Page 97 of Off Limits
She looks at me for a moment, as though thinking about something. ‘It’s okay.’ She puts her arms around me. ‘Whatever it is, you cannot quit. Do you remember how hard you worked just to get here? How brilliant everyone thinks you are?’
I pull back and wipe my face. ‘I don’t wanna quit. But I may not have a choice.’
‘Does Harmony know? That you’re even thinking about it?’
‘Nobody knows. Except you now.’
Her gaze turns steely. She squeezes my biceps with her hands. ‘As your fellow rookie, I won’t let you quit. Everybody loves you, Ren. If you’re in a jam, then people will understand. Is it really so bad?’
I want to tell her that the guy she likes is the guy I like too, only I don’t think he likes me anymore. I want to tell her that most days when I get home, I shed tears because it feels like I’m falling apart at the seams, and I don’t have anyone else I can talk to about it. I want to tell her that most days I skip lunch because I don’t feel like eating, but now it’s become a thing. I want to tell her that I don’t feel worthy of this cheer squad, because I’m a liar, and one day everything is gonna come crashing down around my ears.
Except I force a bright smile. ‘I’ll be alright,’ I say, because I don’t even know where to start.
‘Atta girl,’ Jewel says with a grin as she wraps me in a bear hug, practically lifting me off the ground. ‘Now quit talking about quitting and tell Kathleen some creep is messaging you.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jake
I’ve often thought my dad might be my biggest fan. Which would make me the most ungrateful sonofabitch on the planet right about now. He’s making me a late lunch, consisting of my favorite breakfast foods: bacon, eggs and hash browns with a stack of fluffy buttermilk pancakes after my three-hour flight back from Cleveland. He hasn’t quit talking about Sunday night’s game.
‘You keep putting up that many yards, you’ll get to the hall of fame in no time,’ he’s saying at the stove. He fills up the plate and slides it onto the table in front of me, the delicious aroma filling my nose. I help myself to ketchup then dig in immediately.
‘You know, on the radio this morning, they said the same thing I said to your mom, last night in front of the TV. I ain’t never seen a player hurdle his opponent twice in the same game. But you went ahead and did it, Jake. Spectacular.’
‘Mmm,’ I respond with my cheeks full.
‘No matter what that defensive line threw at you, you kept on finding the pocket. Dang near Speedy Gonzales.’ He moves his hand in all directions, makingpitchowsounds.
‘Mmm,’ I say again.
‘And that catch in the third quarter!’ He slaps his knee. ‘You could see Dent had gone down, and you went for it.’
‘Mmm,’ I comment for a third time.
He frowns at me. The room goes silent, except for the sound of my knife and fork hitting the plate. ‘But you don’t look happy,’ he says.
‘I am happy,’ I say. ‘I’m happy for my team. We got the win.’
My dad shakes his head at me. ‘Son, when are you gonna start giving yourself some credit? You were dynamite out there! You wanna know what your granddaddy said?’
He’s referring to my maternal grandfather, Art Mackabee, career quarterback for the Pittsburgh Steelers way back when.
I wipe my mouth with one of my mother’s floral napkins. ‘What’d he say?’
Dad’s waving his phone at me. ‘He said “kid plays better than I did!” Do you know what that means, coming from your grandfather?’
I laugh but it fades. I can’t talk about the real issue I’m having.
Yes, I played a great game. And I’m thrilled about that. I am. We carry on like this, the Mutineers will make the playoffs, no sweat.
That’s not what’s on my mind.
All I can think about is Friday night.
Serenity.
Serenity.
