“One more thing,” I said, and then I ducked into my closet and pulled out my letterman jacket, draping it over her shoulders.
She rolled her eyes, but it didn’t stop her cheeks from flushing a beautiful shade of pink, or her hands from clutching it to her and making sure it didn’t fall off. She pulled it snug around her shoulders, and my chest tightened almost painfully as I stared at her, wondering if it could have been like this all those years ago if I hadn’t had my head so far up my ass.
I swallowed, snatching the car keys off my desk. “Ready?”
Only Kyle and I had cars, Braden and Blake usually hitching a ride with one of us or catching the train to campus. Mary had her car parked across the street. We hopped into mine — a gift from my dad when I graduated high school — and Mary kicked her shoes off as soon as we were buckled in and on the road. Her feet were on my dash in the next moment, tapping along to the beat of No Me Quieras Tanto by José Luis Rodríguez — one of my mom’s favorite songs.
I couldn’t swallow down the knot in my throat, not as I smiled at her or slid my palm to rest between her thighs. Just the sight of her bopping along to a song I’d heard my entire childhood had me imagining the first time she’d meet my mom. I knew Mom would love her, knew they’d get along right off the bat and probably be ganging up on me within an hour. I could picture it all — them sitting together at my games, Mom teaching Mary how to make gazpacho at Christmas — I could even see Dad proudly showing her all his trophies and awards in his basement, happy to explain all the rules of football to her if she was ever confused while watching me play.
I held tight to her the entire drive, one hand on the wheel and the other on her, my thumb grazing lazily over her thigh. We were both quiet, content to listen to the music and just be together, although I didn’t miss how Mary grew more and more confused with every turn.
When I pulled into our high school’s parking lot — one that had been unlocked just for me by special request to my old coach who I still had a good relationship with — she laughed.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” she said, looking at the old brick building and then back at me.
I just smiled and cut the engine, rounding to open her door before holding her hand tight in mine and walking us toward the football field.
So many memories flooded back to me as soon as I opened the gate that led to the field. When my sneakers touched the grass and the distinct smell of fall drifted up to my nose on a breeze, I closed my eyes and inhaled it, feeling like I was seventeen again. Sometimes I missed it, that dramatic and yet simple time in life. My biggest worry was the game on Friday nights. I was looking forward to college, knowing I still had years and years left of playing ball.
Now, my future was uncertain.
I shook off that thought as I held Mary’s hand tighter and walked her over to the bleachers, climbing up several rows before I took a seat and pulled her down next to me.
The sun had already set on our drive over, but the cool, violet light of dusk still clung to the clear sky over the field. It was freshly painted and groomed, the season underway, and the only reason the lights flicked on overhead was because I’d asked Coach to do so.
“I feel like this is trespassing,” Mary said, sliding her arms inside my letterman and crossing her arms against the chill of the night. “Are we allowed to be here?”
“Please, I’m like a celebrity at this school.”
She rolled her eyes. “So they did this just for you, huh?”
“For us.”
“Uh-huh. I can guarantee you, not a single teacher or faculty member remembers my name.”
My smile slipped, gut sinking when I thought about how different our high school years had been. I moved closer to her, sliding my hand between her thighs again and holding tight.
For a moment, we just looked out over the field, listening to the sounds of the city. We were about a half hour from downtown now, the trees more abundant than buildings, but it still had the feel of the city, like Boston bled right into Weston and they were one.
“I used to be here every morning and afternoon,” I told her. “Every fall. In the spring, I’d do track just so I could stay on the field in the off season. And then in the summer, it’d all start back over with camp.”
Mary turned to face me, listening intently.
“My dad was in these stands every game. Mom, too. Never sitting together, though,” I added with a weak smile. “I can still close my eyes and hear the sound of the whistles, the cheers from the stands, and my dad’s voice barreling over all of it.”
“I came to a game once,” Mary said. “I sat in the very top back corner.”
“You did? When? What year?”
She looked down at her nails. “It was the season opener after we met,” she said. “Well, we hadn’t met yet, but…”
I let out a long exhale, tilting her chin with my knuckles and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “I am, too.”
“What the fuck do you have to be sorry for?” I asked with a laugh.
“I didn’t tell you who I was,” she said with a shrug. “I mean, in my dramatic teen head at the time, I felt like I did. But I didn’t really. I shut you out without giving you a chance to explain. If I would have just picked up the phone when you called that night…”
“I might have fucked it all up even worse,” I finished for her. “Listen, I hate thinking about the years I missed with you. But at the same time, I wonder if it all worked out the way it was supposed to.”
Mary shot a brow up.
“Not the horrible things my friends did to you,” I amended, wrapping her cool hands in mine. “I’d go back and kick them all in the dick if I could.”
That made her laugh.
“But I mean… what if we weren’t ready for each other yet? What if I needed to grow up a little?” I paused. “Maybe I didn’t deserve you yet and the universe knew it. But then, when the timing was right… it delivered you right across the street.”
Mary crooked a smile. “Leo Hernandez, a believer in fate?”
“If fate is what brought you to me, I’m not only a believer — I’m a worshiper.”
She shook her head, but leaned into me, her head on my shoulder. “I saw about a dozen girls wearing your number on their shirts that night I came.”
“Am I a pig if I admit I used to love that shit?”
She chuckled. “No. I can only imagine what it felt like.”
“It’s nothing compared to seeing you in the stands now.”
“I don’t have your jersey, though,” she said, leaning up and balancing her chin on my shoulder to look up at me. “Need to change that.”
Everything in me beamed at the thought of her in my jersey, at just the idea of what she’d look like with my number on her chest.
“I brought you here because I wanted to share a little of my life before you came back into it,” I said. “I wanted to tell you what was important to me before I found you again. And I want you to tell me about you, too. I want to know how you spent your days, your nights, how you ended up in the house across the street, how you found your way to the shop, what your parents are like, your brother. Everything.”