Page 38 of The Way We Win

“I’m being careful. This one’s a baddie.” Dylan puts the lid on the pot and nods at the freezer. “We’re going to need all the ice cream tonight, Al.”

“What’s our warning? Only try this one if you have a death wish?”

“Here, I wrote it down.” She hands me the iPad, and I scan the note she has on the screen.

I’ve spent two days working with Liv on the drill team. Two days going out to the football field and watching Jack stand with his strong arms crossed, ball cap lowered over his eyes, that muscle moving in his square jaw.

For two days, I’ve triednotto act like a love-struck teenager every time I catch him looking at me. I can’t take my eyes off him since he lifted me by the arms and practically shoved me into my house, closing the door like it was all he could do to put a barrier between us.

I was awake the rest of the night. My insides were soaring, and all I could see was the fire in his eyes. I repeated his words over and over in my mind,I needed to see you… It’s different with you…

Then he took my hand and dragged me to the house like it took all his willpower to get away from me.

Now it’s burning between us like a wildfire. Every day I go to the field, and I try to watch my son. I don’t know what Jacksaid to him, but his confidence is restored. He’s playing better than he’s played all year.

Even when Jack switched up the positions yesterday, putting Levi in the quarterback spot, it wasn’t the same. Levi couldn’t match the energy Austin had, and even though all the running backs were doing their best, it was clear who the boys wanted as team captain.

Austin was back in the top spot this afternoon, and all everyone could talk about was the Captains going all the way to the state championships.

It feels more possible than ever before.

I wonder if Jack will come to the restaurant tonight. He’s stayed away every night since Monday, from what I’ve heard. I came back Tuesday, ready to face him and get it over with, but he wasn’t here.

He wasn’t here last night, when Rachel told us Edward was joining the team as the second-string kicker.

We were all excited and encouraging, but Edward’s expression never changed.

“Kicking requires more focused skill than brute strength,” he explained in his usual, logical tone. “It’s the only position I could have on the team, as kickers rarely get hurt.”

Austin smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “I think it’s pretty cool having you onboard. I hope Rome gives you a chance.”

I’ve always been proud of my son, but the way he befriended Rachel’s brother and always looks out for him at school and now on the team makes me feel like he didn’t get any of his father’s bad genes.

His father, who as of now, hasn’t made a peep.

I watch the news every day, and I text with friends back home. They say he’s in the city, but he’s lying low. The thought of him roaming around our old neighborhood makes my stomach churn, but we’ve got a thousand eyes on him. I’ve got to believe at least one of them will warn me if anything changes.

“Are we doing this?” Craig hollers from where he’s standing at the PA system in his blond Sandy-from-Greasewig.

Every Dare Night, he picks out a special fire-themed song to play while the brave customers line up to try Dylan’s latest concoction.

“Yes!” I step up on a chair to give the warning. “Okay, people, this one’s a baddie. Ready to be warned?”

A low roar moves through the line, and I start to read. “Pepper X is currently the hottest pepper in the world. It ranks higher than both the Carolina Reaper and the Komodo Dragon with a score of three million on the Scoville heat scale. Seriously, y’all, this one is experts only.”

A few people step out of line, shaking their heads and laughing. I nod, pointing at them as I continue, finishing off the warning.

“Dylan has made a delicious Pepper X pork chili with a coconut and sour cream base. It’s loaded with beans and cheese to help cut the heat, and as always, we have cups of vanilla ice cream, milk, and tomato juice for our lactose-intolerant friends. Water or beer will not soothe the burn, since it’s an oil.”

I’m about to put the iPad down when Dylan hisses at me. “You skipped the last part!”

“Oh, sorry!” I hold up a finger. “One last thing—this one’s for you, Oliver Duck.”

A chuckle ripples through the crowd as Dylan’s teenage nemesis smirks and walks to the front of the line. He’s a skinny, red-headed guy with wire-rimmed glasses, and he hasn’t met a pepper he can’t eat. He makes me believe in that old “redheads don’t feel pain” myth.

Dylan hands him a serving, and he takes it, running his eyes over her hand before lifting the spoon and taking a bite.

He holds a minute, and we all watch him closely. I don’t see a change, or maybe that’s a slight flinch in his left eye?

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