Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
PRESTON
It’s a family tradition to play football on Thanksgiving before the big meal.
It’s Dad’s show these days, but Grandpa is the one who started it.
Guests are divided into two teams. It’s supposed to be a fun game, but nothing is ever just for fun when Dad’s involved.
He always stacks his team—which means he gets Sawyer—and if the other side knows what’s good for them, they’ll let him win.
No one wants to spend the rest of the day around grumpy, passive-aggressive Dad.
The big field behind the house is marked out with flags and a massive tent is erected with chairs and refreshments for the spectators. Only the old and infirm are excused from playing. Every able-bodied person is required to spend at least a few minutes on the field.
Despite having been forced to partake in this tradition every year, I have no idea how football works. There’s a ball. It gets thrown. People run. And then some people cheer and other people groan. I just try to stay out of everyone’s way.
Sawyer’s wearing a form-fitting long-sleeve shirt and black leggings under his shorts.
His cheeks are flushed and he’s grinning from ear to ear.
When he’s playing, he’s so laser-focused, eyes trained on his target.
His legs are a blur as he races down the field, and the air around him ripples with fog from the heat his body projects.
When he scores—and he scores a lot—he breaks out into complicated dance routines. During every lull in the game, he runs around giving people high fives. His voice rings out over everyone else’s as he shouts encouragements to his teammates and friendly shit talk to the opposing team.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen him play like this, of course.
I’ve watched him hundreds of times before.
Every year at Thanksgiving, sure, but also at his rugby games during high school.
He’s always been mesmerizing on the field.
So athletic. So determined. The energy that exudes from him is infectious and intoxicating.
He makes everyone run a little faster and throw a little harder. He brings everyone together.
He’s a vision. Captivating to watch. Impossible to turn away from.
“Hi, Preston.” I jump, but it’s only Sawyer’s mom. She’s been coming to these Thanksgiving parties just as long as Sawyer has.
“Hi, Mrs. Paige,” I say, trying not to shrink away from her. Sawyer’s mom is really nice, but I’ve never quite gotten over the impression she made the first time we met. She was so intimidating back then, and even though I’ve known her for years, she hasn’t lost that effect on me.
“How’s your research going?” Mrs. Paige asks, and unlike my own mom, there’s a sincerity in her voice that makes me believe she actually wants to know.
Some of my nervousness eases. “It’s going really well. I ran into some problems with my coding earlier in the semester, but once I figured that out, there’s been significant progress in the past couple months.”
“I’m so glad to hear that! Does that mean you’ll graduate next spring? Sawyer mentioned you might push back your defense.”
I bite back a groan. Professor Graves still won’t entertain the idea of delaying my defense, and since Fitz came on board, things have only sped up, not slowed down.
I still don’t want to graduate in the spring, because I still haven’t figured out how to avoid being recruited into Dad’s company.
At this rate, though, I might not have a choice.
“I don’t know yet,” I say, hedging my answer.
“I bet your parents are eager for you to be done with school.”
“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath.
Mrs. Paige pulls in a deep breath, then lets it out in a sigh, as if she can feel how despondent I am. “Your parents are good people.” Her voice is softer now, as if she’s trying to comfort me.
I chew on my inner lip, not sure where she’s going with this.
“They’re smart, accomplished, ambitious people.” She bumps me with her shoulder in a move that reminds me so much of Sawyer. “You’ve inherited a lot of great qualities from them.”
I nod in agreement. As much as I don’t get along with my parents, I know I’m lucky. Despite their objections to my life choices, they’ve never tried to block me from pursuing academia.
“I know they have… expectations of you. And, I’ll be honest here, all parents have expectations of their kids. But, at the end of the day, I think they just want you to be happy.”
I glance at Mrs. Paige and she’s wearing a kind smile that looks so much like Sawyer’s.
I want to believe she’s right, that my parents will suddenly change their minds about my future.
They must know how unfit I am for business and how disastrous it would be if they put me in charge of anything.
I want them to approve of my academic career.
But I can’t see that happening. My parents are stubborn.
They don’t give up on what they want so easily.
“Preston!”
I hear my name, but it takes me a second to react. I glance up, trying to figure out which direction the shout came from, and—
Crunch. Pain explodes across my face and I crumple to the ground.
“Oh my god, Preston!” Mrs. Paige’s small but tough hands tug on my shoulder, but it hurts and I curl into myself. “Sawyer!”
“Out of my way! Coming through!” Someone falls to their knees next to me, then another set of hands settles gently on me. These ones are bigger, stronger, but no less careful as they slowly turn me onto my back.
My vision is blurry and it hurts to breathe. Something wet runs down my face and into my mouth. A coppery tang coats my tongue.
I’m bleeding. I’ve been hit in the face, and I’m bleeding.
“Jesus, that came out of nowhere. I didn’t even have time to react.”
“Preston? Preston, can you hear me?” Sawyer asks.
I recognize his voice despite the ringing in my ears. But the only response I can manage is a gross gurgling sound.
Someone—Madison, I think—hisses. “Oh shit. That doesn’t look good.”
“I think his nose is broken.” Mrs. Paige.
“Goddamn it, Preston. You can’t even duck an incoming ball?” Dad.
“Stop it.” Whack. “You didn’t have to throw the ball so hard.” Mom.
“It’s football. That’s how you throw the ball.” Dad.
“Do we need to call an ambulance?” Madison.
“It’ll be faster if we drive him to the hospital.” Mrs. Paige.
“No, no ambulance, no hospital. I’ll call our private clinic.” Mom.
“Hey Pres, you okay?” Multiples of Sawyer’s face appear in front of me, fading in and out of focus. “I mean, other than…” He winces as he waves his hand in my general direction. “Does anything else hurt?”
I shake my head, then gasp and whimper as pain shoots through my skull.
“Try to avoid any sudden movements. Can you sit?” He threads his arm behind my neck and shoulders and helps prop me up.
The slight change in altitude makes my nose throb and a new gush of blood pours down my face and into my mouth. I try to spit it out, but it spills into my lap.
“Here, hold this.” Sawyer presses a balled-up piece of fabric against my face. It’s the shirt he was wearing, and even through the pain and the overwhelming scent of blood, I register Sawyer’s unique smell. “Alright, I’m going to pick you up now. Grab onto me.”
He loops my arm over his shoulder, then tucks one of his under my knees.
Bracing me against his bare chest, he stands to his feet, lifting me as if I weigh nothing more than a feather.
I cling to him, curling myself around him as much as I’m able.
Every step he takes is jolting, the impact of his feet on the ground sending fresh bursts of pain across my face.
More blood gushes from my nose and Sawyer’s shirt is already soaked through.
“No! Not through there! You’ll get blood all over the house. Go through the staff entrance into the kitchen.”
Sawyer growls deep in his chest, but he changes directions at Dad’s protest. The house shouldn’t be far, but it feels like ages before Sawyer’s lowering me into a hard plastic lawn chair.
“Okay, I called the twenty-four-hour clinic. The doctor’s on his way.”
There’s a lot of commotion around me, voices speaking over one another and bodies jostling my chair. I hunch forward, letting the blood and snot and tears drip onto the tiled floor.
Sawyer tries to move away, but I latch onto his wrist and don’t let go. I need him. With me. Next to me. Touching me.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” He lays his arm across my back, heavy and warm, solid and secure. “Hang in there. You’ll be okay.”