Page 51 of The Wrong Quarterback

And with each minute that passed it felt more and more like I’d made a mistake.

I finally turned to go, but the door opened, and Gray stumbled out. His hair was mussed, eyes glassy, but they softened when he saw me. The concern that flared up in them made my chest constrict.

“Case?” His voice was hoarse, tinged with confusion and the edges of a night spent drinking. He took a step closer, brows drawing together as he took in my drenched state. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I went to Ben’s grave today,” I whispered, my voice barely holding together. It felt like the rain and cold had seeped all the way through to my bones. “I—I’m feeling weak. I just need to be around someone who loved him the way I did, you know? Sometimes…sometimes it just feels like too much.”

His face fell, and he reached for me, fingertips brushing my arm like he wasn’t sure if touching me would hold me together or break me apart.

“Case, I’m—” His words tangled on his tongue, the sadness in his eyes cutting through me. Before he could say more, another voice called out from the doorway.

“Gray! We need you in here, man!” A guy, just as drunk and oblivious as the first one that had opened the door, poked his head out, looking annoyed before noticing me and raising an eyebrow.

Gray’s jaw tightened. “Come inside,” he told me. “We can go to my room, and you can get dried off in there while I finish up.”

I hesitated, pulling away from him. “It’s okay, I can just go?—”

“Just come inside, Case. Everything’s going to be alright.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believeinhim.

Gray took my hand, his fingers warm against my frozen ones, and led me inside. The heat of the house was immediate, pressing against my wet skin and making my clothes stick uncomfortably.

It also smelled really bad.

There was nothing like the smell that came from a large group of drunk people confined in a small space.

I barely registered the chaos of the room we passed through—shirtless guys with pledge name tags standing in a line, akiddie pool set up in front of them. One of them was guzzling something while the others cheered, but Gray didn’t pause long enough for me to make sense of it. He tugged me up a set of creaking stairs, the noise from below fading into a muffled roar as we turned the corner and entered his room.

The door clicked shut behind us, and the quiet was almost startling. I glanced around, Gray’s room was cluttered, but some of it reminded me of his room growing up. There was still the scent of old cologne and the faint musk of laundry that needed washing. Posters of football and basketball legends covered the walls, faded and tacked up. A bookshelf in the corner leaned under the weight of scattered notebooks. His bed was unmade, navy sheets twisted and rumpled, one pillow teetering on the edge like it might fall at any second. A Tennessee Tigers flag hung crooked above the headboard, and a small lamp glowed dimly, casting soft shadows.

Gray disappeared into the small bathroom connected to his room and returned with a towel. He handed it to me, his eyes lingering, searching my face like he could read all the words I hadn’t said. “Here,” he said, his voice still gentle and everything that I needed at the moment. I was so wet that I was literally leaving a puddle on his wooden floor. I quickly wrapped the towel around my hair and squeezed, trying to stop it from dripping anymore.

He laughed softly and turned to his dresser, rummaging through it before pulling out a pair of sweats and a faded gray t-shirt. “These are going to drown you, but at least they’re dry,” he said, holding them out. “I need to give you a drawer if you’re going to make this a habit, though,” he tried to tease.

“Thanks,” I whispered, my voice wavering. The warmth of the room was starting to seep into my skin, but it didn’t touch the chill that sat heavy inside me. The silence stretched betweenus, almost awkward but laced with something deeper—grief and unspoken words…and the past.

“You should have told me you were going to the cemetery. I would have come with you,” he finally said, sliding his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the door. “That’s what, a two-hour drive just to get back there?”

“Yeah,” I answered, staring at the blue tinge of my fingertips. “It was a long afternoon.” I glanced up at him. “When was the last time you went?”

He looked torn at my question…and ashamed. “Not since the funeral,” he finally muttered.

I nodded, wishing I hadn’t asked at all. Gray stared at the floor for a long moment before he walked over to his desk and picked up a photo frame that I hadn’t noticed before.

It was us. Gray, Ben, and me. We were standing on the dock, and Ben and Gray were both holding up big fish that they’d caught, both of them looking so proud. Meanwhile, I had my arms crossed and a scowl on my face because I hadn’t caught anything yet.

I smiled, remembering that day.

Both boys had finally gotten sick of my bitching and spent the rest of the afternoon helping me to catch my first fish. And when I’d finally gotten a bite on my line…it had been a fish about the size of my hand.

I’d still been so proud of myself. Even though Ben was the one who’d actually put the worm on the hook, and Gray had been the one to pull the fish in.

“The Three Musketeers,” he said quietly as he stared at the picture.

I had the strong urge to burst into hysterics again, but I held it in.

A knock pounded on the door and we both jumped, the frame falling from Gray’s hands and landing with a thump on the floor.“Gray, get the hell downstairs. You’re supposed to be managing this,” a drunken voice called.

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