Page 87 of Play Maker

I take his face and tip it up. “Don’t second-guess my word.”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“Does Deborah know?”

“She thinks I was raised by my uncle, in Ohio. Frank Grimes, a friend of Coach D’s. Was always our story. He died my sophomore year in college. I never told her any different. Never told anyone but you. She used that against me enough, she didn’t get more.”

“I know you’re thinking she knows, and that’s why she reached out to him, but that’s not necessarily true. Didn’t you and he have beef on the field at the last game?”

He crashes his eyes together. “He cornered me, accused me of knowing that my old man had more than a body count of two, and had I told someone back then, his mom wouldn’t have been one of them.” He opens them. “Called meRunawaythe whole fucking game. Said I hid from the past like a little bitch.”

“It’s called healing.”

“Talked to Coach D; he said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You have to trust in that.”

“What else can I even do, Lo?”

“You remember you saved his life. Remember what the paper said. You are a survivor and a hero.”

“Didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Exactly.”

He leans in and rests his forehead against my chest. “I wanna stay like this. Don’t want to tell my fucking story to anyone but you.”

“You don’t have to, not ever.”

“And what if I don’t have a choice?”

“It may not seem like much, but you have me.”

“Lo,” he whispers. “That’s more than you can possibly imagine, and I will make damn sure I prove how much that means every fucking day.”

I don’t know how long I stand there holding him like that, but it’s long enough to feel him break, and then long enough to feel him rebuild.

When he finally looks up at me, he searches my eyes, looking so deep in them for an answer, one I couldn’t possibly have.

“I love you, Lauren Brooks.”

“I loveyou, Kolby Grimes.”

He searches my eyes again and asks, “But?”

“What do you meanbut? There is no but. It’s?—”

“I see a question in those beautiful eyes of yours.”

“We’ve got time for that. This whole conversation was supposed to happen after the game.”

“I need to know the one that’s hanging right there in your eyes.”

“It’s so lame,” I admit.

“No question you have about me is lame, Lo. I’ll answer anything.”

“I want to know what your name used to be so I can internet stalk you and find all your awkward phases.”

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