Page 69 of Fall For Me
An older couple is sitting in the center. He has striking red hair with silver threading through the auburn, and she’s elegant with the posture of someone who’s spent a lifetime being important. The woman’s eyes are a familiar shade of aquamarine.
“Are those Lila’s parents?” I whisper to Liam.
“Yep, Thomas and Lucy Callaway.”
And then every muscle in my neck locks up as I spot Charles and Margaret Rockwood seated in the far-right section.
“Did you know your parents were coming?” I hiss.
“Yes,” Liam says, as if it’s nothing major.
“A heads-up would’ve been nice.”
“Come on, we’re just going to say hi and sit somewhere else.” He pulls me toward them.
“Mom. Dad.” Liam drops a kiss on his mother’s cheek while patting his father’s shoulder.
We endure five minutes of excruciating small talk until, mercifully, the band starts playing and we take our seats on the opposite side where the “young crowd” is hanging out.
We escape to the front row, where Rebecca scoots over one seat to make room. Faye, Ryder, and Rhys have taken the seats next to her. No younger Evans sibling, I notice.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Rebecca says under her breath. “I thought you were going to be stuck in the parental zone all night.”
Faye leans across Ryder to grin at us and steal a gummy bear from the packet Rhys is holding.
“Hey,” the boy protests.
Faye pouts. “May I have one, please?”
Rhys huffs. “Make that face at Dad, and he’s going to give you a whole bag.”
Faye turns her doe eyes on Ryder, who also huffs and, shaking his head, produces an extra pouch from his jacket pocket and hands it to her.
I sink into the seat beside Liam. The field spreads out below us, the pristine turf gleaming under the stadium lights. The bleachers on either side are packed with fans, a sea of blue and silver rippling with movement.
“I can’t believe how many people are here,” I say.
“Told you.” Liam settles in, stretching his arm along the back of my seat—casual, proprietary, very married. “The whole town shows up.”
A voice booms through the speakers, and the crowd erupts.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Harbor Field! Tonight, your Blue Crescent Harbor Bobcats take on the Lakewood Lions!”
The student commentator—he can’t be older than seventeen—sounds like a seasoned ESPN announcer. The professionalism is unreal.
The band launches into a fight anthem as the players burst through a paper banner, the team’s mascot, a snarling bobcat in a cartoonish, bulky costume, leading the charge. The cheerleaders form a tunnel of pom-poms. Smoke machines pump fog across the field.
Each player is introduced, their stats and position flashing on the screen as they jog to the fifty-yard line. The crowd cheers for favorites, boos playfully at rivals from the other team. By the time the starting lineup is complete, I’m invested in these kids I’ve never met.
Then the game starts.
I’ve watched football on television before. Casual glances during Thanksgiving, or the Super Bowl for the commercials. I understood the basic concept: get the ball to the end zone, don’t let the other team do the same.
What I did not understand from behind a screen was the violence.
The first tackle makes me flinch so hard that I grab Liam’s knee. “Is he okay? That looked… The guy just… he flew through the air?—”
“He’s fine.” Liam’s hand covers mine, stilling my frantic grip. “It’s the game.”
