39. Juliet
39
JULIET
T he bleachers on the home side of the football field are filled with a sea of indigo blue and white. Mads and I stand to the side as a raucous group of guys with their shirts off and the same colors painted on their bodies barrels past, screaming, “Fuck the Spears!” My lips twitch in amusement. Tonight, the Silverwood Scorpions are facing off against my old school, the Silverwood Spears.
Even before my family lost their prestige and money, I never cared for football or school sports. My mother had insisted I be on the cheerleading squad for two reasons—it would look good on college transcripts to be involved in school events, and more importantly to her, it would keep me from getting fat. I glance down at my current body, covered in a pair of longer boy’s basketball shorts and an old jersey with the number ‘35’ stamped on it.
Mads told me it was her ex-boyfriend’s football jersey. I didn’t really care then, but now I wonder why she’d bother to keep the jersey of the guy who supposedly made a sex tape of her for the whole school. I side-eye her as she waits for another group to bypass us up the bleachers before she waves for me to follow her.
“Come on, I have to head down to the field,” she says.
Without a word, I glance out to the green below and trail after her. I’ve neither seen nor heard from the guys since this afternoon and it feels odd. I’d been excited by the prospect of being away from them, but now it’s starting to worry me. It’s difficult to go from being with three people twenty-four-seven to not talking to them for several hours.
Mads and I make our way down the main part of the bleachers to the field below. Wet grass gets crushed beneath our sneakers as we stop and she lifts her camera, snapping a few shots of the students filling the stands. Across from our side, the silver and white colors of Silverwood Prep shine like a beacon under the field spotlights. I close my arms around myself and try to focus on anything but looking in that direction. Irritation creeps along the back of my neck and down my spine. My skin feels stretched over bones that are too big. My stomach rolls.
Mads moves forward, striding down the length of the field towards the big banner as the speakers crackle to life with the team announcements. I watch as Mads gets to her knee and aims her camera. Music plays, nearly drowning out the roar of the crowd. It’s too loud.
The paper banner with the words “Silverwood Scorpions” scrawled across it in big, block letters rips in half as the team comes sailing onto the field. The response from the bleachers at our backs is deafening. I wince.
Looking up, I scan the seats, noting the teachers who have arrived and the parents with their arms laden down with popcorn and drinks from the concessions. There are little kids too—dozens of them, all dressed in jackets and some even with their faces painted to represent the Public school. My breath comes out in little white puffs in front of my face, and I wish I’d thought to bring a jacket.
“Alright.” Mads stands up. “I think I got enough for the paper. Let’s head up and take our seats. I’ll take a few more from the front row."
Thank fuck . I pivot back towards the bleachers when Mads reaches out and stops me. She points behind us and I follow the line of her finger. Three bodies separate away from where the team is gathered and head in our direction. I’d know those bodies anywhere. I watch as Nolan, Lex, and Gio approach.
Nolan is the first to take off his helmet, followed by the others, but Gio is the first to speak. “Hey, where’s the outfit I left you?” he asks.
Mads shoots me a look that I ignore. “I’m not a cheerleader anymore, dipshit,” I say. “And I’m not your doll.”
Gio continues to frown at the jersey. He reaches for me as if he means to tug at it and I easily dodge him, sliding around Mads to her other side. “I don’t like it,” he snaps. “Take it off.”
“No!” Even if I wanted to, there’s no way I’m undressing in front of more than half of the school. I can feel sharp gazes on the back of my neck anyway and it sends tingles up and down my spine. I don’t care what they think of me but I’m tired of feeling like I’m trapped under a microscope every second of the day.
Gio reaches down, gripping the hem of his own. “If you wanted to wear a fucking jersey?—”
Just before he can pull it off, Nolan reaches out and smacks him upside the head. “Keep your fucking clothes on, asshole.”
Gio lets go of his jersey but narrows his eyes on me. “Whose fucking jersey is that anyway?” he demands.
I roll my eyes. “It’s none of your bus?—”
“Do you have a cut on your lip?” Nolan’s question cuts me off and I scowl.
“Oh my God, can you back off for like two seconds?” I snap, stepping away from all three of them when they step forward in unison, like they’re about to attack me.
“Where did you go this afternoon?” Gio’s voice holds a dangerous note. “Did someone fuck with you?”
I roll my eyes. “I was at Cory’s gym,” I admit. “I got it while sparring, but like I was trying to say, it’s none of your fucking business. Lay off.”
All at once, the three of them ease up, their stances relaxing. Lex shuffles forward, his helmet in one hand as he reaches up with his other to touch the cut. I freeze, the warmth of his fingers smoothing across my cheek and lips.
“You should put some hydrogen peroxide on this,” he murmurs. “It’ll help it heal.”
I can feel Mads’ wide-eyed gaze on all four of us and the heat rushing to the surface of my skin. I tug my face away from his hands and take a healthy step back. “I’ll be fine,” I say, gesturing to the field. “You need to go get ready for the game.”
Gio gives me one of his signature grins—all seduction and swagger. “You gonna cheer for us, Prep Girl?”
“Who says I won’t cheer for the winner?” I shoot back.
His smile widens. “That’s what I said.”
Oh, his confidence is so in need of some leveling. “We’ll see,” I hedge, shaking my head.
Mads scoots closer to me, returning the strap of her camera around her neck. Nolan offers her a smile and a head nod. “Stick to this side,” he tells us. “I don’t want to have to head off any trouble while you’re here.”
My upper lip peels back away from my teeth as I scoff. “Bite me.”
Nolan’s cinnamon-colored eyes laser in on me. “Is that a challenge or an offer?”
I flip him the bird and turn to walk away, Mads hurrying to catch up as I reach the stairs that lead us back up to the bleachers.
“Wow, they really look after you,” Mads murmurs as we exit the field and make our way over to the front row where a few seats have been left open.
I snort. “No, they like to control me,” I state plainly. “And I like to give them a run for their money.” She hums in the back of her throat, but it’s not a sound of agreement. I wait until we’re both seated, my ass freezing to the icy cold metal bench of the bleachers, before I respond.
“What?” I ask her.
Mads lifts her shoulders in a delicate shrug as she pulls the lapels of her sweater closer around her. I rub my bare arms absently, waiting.
“They don’t really act like guys who hate your guts.” She turns and eyes me. “Was that one of their trucks you were driving? I thought you didn’t have a car anymore.”
“It’s Lex’s loaner from the garage Nolan works at. His SUV is … erm … being worked on.”
The focus of Mads’ gaze on the side of my face sears into me. She hums again, and I’m really starting to hate the sound. On the field, the players line up and the screaming crowd at our back finally calms enough that I don’t have to work to hear my own thoughts.
As much as I try to focus on the field in front of me, it’s hard not to lift my gaze and scan the bleachers across the way. There are several faces I recognize, old classmates and teachers. When halftime hits, I nearly swallow my tongue as Avery jogs out across the green in her tiny Silverwood Prep cheerleader uniform. My gaze shoots to the benches and sure enough, Brandon is right there, watching her like a drooling dog. My insides churn.
Yanking my gaze back, I find myself turning and scanning the bleachers around us. There are more parents here than I expected. It reminds me where mine are—or rather, where they aren’t. Here.
Halftime ends and my stomach rumbles with hunger. Mads leaves and comes back a short time later with a bucket of popcorn that she shares as we huddle together for warmth. Salt and butter coat the back of my tongue as we watch the last few moments of the game, each team fighting back and forth on the field for the final point that will cause them to either win or lose.
Gio’s ‘20’ jersey plows through the line of players wearing white jerseys and Nolan backs up, throwing the football high and wide. Everyone on our side stands up and so do we. Mads and I hold on to each other, our breaths caught. The Silverwood Public running back catches it in midair and then leaps for the end zone just as the buzzer sounds and the crowd erupts into cheers.
The Silverwood Scorpions are the winners.
“Holy shit!” Mads jumps up and down against me. “That was awesome!”
“Yeah…” I huff out a laugh, a little surprised by how easy it’d been for me to actually enjoy the game despite being on the opposite side I used to cheer for.
“Come on.” She tugs on my arm. “I have to get some pics of them celebrating for the paper.”
I follow her a little numbly, my skin having long since chilled in the night air. My head feels full of cotton as we pass through the gate and she heads off to snap a few photos of the team jumping on top of one another. My chest echoes with a hollowness as I wrap my arms around myself and stand back on the sidelines—always on the outside.
My gaze lifts and moves over to the Silverwood Prep team as they trudge back to their coach. I used to belong there, I think to myself. Win or lose, I was one of them. Now, I don’t belong anywhere.
I really shouldn’t be here.
Without thinking about it, I turn to go and halt when a familiar voice calls out. “Juliet!”
My heart picks up speed as I slowly turn to face the man who hustles across the field in a crisp black and white suit that doesn’t really match our surroundings. Morpheus Calloway hasn’t changed much in the months since I've seen him. His hair is pushed back, slicked along the sides out of his face, but there’s a shadow of beard growth that he normally shaves dusting his jaw. There are hollows beneath his eyes, and the suit—an expensive Armani—appears slightly looser than it should considering I know for a fact that he has all of his suits tailored.
“Mr. Calloway,” I hear my voice even though I don’t recognize the decision to speak.
Morpheus slows to a stop in front of me, his face slightly flushed—likely due to the cold. He frowns at my clothes. “Where’s your jacket, Juliet?” he asks, his voice full of disapproval.
My shoulders come up in a shrug. “Don’t have one with me,” I state.
With a curse, he starts to shrug out of his suit coat. “Here, take?—”
I hold up a hand. “No, I don’t want your jacket,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”
Of all the people from my old life I hadn’t expected to run into here, he’s at the top of the list. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’m one of Silverwood Prep’s premiere sponsors,” Morpheus says, sounding gruff as he holds his suit coat in his hand. It’s clear he still wants to give it to me, and I take a step back to ward him off.
“Oh, right…” Guilt has me looking around for an escape. Where is Mads? Where are the guys? My heartbeat threads an uneven pulse in my chest. I swallow reflexively. “Um, well, it was nice seeing you.” I back away.
“No, wait!” Morpheus jerks forward and I go still as his free hand closes around my arm. “Don’t go yet.”
My hands clench and unclench as I resist the urge to yank myself from his grip. Why would he want to talk to me? What could he need? Is it about the business? Has my dad done something else?
I close my eyes and force myself to suck in a calming breath. I count to five before reopening them and focusing on the man in front of me. Morpheus Calloway is a good man. He’d been my dad’s best friend and the one who had saved everyone’s jobs when the embezzlement case had first come out. To Silverwood, he’s a hero. To me, he’s yet another reminder of how much I don’t fucking belong.
“Your phone’s been shut off,” Morpheus says. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I emailed. Do you need money? Please, Juliet, I’ve been so worried about you. You know you don’t need to do this. You can move back to your school. I’m happy to pay for your tuition. You can live with me. I hate that you’re here.”
I want Morpheus Calloway’s money as much as I want his charity—which is to say not at all. “That’s really nice of you,” I tell him, carefully extracting my arm from his hand, twisting towards his thumb to break the hold. “But I don’t want to take any more from you than what my family’s already taken.” I rub the back of my wrist where he’d touched and glance over to the Scorpion team. When will the guys be done? How much longer am I going to have to be here?
“You didn’t take anything from me, Juliet,” Morpheus insists. “Please, I consider you part of my family. I’ve watched you grow up.”
“You’re not my real uncle,” I remind him quietly. God, I don’t want to hurt this man, but how terrible of a person would it make me if I relied on him after everything that’s happened? He’s lost so much because of my dad, and I just … I can’t do the same thing. I can’t take from him because he’s a good person. I can’t be like my parents.
Morpheus sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
“I appreciate it.” I feel numb and unable to move, like my legs are full of lead.
“Have you heard from your mother?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not since she left me the note.”
The note he’d given me. The note that had explained that she was sorry, but that she needed to be away and that Morpheus Calloway would take care of me, that he would take care of everything. As if I would allow that. As if I would be just as selfish as her.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Morpheus says. “I’ve talked to your father a bit. He misses you.”
That has me lifting my head and meeting his eyes. “You’ve talked to him?”
Morpheus nods. “Yes, he’d really like to see you.” He shifts closer and I still can’t seem to move. My legs remain firmly planted on the ground. “I know you sold the BMW, Juliet. I wish you would’ve let me help you. I know you can’t drive yourself, but if you need a ride—I’d be happy to take you to visit your dad.”
In prison. Because he’s a criminal. I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to taste blood. I can never get away from this. From the emails from my dad’s lawyers to Morpheus, the one man who should be the angriest at my father, everyone seems to think that giving my dad another shot is important. Why though? Why should I? He didn’t just betray the town. He didn’t just steal from starving, struggling families. He fucking ruined his own.
“Thanks, but I’ll handle it myself,” I say, my voice biting with frost as I grit the words out.
“You should talk to him, honey.” Morpheus’ hand hovers over my shoulder as if he wants to pull me against him, as if he wants to offer me comfort.
I urge my legs to step back, to move away, but they don’t. I don’t want comfort. I want justice. I want the man who wrecked my life to pay for his crimes. What would talking to him do now?
“Hey, are you okay, Juliet?” Nolan’s voice penetrates the tension between Morpheus Calloway and me. A warm body sidles up next to me and Morpheus immediately takes a step away. I can breathe again.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I was just saying hi to an old family friend.” My feet start to move, Nolan’s interruption giving them new life. I pivot away. “Thanks for the offer, Mr. Calloway,” I call back over my shoulder as I reach for Nolan’s hand and tug him with me. “I’m okay now though. You don’t need to take care of me anymore.”
Nolan doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t force me to stop walking and turn back. To my utter relief, he merely swings an arm over my shoulders—the scent of grass and wet dew heavy on his sweaty body—and ushers me over to where Mads is waiting with Gio and Lex. Gio’s eyes move from Morpheus to me, questions in their depths. I look away.
No, I don’t need Morpheus Calloway to take care of me. If there’s one thing I’ve proven in the last several months, it’s that I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.