Page 22 of Saving the Halfback

“What? Getting jealous?” My eyes traveled up the guy who used to be my best friend. “No, not even she can get you out of Daddy’s pocket.”

Chase’s eyes flared behind his helmet, and next thing I knew, I was being knocked back on my ass.

“What is going on?” Coach Bryer yelled at us.

Chase glared down at me, like the dirt I knew he always saw me as, before looking up. “Nothing, just practicing.”

“Yeah, well, how about you practice with some extra suicides? Go!” Bryer blew his whistle.

Fucking Chase, the dickhead. I had a busy night tonight, and I knew the extra suicides were going to hurt later. I got up and stood on the line next to him. Bryer blew the whistle, and we took off. Of course, Chase made it into a competition by sending another glare over his shoulder before pushing himself harder. I could feel the sweat dripping beneath my gear, but I refused to bow down to him. Rich boy was nothing but a pussy puppet for his father.

I pushed harder, but Chase only matched my speed. By the time Bryer blew the whistle, indicating our punishment was done, we were both dripping and huffing. Still, I tried not to show it. I took a deep breath and stood straight as my legs shook. I tried not to let pride fill me, but a certain smugness spread across my lips when I saw Chase’s calves trembling as well.

“Well, I like the enthusiasm, but just remember, we are a team. We play as a team. There will be no fights on this field against one of our own, got it?” Bryer tried to be stern, but he wasn’t as scary as Coach. We quickly nodded at him, and he went back to running the drill with some of the defense.

“You’re a dick.” Chase breathed hard.

“Maybe, but at least I’m a fucking loyal dick.”

“What does that even mean?”

I turned to him, ready to chew him out for choosing money over our friendship, and that's when I noticed his eyes drifting over to Bailey. Nolan was chatting with her, and she threw her head back, laughing, her fingers curled around his upper arm. Nolan grinned as he demonstrated his arm movement when throwing the ball. He put emphasis on how he held the ball, his finger placement. When she went to copy him, he put his hands on her hips, guiding them to a throwing stance, then adjustedher shoulders. I growled when I watched his hands linger on her longer than necessary.

“Fuuuuck.” I stretched out my wrists, rotating them as I balled my fists, feeling the cracks.

“Yeah, well, she made her choice,” Chase said. There was a beat of silence as Chase locked eyes with me, and instead of the privileged rich kid I had decided he was, I saw a flicker of the guy I’d once known. The one who snuck me out of my bedroom window when my dad was drunk off his mind, when furniture was flying as hard as fists. The one who hid me in his room for days on end, so I wouldn’t have to go back home until Dad ran out of alcohol and money and sent the police out, searching for me.

His gaze searched my face, and it pissed me off. It pissed me off that he was making me second-guess where we stood with one another. My wall had grown thick over the years; it's the way I needed it. It didn’t matter if the better far outweighed the worse; if there was ever a slight chance of worse, I would always avoid it.

“What happened to us?” he asked.

I laughed. There was no fucking humor in it. He knew exactly what had happened. On the field, we all had an agreement—we were teammates, nothing else. We played the game, and we ran the plays. The football field was the neutral zone. I turned and walked away before I ended up breaking something. Though, truth be told, I wasn’t exactly sure if it was him or me that would be breaking.

After practice,I made quick work of showering and gathering my things. I was ready to walk out when I heard Lachlan talking. “She said nothing to me. But it was weird, right?”

“Yeah,” Nolan said. “I got her to loosen up during practice, but did you see her shaking in art? Think she was nervous about football?”

I nearly scoffed. Not Bailey.

“Not Bailey,” Lachlan said, echoing my thoughts. “She used to play football with us all the time growing up. She's always up for a challenge.” Their voices started to fade, as if they were walking away.

I spotted Bailey getting into her truck as I walked out to my car-for-the-day, an older Mazda. I could go up to her and demand what was going on. I bet she’d talk to me, too, the way she was making changes from the past few years. But then what? Talking wouldn’t keep her safe. Talking it out kept no one safe. She might be a bit sad today, a bit different from the last couple of days, but that was nothing compared to the danger I’d put her in just by being around her. No, keeping her away from me was just as good as keeping her safe.

I drove back to Cloverton.

There was only one mechanic in town, Gerry, and he often got overwhelmed, so in exchange for borrowing a car on football practice days, when the rental was available, I would help out around the shop. Plus, he paid me a small amount, which helped when you had a deadbeat parent.

Pushing all thoughts of Bailey and school from my mind, I got to work changing the oil in three cars, cleaning up the shop and organizing some of the tools, then finally closing up.

I pulled out my phone and sent Gerry a quick text, telling him I had finished the work. I didn’t have to wait long before he messaged back, saying my pay was in an envelope on the desk. Thank god. I was starving.

Exhausted and in pain, I made the walk to the corner store that was on the way home. It was only a twenty-minute walk through town, so it wasn’t bad.

I got my usual jar of peanut butter and loaf of bread. It was something I could make stretch for the week. Since I still had to factor in the cost of gas to and from school, I couldn’t spend all my money on food. Even though adding in the calcium from milk would do me good, it spoiled quickly, and there wasn’t a guarantee I could make it to the kitchen on a daily basis. I knew I needed more protein, so I skimmed the beef jerky and pepperoni stick aisle. I had been getting sluggish during practice this week. I was lucky to get breakfast after morning practices, but evening practices were getting difficult. At least they should be stopping soon. I picked out a few bags of jerky and some protein bars and made my way to the cashier. He said nothing as he rang me up, and I passed him a couple of bills.

I chewed on a piece of jerky as I made my way home. While the kids in town called where I lived a trailer park, it wasn't. They were mobile homes, some of which had more yard space than the new condos they were building. Most of the people down the street were working hard at cleaning it up as well. The landscaping was looking better with each passing year, and some really nice people had started moving in. Of course, there were still a few neglected homes…like mine.

I stood staring at my house from the curb. The grass was almost up to my knees. I was going to have to cut it soon before we got another letter from the township. A few washers and dryers piled in the attached carport, which the township stopped fighting my father about. The driveway was cracked and uneven, though I couldn’t see it now because of the number of vehicles parked in it, indicating his friends were over. My grandmother would be rolling in her grave if she saw this now, her home in shambles.

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