Chapter 30
Mallorie Jade
“Everyone gather around.” Hayes’s voice rises above the chatter of the boys clumped together on the sidewalk.
We are standing outside of an industrial brick building two counties over.
The neighborhood is run down. Trash litters the alleyways, and grass grows through the cracks in the sidewalks. The stoops on the buildings sag, but it’s the men who stand watching on the other side of the street that make me nervous. Instead of focusing on them, I drag my attention back to Hayes, waiting for him to explain what we are doing here.
Confusion mars the boys’ faces as they turn toward their coach. Hayes stands on the bottom step of the bus, looking out over them.
I’m at the back of the crowd, and unless he’s looking for me, Hayes can’t see me. The boys in front of me are just tall enough to provide me with cover but short enough to study Hayes without him knowing.
Authority is etched into the corners of his mouth as he waits for the team to quieten down, and as he stares out over them, their voices lower to murmurs and then disappear altogether. The gray in his eyes is darker today, more pronounced in the sun, and when his eyes meet mine, they darken even more, his eyelids becoming hooded.
He was looking for me.
It shouldn’t be a surprise because he’s always been the first person I look for in a crowd, but it is because that look he’s giving me feels like he’s looking into the deepest parts of me—seeing the person I want to be.
A shiver runs down my spine.
“You’re both playing with fire,” Campbell says, his voice coming from behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin, breaking eye contact with Hayes and knocking into the boy to my left. The boy sends me a dirty look, and I apologize before turning to face Campbell.
I don’t know how long I was standing there staring at Hayes, but the raised eyebrow and knowing look on Campbell’s face says that I probably wasn’t all that subtle about it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
Campbell purses his lips, not falling for it, but I stick to my guns, crossing my arms and planting my feet wide.
I’m as stubborn as it comes, especially when it comes to things I’m hiding from myself.
“Don’t worry,” Campbell smiles, “I’ll be here waiting for it all to burn to the ground so I can pick up the ashes for both of you.”
The man speaks in riddles, and it drives me nuts.
“Say what you mean, Campbell.”
He shrugs. “Fine. This idea that you guys can be just friends is a joke. We all know you were always meant to be more.”
I shake my head, denying it, as much to myself as to him. “Life changes. We aren’t in that place anymore.”
The laugh that Campbell lets out isn’t unexpected, but it startles me all the same. “You keep telling yourself that.”
“Busybody,” I mutter, turning back to Hayes, whose gaze is still on me. The weight of it is like lead sitting in my stomach, weighing me down with all the truths that Campbell just poked into.
The corner of Hayes’s lips lifts, offering me a soft smile. When I return it, he turns his attention back to his team with a new look in his eyes.
Kindness.
That’s what plays on his lips and lightens up his eyes now.
“Gentlemen,” Hayes says, looking out over each one of his players. He takes his time, making sure to meet each of their stares. “Raise your hand if you think being successful this year means winning games?”
There are murmurs through the crowd of boys as each player puts their hand in the air, raising them high.
“Now raise your hand if you think your worth on this football team is determined by how many quarters you play?”
The hands stay in the air. Boys look around, seeing who else is holding their hand up.
Hayes grunts.
“You can put your hands down. I have said it before, but I’ll say it again. My mission this year is not to win games. I’ll be fine if we lose every game this season. But I won’t be fine if you leave my team and don’t understand that your worth is more than a game—that your stories are more than football. ” Hayes pauses, looking around the crowd and letting his words settle over them, “That building behind you is a shelter. We are going to serve food to the residents tonight. Here’s my challenge to you—don’t leave here without getting to know someone’s story from inside that building because the thing is, we all have stories, and they are made outside of the football field.”
Silence, heavy and thick, meets Hayes’s words as each boy takes in the building we are standing in front of. Even for teenagers, it’s a sobering thought walking into a place and learning the stories of people whose lives have taken them in directions they never prepared for.
One by one, they start to file into the building, following the other coaches. I hang back, looking for Tanner in the crowd. He’s toward the back, still wearing that anger from earlier like a weight around his neck, but mixed in with that anger is a sadness that snuffs the light out of his eyes.
With my attention on Tanner, I don’t notice when Hayes shuffles in beside me. He places his hand on my back to lead me inside, and I try not to shiver as the heat of his hand bleeds through my t-shirt.
Hayes leans down, his breath hot against my skin, and he whispers, “I don’t think friends look at each other the way you were looking at me back there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—”
His lips brush against my cheek, stopping my words and my heart. “Deny it all you want to, MJ, but I was looking at you the same way.”
He pulls away, giving me a grin that is made of trouble, and when it’s our turn to go in, he holds the door open for me. I walk ahead of him, and he reaches out, letting his fingers trace down my arm as I walk past him.
I keep my back straight and head high, not letting him see how much he affects me, but the deep chuckle that follows is all the evidence I need to know that he knows anyway.
The inside of the building is just as battered as the neighborhood outside. Outdated wallpaper hangs on the wall, ripped in some places, and the ceiling tiles are stained where water has leaked through. But despite the appearance of the building, it’s the people my eyes are drawn to.
Guilt pokes at my chest as I take them in because the people in front of me—the ones who are here because they have no homes or food—all wear smiles on their faces.
They are happy in a place where you wouldn’t think happiness could exist.
A loud laugh comes from the center of the group.
I know that laugh.
My shoulders flinch, and I dunk down to hide behind the person in front of me, which, unfortunately, happens to be Tanner. He turns his head over his shoulder, giving me a funny look, but doesn’t move.
Thank goodness for small miracles.
I’m taking it as proof he doesn’t hate me entirely.
Flashing him an awkward smile, I pray he holds still.
Hayes steps closer to me, and I grab the front of his t-shirt, yanking him down so he’s hiding with me.
“Did you know?” I ask, gritting my teeth.
“Know what? Why are you acting so crazy?”
Another laugh and Hayes’s eyes widen because there’s no way not to know that laugh—it’s awkward like the person doesn’t quite know how to do it.
“That. Did you know that?”
He shakes his head, furiously denying involvement, and I narrow my eyes in a threat. “You better be telling me the truth.”
The lines on his face soften, and he leans closer. I hadn’t realized I was still holding onto his shirt until he’s so close that my hand is locked between our chests.
“I wouldn’t lie to you, MJ.”
Hayes’s tongue peeks out, swiping across his lips, and I track it.
Now is not the time, Mallorie Jade.
When it disappears back inside his mouth, I raise my eyes to his. There’s a fire burning there that I need to extinguish before it consumes me, too.
“Are you guys going to hide back there all day or what?” Tanner asks, effectively dousing the fire for me.
I knew I wanted to help this kid for a reason.
I’ll find a way to thank him later because kissing Hayes again cannot happen, and despite our surroundings and current predicament, that’s exactly what I was thinking about doing.
Clearing his throat, Hayes straightens, but I’m content to hide behind a teenager all day if it means avoiding the person in the center of the room.
Too bad Hayes is not a person that can blend into a crowd, though, because as soon as he stands, a voice booms his name, drawing closer to where I’m hiding, and when I look up, my dad stands there in all his glory.
“Hi, Daddy,” I say, giving him a guilty smile.
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I’m going to kill Hayes. I don’t know how, but I’m blaming this on him. I always seem to get into bad situations when he’s around.
“Mallorie Jade,” my dad greets, his voice more formal than when he greeted Hayes. He’s staring down where I’m still crouched behind Tanner, making this experience even more awkward than it would have been had I not hidden like a chicken.
Pushing off my knee, I stand to face him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
Hayes steps closer to me, infiltrating my bubble, and for once, I don’t object.
I haven’t spoken with my dad since that day in my room. The guilt of that day has eaten away at my insides, but I also didn’t know how to apologize.
Sure, I could have said the words, “I’m sorry,” but I doubt they would have meant much to him. My apologies have never meant much to him.
Now, I wish I hadn’t because tension swirls in the air around us, making it awkward for everyone.
“I’m here with the football team,” I say, wincing at the mention of the sport.
It’s always been a sore subject for him, especially after Langston.
He purses his lips, his face a blank mask that I can’t read. “I see.”
Hayes’s hand slides up my back to my ponytail, twirling his finger around my hair and lightly tugging it to let me know he’s there. It distracts me until a thought hits me. “Wait—what are you doing here?”
Pink slips into my dad’s cheeks, and I’m taken aback. He’s embarrassed—my strong and confident father is embarrassed.
“Well—” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. “I—uh—started coming here a couple of years ago—right after you moved, actually.”
“For what?” I ask.
He studies the floor, another thing I’ve never seen him do. He always looks directly at a person when he speaks to them. “The shelter called me. They noticed that all of the people who were coming here needed a doctor, both physically and mentally. Since I’m the head of the hospital, they asked me if I knew of any doctors willing to work pro bono. I volunteered.”
“But why?” The words are out of my mouth before I realize how they would sound. I didn’t mean it as an accusation—just that he’s already a busy man—and he’s never made time for stuff like this before.
He opens his mouth to reply, but Campbell’s voice interrupts him, “Are you guys going to stand there all day or help serve?”
Turning my head to where he’s standing, I wince when I see the line forming. I hadn’t realized that the others had already started to collect their gloves and hairnets.
A sad smile slips onto my dad’s lips. “We can talk about this later.”
I nod, expecting him to leave, but he follows me to where the others are waiting. Hayes walks beside us, remaining quiet, but I am dying to ask him what he thinks. Maybe the problem wasn’t just that my parents didn’t know me. Maybe I never knew them, either.
The rubber gloves are in a box as we walk into the kitchen, and I grab a pair, slipping them on my hands. Hayes and my dad follow suit. The hairnets are next, and once I’m fully clad in all my health-safety gear, I turn to Hayes and smile.
“What do you think?” I ask, preening and posing like someone is taking my picture.
I expect Hayes to laugh because I’m sure the hairnet does nothing for me, but his lips tilt up in a soft smile, and he leans in, brushing a kiss against my cheek.
“You’re beautiful, MJ,” he whispers against my skin.
I scoff. “And you’re full of it, Hayes.”
Shaking his head, his whiskers feather across my jaw. “Baby, when you are around, it’s impossible for me to see anything else.”
He drops another kiss on my cheek and walks away like he didn’t just stomp all over that friendship line once again, and I square my shoulders like I didn’t just let him.
Some of the boys are helping the cooks in the back while others walk around the dining area. Since we are the last ones, Tanner, Hayes, my dad, and I are assigned to the serving line, and for the next few hours, we stand shoulder to shoulder, dishing out meals that will stay in the bellies of the people we serve for at least a little while. But the sad fact is, it’s not enough.
Bones show through skin as they reach out their hands, waiting for what we have for them, and each time I fill a plate up, Tanner talks a little more. It’s not to any of us, but that’s okay because he’s talking and smiling to the people he serves—the ones he is giving back to.
“So, Tanner,” my dad says when we finally hit a lull, “what position do you play?”
Over the last hour, my dad has asked him simple questions, learning about the kid beside him. He steered clear of the topic of football—until now.
My shoulders tense, waiting for Tanner’s smile to fade, but he simply shrugs and says, “Quarterback.”
Not a muscle moves on my dad’s face, but the heartbreak is hidden under years of disappointment.
“My son was the quarterback, too.”
Tanner nods. “Yes, sir. I know. I would kill to have his career—to be as good as he was so I can prove people wrong about me.”
My breathing slows, a hollowness creeping into my lungs.
Beside me, Hayes watches the situation out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see if Tanner will go on.
“Have you ever heard of the prodigal son?” My dad asks, focusing on the food trays he’s refilling, but it’s obvious that his mind is on the boy beside him and one from long ago whose similarities are heartbreaking.
“No, sir.”
Walking the tray to the sink behind us, he dips it into the water, raising his voice a little so Tanner can still hear him.
“It’s a parable in the Bible. The son left home because he felt he could make it alone. But when his money ran out, he returned home. At first, he felt like his mistakes were too big to be forgiven, but when his father saw him, he celebrated his return. His father forgave him because he loved him, and to me, the point of that story is that we are loved more than our biggest mistakes. We aren’t defined by one single section of our lives because life is made up of thousands of moments.” He stops, turning and leaning his back against the sink. Crossing his legs at the ankle, he braces his hands on either side of him, and when he continues, it’s me that he’s looking at, not Tanner. “The prodigal son—or daughter—was always welcome back home.”
And there it is—the moment that wipes away any progress we’ve made. I knew it was coming, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t.
“Yeah, Dad,” I say, tossing the spoon down harder than I mean to. “The prodigal daughter could return home—but in this case, only if she fit the mold.”
I spin, taking off the apron I’d grabbed earlier, and walk off. I hope Tanner heard my dad when he said he is bigger than his small moments because he is. But to my dad, the small moments are all the mistakes I made by not folding myself into his box.
Just once, I would like him to see me for the person I’ve created out of those mistakes.
But I learned a long time ago not to hope for that, so I walk off with Hayes calling my name—because my dad’s silence speaks louder.
Tanner’s voice floats through the air, reaching me just as I’m at the door. “Doesn’t seem very welcoming to me, sir.”