In the aftermath of everything that happened with Sara, my dad sat me down with Coach Gomez. That conversation ended with me agreeing to transfer to McKee, and he had the same advice then. I hadn’t been lying to Bex when I said the only relationship in my life was football. Last time I tried to balance both, I nearly lost everything.
I don’t think much about Sara anymore, but lately, she’s come up more than I’m comfortable admitting.
“Alright. And how are you adjusting to McKee?”
“It’s been good, sir. I like living back with my brothers.”
“Shame that Rich Callahan has three sons, but only one chose the right sport.” He chuckles a bit, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “And how are the classes? What about that writing one? Still sorry I couldn’t get you out of it.”
“It’s okay. I failed it the first time, I deserve to take it again.” I run a hand over my sweaty hair. “It’s fine.”
“You sure? Any help I can give you?”
In the locker room, stuffed at the bottom of my bag, is my first formal assignment for this stupid-ass class.
I got a D-. Who gives a D-? The guy should’ve just failed me. I still can’t believe that’s what I got; I spent longer on that one page of writing than any of the work for my other classes all last Sunday. The thought of all those red marks on that crumpled up piece of paper, hidden like a child’s report card, burns into my mind.
And maybe that’s why I lie.
I already told Coach Gomez one truth. I’m not sure I can handle another today. He’s giving me the chance of a lifetime, letting me come here and lead his team to hopefully a victorious season, resetting the view the NFL has of me before it’s time for the draft next spring. He shouldn’t have to worry about anything but the game. Not me getting distracted by a girl. Not me still being a crap writer.
“Yep,” I say. “I, um, hired a tutor and everything.”
His face relaxes. “Good. Who is it? Someone from the media center? TA?”
“She’s in my class. She took it already and did well, at her old school, but McKee didn’t accept the credit.”
He shakes his head. “This academic policy, I swear. Well, happy to hear it, son. Let’s keep your eyes on the prize. No distractions.”
“No distractions,” I repeat. “Got it, sir.”
I don’t know much about writing, but I do know I’ve had a lot of tutors in my life, and for whatever reason, Bex managed to get through to me in a way no one else has. If there’s anyone who can help me with this class, it’s her. I’m just going to have to put my attraction in a little box, not think about it, and focus…
But first, I need to get Bex on board.
9
BEX
“There you go, Sam. Need anything else?”
“No ma’am, that looks perfect.” Sam, one of Abby’s Place’s regulars, smiles at me from where he sits on his counter stool. He unwraps his silverware with shaking fingers. I resist the urge to offer him the salt before he knocks it over again. Like small town diners everywhere, the same people come into ours almost every day for breakfast and lunch, and a lot of them are older people who don’t want to, or can’t, cook anymore. Sam’s a widower. His wife used to take care of the cooking, but now that she’s passed, he comes here for his morning eggs.
I smile before clearing the place setting next to him. I scoop up the tip, but instead of tucking it into my own pocket, I stuff it into the communal jar. Stacy and Christina need the money more than me right now. Christina catches me doing it and shakes her head, but I don’t miss the grateful look in her eye. She’s a single mom and her son’s dad is an asshole. She’s taken him to court over child support, but it’s not resolved yet.
I grab my mug of coffee and take a deep sip. The morning rush has emptied, leaving behind a couple of older folks like Sam. Lunches are busy, thanks to our location in downtown Pine Ridge, and we keep things open a couple evenings a week because we sell pie and ice cream to the teenagers hanging out in town at night. Since I started at McKee, I haven’t been able to take every weekend shift, but I try when I can, since the weekdays are harder for me.
Maybe someone coming in here casually wouldn’t see what I see. They’d see the photography I took and carefully framed on the walls, or the polished metal buffer that wraps around the counter, or the shiplap over the booths that I painted white two summers ago. I have a deal with the florist two doors down to keep fresh flowers out front and on all the tables. But all I can focus on is the stains on the ceiling, the hole in the wall we’re covering up with a photograph, and the finicky refrigerator in the back. Abby’s Place is a popular spot, but like all restaurants, it bleeds money. Just getting the food to cook costs an astronomical amount, especially with my mother changing the menu every other week. People like Sam just want their eggs the way they always have them. They don’t need avocado crema on the side, even if it’s delicious.
The bell over the door rings, and a couple walks in. They’re young, probably just a couple years older than me, and honestly, they look a lot like my classmates at McKee. She’s wearing Lululemon and a gold necklace that could probably pay to replace all the appliances in the kitchen, and the guy looks just as put together in a button down and slacks. I don’t know the brand, but I’m sure it’s expensive. It’s probably the sort of thing James would wear out to a restaurant.
The thought of James runs through me like a bolt of lightning.
I still can’t believe that he hasn’t given up on trying to convince me to tutor him. It’s been a week, and his offers are getting more and more ridiculous. Last night, he told me he’d do my laundry for a year. That just made me think about him seeing my underwear, which wasn’t helpful in the slightest.
I need to get him out of my mind.
“Table for two?” I say, coming over with menus tucked under my arm.
“Can we sit at that booth back there?” the woman says. “This place is so charming.”
I smile as I lead them to the back, by the picture window. “Thank you. It’s my mother’s.”
“I told Jackson that we had to check out the local flavor before moving here.” She sits, accepting the menus for them both. “Well, not quite here, of course.”
My smile stiffens. “Of course.”
Pine Ridge isn’t a bad area by any means, but I’m sure someone like her, with money, is looking in one of Hudson Valley’s more expensive areas. I’d bet that he works in finance or something in the city, and she wants a nice big McMansion for him to come home to in the evenings.
“Can I grab you some coffees?”
“Yes,” the guy says. “Waters too. But only if it’s purified.”
As I’m fetching the coffees, the door opens again. I look up automatically… and immediately wish I hadn’t.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hiss as I meet Darryl at the door.
He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. “What a way to greet me, babe.”
I back up two big steps. My hands are trembling, so I shove them into my apron’s pockets, hoping my glare helps him get the goddamn message. “Babe? I’m not your babe anymore, Darryl. What’s going on?”