Page 13 of Hate You, Maybe
“Well, I hope it’s not too rustic,” I say. “And we’rechoosingto go. No one’s stuck. It’s anopportunity. Remember? A chance for me to show I’m more cooperative than she is.”
“Right. Sure.” Bridge takes his eyes off the play long enough to glance at me. “What’s the place called again?”
I allow myself the tiniest of smirks. “Camp Reboot.”
“Yeah.” He lets out a snort. “I predict Sayla’s gonna reboot you in the?—”
“We’ll be fine.” I return my focus to the game.
“Aw, come on.” Bridger wags his brows. “You don’t think you two are gonna get into it? A little verbal sparring? Maybe a little physical?—”
“Nope.”
“I don’t know, man.” His mouth quirks. “For a while now, I’ve been sensing some real chemistry there.”
I frown. “Easy on the science puns, Bill Nye.”
“I’m just saying, I think you kinda like Sayla Kroft.”
“Nah.” I shrug. “That’s just you projecting your massive Loren Cane crush onto me.”
“I don’t have a crush on her.”
“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, man.”
“Even if that were true, Loren’s engaged,” he points out. “Sayla, on the other hand, is a free agent. And she’s gorgeous. You’re telling me you never thought about it?”
“I’m telling you there’s a lot more to relationships than looks.”
This pulls a snicker out of him. “Please tell me more about how relationships work, oh, wise one.”
I shake my head. “My point is, I’m not interested in going out with anyone. At all. Not Sayla Kroft. Not anybody.”
Bridger takes a long pull from his water bottle, then wipeshis mouth on his hoodie sleeve. “Youdoknow all the single adult ladies at Stony Peak want you, right?”
“Adult ladies?” I chuckle. “Now you sound like my mom.”
“Speaking of which, is the whole fan club here again tonight?”
I turn around and search the stands, finding my family in their usual row. “Almost everyone,” I say.
My parents started bringing my sisters and me to Stony Peak games as soon as we moved to Harvest Hollow. That was twenty years ago, when I was twelve, and still a few grades away from playing football myself.
Kendal was ten then. Landry, eight. Jojo, six. And every one of us needed tonotthink about life for a while. Especially Mom and Dad. I’m pretty sure our Friday night ritual started out as something they could do with us. On autopilot.
Noise. Hot dogs. Cheering. A temporary escape.
But tonight, Kendal stayed home with her kids, Rowan and Wally. Her husband, Tim, is out of town for work, and she didn’t feel like dragging a two-year-old and a baby to the game without him.
Landry’s here, though, with her boyfriend, Brock. She’s my middle sister. Also the loudest one. I love her, but Brock’s the saint who’s been willing to date her the past two years.
Jojo’s next to Brock, on her phone as usual, not paying any attention to the game. While the rest of us kids played every sport possible—overlapping seasons and club teams throughout high school—Jo always opted out. Still, the fact that she kept showing up every week for the past twenty years speaks volumes about our family. The bond.
For better or worse.
But Bridger knows nothing about what the Michaels family went through back then. I don’t talk about that time with anyone, not in the decades since we moved here. I figure all families have their struggles. Their sorrows. Theirchallenges. And I know enough by now not to think we’re special or unusual.
“Kendal skipped the game,” I tell him. “And my folks look like they’re packing up to leave.”
