Chapter 10 River
Ten
River
December
If I’d known it was going to be the last football game I’d ever play in my life, I still wouldn’t have changed a thing.
The Campbell Coyotes were ranked number two in our league, right behind us. We’d already clinched the championship, but winning that day would make us undefeated, something that had never happened in the history of Santa Cruz Central football.
We were down 21–24 with fourteen seconds left, our ball on their forty-seven. Coach’s play was a short pass up the side to our tight end. His job was to get out of bounds to stop the clock and give our kicker a chance to tie it up.
But none of the guys in the huddle wanted overtime. They wanted the win. It was the last time this team would ever play together. I’d been ready for the end of the season for weeks, but a twinge of nostalgia bit me anyway. They deserved whatever I could give.
“Coach called the play, so we’re running the play,” I said but shot Donte a fast, knowing glance. He nodded imperceptibly, and the huddle broke up.
Our offense lined up against the Coyote defense—a row of scowling faces gunning for me.
“Hut two, hut two!”
Chance hiked me the ball, and I dropped back, faked a handoff to Isaiah, and scanned the field.
As planned, their defense anticipated our play and had our tight end and running back double covered. Only one guy on Donte. A mistake.
I dodged a defender who got past my line. He managed to snag my arm, but I tore out of his grasp and sidestepped him as he crashed to the ground. Donte was a running blur up the left side. In fractions of a second, my brain and arm calculated angle and distance. I let fly.
Two defenders sandwiched me just as the ball left my hand.
The air pushed out of my lungs with a whoosh as we all went to the ground, my head rattling inside my helmet.
For a few chaotic seconds, my world was churned turf, muttered curses and grunts, and flashes of the red and white jerseys of our opponents piled on top of me.
Then cheers filtered through the mob. Thunderous cheers. I smiled into the ground before being hauled to my feet by Chance and Mikey Grimaldi. Chance hooked his fingers in my face mask and bellowed. No words, just a mindless, barbaric scream of triumph.
I looked around to see dejected Coyotes, hands on their hips, shaking their bowed heads. The point after was good, and the crowd became a frantic sea of blue and gold as the score now flashed 27–24, with two seconds left on the clock.
Donte jogged back from the end zone, the game-winning ball tucked under his arm. We ran at each other, leaped, and crashed chests in midair. Our helmets pressed together, both of us pushing forward in a rush of adrenaline.
“Who did that?” he shouted in my face.
“You did that!” I shouted back. “Who did that?”
“You did that!” Donte backed off and rapidly smacked his chest with a fist three times. “Come on! Come on.”
The coaching staff and players on the bench surged onto the field, and our team huddled in a thrumming, jumping mass of triumph.
Their energy surged through me too, but on different currents.
I disentangled myself from the crowd and looked toward the bleachers.
I picked them out instantly—Dad, Amelia… and my mom.
She was bundled head to toe for winter, furiously waving and cheering with the rest of them.
She wasn’t supposed to make it to Christmas, but there she was.
Not in remission, but the medications she was taking were working to hold the cancer at bay.
To give her time. She was there, and she got to see me play and witness my dad’s joy and pride.
That was victory.
***
Back at school a few days later, the guys and I were treated as heroes, but the shine was already coming off the win for me. The season was over, and I could put more hours in at the shop, though Dad was adamant I keep my rigorous workout schedule so I wouldn’t get “soft” by summer.
In calculus, some of the kids broke out into applause when I stepped into class.
I felt Holden’s eyes on me as I took my seat. We’d hardly said a handful of words to each other since that night I called him from the hospital, desperate and freaked out. I’d never felt so alone in my life, and he’d been there, pulling me out of the dark pit.
I owe him more than the silent treatment.
Mr. Reynolds came around, passing back our midterm exams.
“For the most part, very impressive.” He laid the papers face down on our desks. “A few of you had issues with derivative values, but overall, I’m very happy with your progress.”
At my desk, he put my exam face down with a smile. I felt eyes on me and looked up to see Holden, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
I gave him a lazy smirk and held up my test with its big red A.
He pursed his lips, mildly impressed, then revealed his A+.
Asshole.
I rolled my eyes with a laugh while he shrugged as if his baffling genius were out of his hands. Something tight and awkward between us loosened.
When class was over, I took a chance and followed him outside to a low wall that buffered the geek tree, where kids from the upper math classes and band members liked to hang out.
“Hey, man.”
“Yesss,” he drawled, spinning on his heel to face me, his coat flaring around him. I was almost glad it was winter. Now his outfits made sense and weren’t a constant reminder of the horrors he’d suffered.
Today, he looked goddamn devastating in a slate-gray turtleneck sweater, black pants, and a long gray tweed coat. But then he always looked devastating. His very existence was a challenge to my willpower.
“How have you been?” I asked.
“Great. Never better.” He managed a dry smile. “Congrats on the big win.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I jammed my hands in my letterman jacket pockets. “So…have you put in college applications?”
“We’re doing small talk now, are we?”
“I don’t know. Better than not talking at all. Isn’t it?”
He regarded me for a moment and then lounged against the wall. “I’m not going to college.”
“What are you going to do after we graduate?”
“Disappearing.”
A chill swept through me. “What does that mean?”
“I’m going to travel,” Holden said. “Or not. I haven’t really planned it beyond getting my inheritance from my parents and having nothing to do with them ever again.”
“With your smarts, you could have your pick of colleges. Hell, you probably could’ve had three advanced degrees by now. Or teach somewhere.”
“Can you really see me at the front of a classroom? Grading papers and holding office hours like a regular schmuck?”
I crossed my arms. “Yeah. I can.”
He studied me as if trying to decide if I were kidding or not, then shook his head, his voice low. “It’s not in the cards for me this time around.”
I leaned against the wall beside him but not too close. “Do your parents ever try to contact you?”
“No. Which is preferred. They’ve done enough damage, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think you’re damaged.”
“You don’t know me very well.” His piercing green eyes bored into mine, a challenge. Daring me to recall everything that happened between us that night at the pool.
As if I could forget.
“What about you?” he asked. “Have you decided which lucky university you’ll grace with your presence?”
“Got it narrowed down to a few. Texas A&M or Alabama, probably.”
“That will make Dad proud.”
“Yeah, it will,” I said, giving him a hard stare, daring him to remember how I’d told him things about my life I hadn’t told anyone.
He looked away quickly, the hostile expression softening. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“I made it your business.”
“True. You made a lot of things my business that night,” he said with an arch look and brushed his thumb across his lower lip.
I laughed even as my skin heated. Jesus, I couldn’t stop staring at this guy who looked like a goddamn work of art, his body concealed in expensive clothes, waiting to be unwrapped.
“What will you do with all your free time now that the season’s over?” Holden asked.
“Spend more time at the shop. I was thinking about suggesting to my dad we expand the business to do car restoration.”
“Making old, broken-down shit shiny and new?”
“I like to think of it more as bringing them back to life.”
“Sounds like a noble endeavor. Do you think he’ll go for it?”
“Probably not.” Holden started to speak, but I cut him off. “Things are good right now. Mom’s better. We all thought this was going to be a very different kind of Christmas. Like, un-fucking-bearable. But it’s…good.”
“And you want to keep it that way.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“So why, River Whitmore, do you keep talking to me?”
“Because…” My jaw worked.
Because I can’t stop thinking about you. While I’m driving. At practice. In class. In my bed at night.
“Because I want us to be friends. Or at least not ignore each other in class.”
Friends was such a weak word to describe the maddening swirl of emotion I felt for Holden Parish. But it’s the best I can do.
“Friends,” Holden said as if the word amused him.
“Look,” I said, lowering my voice. “We said a lot of shit to each other that night. And again when I called you from the hospital. You could’ve just hung up on me, and I would’ve deserved it.
But you didn’t, and that means something, okay?
I don’t want to pretend like we don’t know each other after everything we talked about. I can’t do it.”
He considered this for a moment. “You don’t want to be friends with me,” he said finally. “I’m not a nice person.”
“How about you let me worry about that?”
His voice grew sharp. “Is that what you really want? For us to be pals? You going to invite me to hang out with your buddies on Saturday night to talk about girls and football?”
“No, but…” I sighed, ran a hand through my hair.
Holden faced forward again, his jaw tight. The bell clanged through a thick and heavy silence.
“All right, well… I gotta go,” I said, pushing off the wall. “See you around, I guess.”