Page 26 of Hitting the Goal Line
She didn’t like that very much, so she took my keys from me and shoved me into the passenger seat of my truck. Apparently I was the only one drinking at the party, because she was stone cold sober. At least one of us was. I don’t want to know how bad my face would have looked if she was drunk and wasn’t able to push away Miller’s advances.
Now, I’m sitting in her bathroom in her parents’ house, and she is trying to clean up my face as best she can.
“Where are your parents?” I ask, as she spreads some type of ointment above my eyebrow.
Her face is full of concentration as if she were a nurse or something. She even sticks out her tongue just a bit as she does it.
“On their date night in Belgrade,” she says, reaching for a butterfly Band-Aid.
“They coming home tonight?” I ask, because if they are, I would rather leave before they get here. I don’t need to hear a lecture from her dad about fighting. If my mom doesn’t rip me a new one, he will.
Sophia stops what she is doing and looks me straight in the eye. “Do you really think that I would have brought you here, looking this, if they were? You would have gotten yelled at for fighting and I would have gotten yelled at because I let you get in a fight.” She slaps the Band-Aid on my face to drive her point.
“You didn’t let me fight,” I say, taking in every single inch of her face.
“No, but I was the cause of it.” As she finishes her sentence, her bottom lip quivers as if she is about to cry.
Would she be crying because I got into a fight because of her? Or would it be because of how bad the situation could have gotten if I didn’t follow them down when I did?
“You didn’t cause shit, Soph. That asshole did. I saw you trying to get away from him. I saw you push him away and telling him no. You weren’t the cause of it. He was.”
She just nods and finishes up cleaning up my face. Five minutes later, she backs away to look over her handy work.
“There. Hopefully there won’t be a whole lot of bruising tomorrow. If there is, I’ll just do your make up or something,” she says, more to herself than to me.
“It’s fine. Mom is going to see it anyway when I get home.”
She gives me another nod and starts cleaning up the first-aid kit that is spread out all over the bathroom counter.
I stay seated where I am, on the closed toilet, and just watch her. This night has turned into absolute shit and I know for a fact that there isn’t any way to salvage it.
As she throws away the Band-Aid wrappers, I reach out and take her hand in mine, and turn her body to face me so that I can look into her light brown eyes that match her light brown hair.
“I’m sorry, Sophie.” I start, using the nickname that used a lot when we first met, and rub my thumb against the back of her hand. “I’m sorry for what I said in the car. I’m sorry about the fight. You could have gotten hurt and I didn’t even think. I’m so, so damn sorry Soph.”
She looks down at me, her bottom lip between her teeth and tears still forming in her eyes. I know she is holding them in for me, because I have told her that I hate seeing her cry, especially if I’m the cause of it. But right now, I want, more than anything, to see a tear run down her face because then maybe she will talk to me and accept my apologies.
“You were right, though,” she says, intertwining her fingers with mine and holding on tight. “Some asshole did start getting handsy and begging me to go home with him. I guess that should be a sign to get rid of this skirt.”
Fuck, I made her blame herself by making a stupid comment.
Without thinking, I find myself explaining my words.
“Do you want to know why I told you that?” The words come out before I can even think about it.
“Because it’s slutty. I get it.” She pulls her hand out of mine and she starts walking out of the small bathroom, but again, I reach out and stop her.
“No. That wasn’t it and you know it,” I say a little louder than I intended.
“Then why would you say that then?” She turns to face me fully, determination in her eyes.
“Because I was pissed that other guys were going to see you in it!” I yell out in frustration. “I wanted to take you back home and make you change, because I wanted to be the only person that saw you dressed like this.”
Sophia looks at me stunned. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is open, as if she heard my words but hasn’t comprehend them yet.
“What are you saying?” she asks, her voice small, almost as if she is afraid to speak or even breathe.
I close the distance between us and look down at her. “I’m saying that I wanted you to be wearing that skirt for me and only for me.”
