She’s… excited.”
I chuckle half heartedly. “Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
Silence again.
“I didn’t tell her. About the other day,” she pauses before adding quickly, “Not that it’s a big deal or anything.”
Right. Not a big deal.
“Thanks,” I say, looking down at the floor.
She clears her throat. “Are you um… Are you going to the party?”
“Guess I have to now, huh?”
“I guess so,” she responds, playing with her ring faster now.
This is getting real awkward, real fast. The hallway’s starting to fill with students, locker doors shutting around us, but I hardly notice. “Well,” she says, backing toward her door. “I should get back.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
She starts into her classroom, but turns back once to look at me, and I force myself to look away, trying not to read into how her face softened when she looked at me.
We won the first game of the season.
Ain’t much of a surprise, the Rosehill Rams always show up to win, and those boys earned every damn point on that scoreboard.
Families and girlfriends come down from the bleachers, all smiles and celebratory hugs, even a couple of kisses bordering on inappropriate for school, but I don’t say anything.
The band’s still going, playing something upbeat, and the lights overhead shine so bright they’re probably lighting up the whole damn town.
I’m grinning ear to ear, heart pounding from pride.
Jamal tackles Evan in a bear hug, and Cam jumps on someone’s back; everybody’s going wild. It’s the best damn feeling in the world, winning a game with the whole town here supporting us.
I walk around, clapping shoulders, giving them a mix of praise and teasing words. “Don’t let that win go to your head, Cam. We still got the rest of the season to go.”
“C’mon, coach, we destroyed them.”
“Hell yeah, we did, now let’s see if we can do it again next week.”
For this moment in time, everything’s perfect, the drama of the week floating away as I celebrate with my boys.
The only thing that would make it better is if Alex were here.
I scan the field, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. He said he wasn’t coming, but part of me was thinking he’d change his mind. That he’d show up in his all-black get-up, earbuds in and his arms crossed, pretending not to care while secretly keeping track of every play.
While I’m scanning the field, I realize someone else is missing.
Jason.
He should be celebrating with the team. He kicked ass out there today, played like a pro. That kid’s gonna have scouts all over looking at him.
And he’s nowhere to be found.
“Anybody seen Jason?” I ask a couple of players jogging past me.
“No clue, Coach. He dipped, I think.”
“Already?”
Cam nods. “He was actin’ kinda weird.”
“Weird how?” I ask, but he’s already been pulled back into the celebration, hugging somebody’s momma.
This is what I live for, the team, their excitement, but this time, I can’t shake the nagging feeling of wrong in my chest.