I’m going to need both school and club seasons this year—junior year—to secure the only type of college ride I can afford: a free one. We both know it. And we both would do anything to make sure those scholarships and Olympic team accolades happen. Or I thought we would—apparently this method, my choice, isn’t common ground.
Dad purses his full lips, hands on hips, the rest of his body perfectly still. After a moment, his mouth drops open and the words come out at a precise pace.
“No more football, Olive. It’s too dangerous. I know you’re trying to prove a point, but if you get badly injured, you can kiss softball goodbye altogether. You have a much better chance of making the team healthy and repentant for your actions than injured and proud.”
“Dad—”
“No more football.”
“But—”
He holds up a hand and I go quiet, leaving my next words unsaid. But I can’t get a full ride without being on a team. And I can’t be on a team without proving I’m teammate material. And the only way to do that is to play football.
“No. More. Football. Do you understand?” I squeeze my eyes shut and nod. “And you’re grounded this weekend. No cell, no computer, no car.”
He presents a palm for my phone and keys. When I hand them over, he gives one last stoic Dad look before turning to go inside, no doubt to retrieve my laptop.
Conversation over. Concluded. Done.
But I’m not.
My lips quiver as I shoot words at his back.
“Dad, please.”
He keeps walking. But I’m rooted to the spot. I force myself to be louder. Not to yell, but to make sure he hears me.
“Dad. Please. Please listen to me. I’m good at this. I’m part of the team. I won’t get hurt.” The tears are still spilling over my face. “I’ll play. And Coach Kitt will see. And I’ll play softball in the spring. I promise.”
But he doesn’t turn around.
18
I WAKE UP IN A STATE OF EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH—head pounding, eyes throbbing, the early morning sunlight too much. In basically five hours last night, I went from a stratospheric high full of touchdowns, applause, and kisses with Grey (not sure that’s the right order, honestly) and then all the way to the lowest of freaking lows, with Dad effectively killing all those things with a single sentence.
I want to believe it didn’t happen. That I’m going to be headed to practice in a few minutes where I’ll see Grey, he’ll kiss me (preferably in front of Jake), and we’ll lift weights until Coach Lee calls a break to congratulate us all on a job well done.
But with a single open eye, I know that’s all wrong.
The clock says 7:38 AM. An hour later than any time I’ve woken up in the past two weeks, and thirty-eight minutes past when I should’ve been in the weight room. Even Ryan is up and gone, his bed a still life: Wrestling Match with the Sheets.
My desk is bare—no computer there. And my phone charger is limp on my nightstand, phone-free.
Ughhhhh.
I step out of bed with a creak of the floorboards and give myself a once-over in my cheapo full-length mirror. My skin is mottled with bruises of varying sizes and colors. Dark purple on my thigh. Yellow in the middle of my upper arm on my nonthrowing side. Brownish-green on both shins.
A knock comes at the door.
“Liv?”
Ryan. I instantly wonder how long he’s been standing out there, waiting for a sign of life. I squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself that I can’t be mad at him. None of this is his fault. It’s completely mine and mine alone.
“Yeah?” My voice is dry and I need water. Sweaty minutes on the field, late-night pancakes, and toothpaste leaving me parched.
“Can I come in?” The door opens a crack and he’s shoved his arm through the space, a Krispy Kreme doughnut bag tight in his fist. “I got you breakfast.”
Oh, how the tables have turned.
I sigh. “Ry, you didn’t have to.”
His head pops in as the door widens. “I didn’t have to, but Heather wanted company for her cold brew, so these doughnut holes just happened to work their way into my life.”
I smile weakly. This family’s love language is most definitely food. Ryan scoots into our room, turns to shut the door, and when he’s facing me again, I see he brought me a Pepsi, too.
His hazel eyes meet mine and he lights up in a smile. “Yes, I’m plying you with sugar.”
I take the bag and pop open the can. The fizz burns at my throat, and it’s exactly what I need. “Plying?”
A shrug. “It was in my English homework this week. Seemed appropriate.”
“My little brother, using grown-up words.”
He grins and dumps himself onto my bed. I sit down next to him and put the Krispy Kreme bag between us.
Just for him, I stuff an entire doughnut hole into my mouth and wash it down with more fizz. Even though all this sugar is totally going to make my headache worse. Still, I love him so hard for realizing I might need a treat.
“What did Dad do?” he asks.
“Told me to quit the team.”
He blinks. “Did you tell him about Coach Kitt and being recruited by Grey? Did you tell him that you threw three freaking touchdowns?”
“He didn’t want to hear it. He informed me that I didn’t think things through.”
“Sounds pretty similar to the speech he gave me about placekicking. ‘What if you get hit, Ryan, what then?’”
I nod—my brother is definitely angling for a full ride to play soccer. Circumstance gave us identical plans. “Same speech. I told him I’d already been hit, but he kept going—didn’t even acknowledge it. Had to stick to the script, I guess.”
“What else?” Ryan stuffs three doughnut holes into his mouth before I can ask what he means, but I’m pretty sure I know.
“No phone, no computer, no car the rest of the weekend. Grounded.”
He swallows. “Harsh.”
Yes, but it’s not the grounding that’s cleaved a void in my chest. Who knew eight days could leave such a wound? I didn’t know how much I’d enjoy football. I sigh.
Ryan crams two more doughnut holes into his mouth, slamming them down before speaking again. “So, what are you going to do?”
“Homework without a computer. Like a heathen.”
“Total heathen.”
“Good thing I don’t have a paper due.”
“You don’t, but I do.” He stands, and I realize he’s in workout gear but not his soccer stuff—no weekend practices for him, even on varsity. “Jesse and I are going to shoot some hoops. Paper later. Wanna watch a movie after? You aren’t grounded from that, right?”
I haven’t been grounded in forever, so I honestly don’t know. “I don’t think so.”
“Furious 7?”
I grin. “It’s a date.”
He turns at the door. “You sure you’re okay?”
A smile is at my lips, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. That’s just not going to happen today.
“No.” My voice cracks.
Ryan ducks his head, takes three steps to cross the room, and crushes me in a hug. He doesn’t say anything. Just squeezes me as tight as I need.