Chapter 32
Mallorie Jade
20 years old
Freedom.
That’s what I’ve earned these last two years of college.
My parents tried to control what I majored in and what I would do with the rest of my life, but with enough scholarships to cover my classes, books, and dorm, they didn’t have anything to dangle over my head, forcing me to do as they said.
The cold winter air burns in my lungs as I walk across campus.
It’s my sophomore year, and I almost have all my prerequisites completed. I’m undecided in my major, but I’ll need to decide soon. It’s just that freedom means choices for the first time in my life, and there are so many choices.
But despite the fact that I can do anything—be anyone—I’ll have to decide by the end of this semester. The pressure is on, but I won’t crumble under it.
“MJ,” a voice calls from the other side of the street.
It’s the voice I hear even in my dreams.
Is it possible to be in love with a voice? Because if it is, I’ve been in love with Hayes’s voice since I was fifteen—probably longer, but it doesn’t matter because he broke my heart—even if we are friends now—sort of, mainly for Langston’s sake, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Langston is still drinking. We’ve tried to talk to him on the rare times we find him sober, but he claims he’s fine—that he’s sowing his wild oats. It’s the one thing that’s stopped me from demanding he find help. He deserves to find himself, just like I did. And if partying is how he needs to do it, then I guess I’ll pick him up every time he’s drunk.
Besides, it’s not like he’s the only kid that drinks at school. We’re at college—a lot of the kids party.
With a lull in traffic, Hayes sprints across the road, catching up to me as I walk to class.
“I’m pretty sure jaywalking is illegal,” I grumble so that I have something to do besides stare at how his muscles bulge in the university long-sleeve shirt he’s wearing.
“You going to turn me in, Little Harrison?”
I shrug. “Maybe. It might knock your ego down a few pegs.”
His arm wraps around my shoulders, and his laughter reverberates against my ribs as he pulls me in close to him. My nose is shoved into the fabric of his shirt as he hugs me tight with one arm, and the scent of his cologne takes over my senses. I take a deep breath, hoping he doesn’t realize that I’m basically sniffing him. I can’t help it. He’s intoxicating, and somewhere along the way, I become addicted.
Chuckling, he says, “I’ve missed your sass.”
“You see me every week,” I say, pulling out of his hold so I don’t do something stupid like let him hold my broken pieces together.
Been there, done that, left more shattered than when I started.
“Yeah, but it’s not every day.”
I don’t know what to say to that because to respond would mean letting myself be vulnerable with him again, and that’s not an option. So I stay quiet, walking with him by my side.
“We have a game this weekend. Come to it.” It’s not a question but more of a plea.
“No.”
I haven’t been to a game since I moved here last year. I used to love football, but I’m tired of watching my brother destroy himself for the sport. So, I stopped watching all together.
Hayes stops, grabbing my elbow and pulling me to stand in front of him. His hand stays on my arm, but I can feel that one touch everywhere.
“Let’s make it a game,” he says, shoving his other hand in his pocket and trying to look innocent. The smirk on his lips says otherwise. He’s waiting for me to take the bait because he knows I won’t miss the chance of beating him at something. I’m too competitive.
“What kind of game?” My voice is wary because even though I’ll accept because my competitive nature won’t allow me to say no, I already feel like I’m playing too many games with Hayes—mostly the game of hiding my heart from him. It’s the only game I’m afraid I’ll lose.
“Well, maybe more like a bet—”
“What kind of bet, Hayes?” I huff.
He leans in close, our lips brushing with each word.
“I bet if you come to the game, I’ll score the winning touchdown just for you.”
“Hayes, you can’t possibly bet on that—you could get hurt or not play or the coach could call a hundred other plays that put someone else as the receiver—or you could lose the game entirely.”
His face is relaxed as he keeps his eyes on me, that smirk still on his lips. “Are you scared?”
I huff, shoving at his chest, but he doesn’t move. He’s like a brick wall. My hands stay on his chest, and his body heat bleeds into my hands, making it hard to think.
“What do I get if I win?” I ask, leaning closer and playing the game.
“Anything you want.” His breath comes in spurts, and I realize I affect him just as much as he does me.
“And what about you? What do you get if you win?” My words are breathy, revealing too much.
He winks, pulling back and leaving me cold, “I’ll tell you after I win.”
Then he’s walking away, in the opposite direction of my class, and leaving me alone.
“I’ll leave the ticket at the box,” he calls, not even bothering to look back.
______________________
It’s thirty minutes before game time, and I still haven’t decided if I’m going to play Hayes’s game. My jersey is lying on my bed, and I keep staring at it as if it can help me decide.
“Any advice here, God?” I ask, looking up at the sky.
But the room stays silent. I mean, it’s not that I thought I would hear a voice boom through my dorm room, but it would have been nice if it had.
The truth is, I’ve been praying about this situation with Hayes since the day I realized I saw him as more than my brother’s best friend. I’m still no closer to an answer than I was then.
I gave Hayes a chance once, and he broke my heart. But I can’t deny that he’s been there for me this past year more than anyone in my life. I no longer have to shoulder the worry of Langston alone, and that’s nice.
It’s just one bet, right?
If he wins, it can’t be that bad, and if I win, he said I could have anything I want.
The chances of him scoring the winning touchdown are slim to none, not because he isn’t good—but because you can’t control the game like that.
Swiping the jersey off the bed, I yank it over my head, mind made up.
One game. I’ll go to one game.
The walk to the stadium is short. My hair hangs around my shoulders under my toboggan. I curled it and threw a hoodie on under my jersey—the same jersey with Hayes’s last name on it. In my senior year of high school, I bought two jerseys—one with mine and Langston’s last name and one with Hayes’s.
I could have easily grabbed the one with my last name—I probably should have—but I’m not going for my brother today. I’m going for Hayes, and that’s a fact that I can’t ignore.
So I wore the jersey, and for now, I’ll keep denying that it means anything more than supporting a friend.
There’s a long line at the ticket box when I get there. I wait, shivering against the cold. Once I’m inside the stadium and my blood starts pumping from the excitement, I won’t be so cold, but right now, the wind slices right through my clothes.
“Next,” the attendant working the box calls.
Stepping up, I place my hands on the counter and rub them together to ward off the cold. The girl on the other side of the counter is pretty, with long blonde hair and a sorority look to her. She looks down her nose, waiting for me to tell her why I’m here.
A slice of doubt runs through my veins as I imagine Hayes’s arms around a girl who looked like her two years ago.
My stomach threatens to revolt, but it’s not two years ago. We’ve both grown up a lot since then.
“Hayes Miller left a ticket here for me,” I say, and I don’t miss the look of disbelief on the girl’s face.
“Name?” The word comes out with so much disgust that it’s clear she doesn’t like me—or maybe it’s just her job that she doesn’t like.
“Mallorie Jade Harrison.”
“Nope, only ticket here is for a guy named MJ. Next.”
The girl looks past me to the next person, and now I’m irritated.
“MJ isn’t a guy. It’s me. I’ll take my ticket now.” I refuse to budge, much to the girl’s annoyance. Rolling her eyes, she shoves the ticket into my hand.
By the time I reach my seat, the annoyance has sunk deeper, and I wonder for the second time if I should just go.
But the band starts to play, and the players exit the tunnel. The atmosphere ticks up ten notches as fans jump to their feet to welcome the boys in. Through the crowd, I hear chants of my brother’s and Hayes’s names. It’s surreal to hear strangers cheer for the two men who mean the most to me.
I’m sitting on the front row on the fifty-yard line. Hayes must have paid a fortune for me to sit here because I know the tickets that the players receive for friends and family aren’t this good.
The boys line the sideline, and suddenly I’m pretty grateful for my seats because standing right there in front of me is Hayes Miller. He has a huge smile on his face, and he’s looking back at me.
My heart flutters at that smile, and I rub my hand over my chest. The motion draws Hayes’s eyes to my jersey. When he sees the number there, he drags his gaze back to mine, his face serious now. Twirling his finger, he motions for me to turn around, and I obey, moving my hair so he can see the name on my back. Once I’m sure he’s read it, I look back over my shoulder, and I know that our friendship is over.
Out of an entire football stadium where the noise is almost deafening, Hayes looks at me like I’m the only one he sees. There’s nothing friendly in that stare.
I giggle when one of his teammates hits his shoulder, bringing his attention back to the field.
There isn’t a lot that I’m afraid of, but I’m scared of Hayes because he has the power to crush me.
The coin is tossed, and my brother walks off the field with the rest of the captains. His shoulders are pushed back, and for a minute, he doesn’t look like the broken man I know he is.
I wish he could have loved this game for him and no one else. I think he would have been happy then. But my dad made him hate the game, and because of that, he lost himself.
The other team kicks off, and Langston and Hayes take the field together. They fist bump, the same thing they’ve done at the start of every game since middle school, and I’m thankful that Langston has Hayes.
A heaviness sits on my chest. Will Langston be hurt if he knows I’m here for someone other than him? Will it fracture their friendship if I admit I have bigger feelings than just friendship for Hayes?
The last time we tried that, we never had to explain it to Langston because we broke it before it could begin, but this is different. I’m on the fifty-yard of their football game, wearing Hayes’s last name on my back.
That’s harder to hide.
The game begins, and the worries float away as I get lost in a game I used to love, too. The roar of the crowd and the close score keeps me on my feet, jumping up and down and cheering for my boys.
When the game is down to the last minute, and our team has the ball, my heart thunders in my ears.
Langston and Hayes stand together on the field—the double duo.
The quarterback and his favorite receiver. It’s what the announcers have called them all night.
The double duo—the perfect team.
Nausea rolls through my stomach. I should go. I shouldn’t wait to see who wins the bet because it won’t lead us anywhere good.
But my limbs are frozen, stuck in place watching as Hayes sets his helmet against Langston’s, a heated discussion between the two.
I can’t see their lips, but if I were a betting woman, I would bet Hayes is trying to get the ball in his hands for the winning touchdown.
The two join the huddle. The players get set on the line, waiting for the snap.
And when the ball flies from the center to Langston’s waiting hands, the enormity of this moment thrums in the air.
It’s not just a game on the line. It’s my heart.
Time freezes as Langston’s eyes find Hayes wide open in the end zone. The ball leaves his hand, flying through the air. The noise that has been overwhelming all night becomes muted—my heartbeat overriding it all.
The ball sails flawlessly through the air, finding Hayes with no effort, and it all comes rushing back: the noise, the crowd, and the fact that Hayes won the game and the bet.
My arms shoot in the air, and I’m jumping with fans around me.
Hayes rips his helmet off, and I can see his smile even from halfway down the field.
It’s beautiful and contagious.
He runs down the sideline, surrounded by his teammates, and when he’s close enough to me, he winks.
Looking around the field, I search for Langston. He’s on the other side, doing a player interview. Hayes must realize that because he rushes towards the stands, jumping up to the bleachers.
My laugh is light and free and happy. I hadn’t realized how stressed I’ve been about Langston until I felt what it was like to be weightless. That’s what this moment is for me—weightless.
Hayes’s hair hangs in his eyes, sweaty from his helmet. My hand clings to the front of his jersey as I smile up at him.
“I win.” He leans in, saying it close to my ear so I can hear him over the crowd, and when he pulls back, there’s a grin on his face.
“And what exactly is it you win?” I ask, still clinging to him.
“You. I win you, MJ. Go on a date with me.”
It’s a demand, one that I know I’m free to say no to because that’s the thing about Hayes: he doesn’t stop me from making my own decisions. But I don’t want to say no to him, not anymore.
So I lean in, dropping my lips to his, and when I pull back, his eyes are wide. “Yes, Hayes. I’ll go on a date with you.”