Good question.
I shrugged.
“Better,” I offered. I felt a little tense again because I wanted to be able to give her a better answer than that. She had done so much for me yesterday, and I hadn’t even…
Fuck.
“Um…you didn’t…I mean…shit.” I turned my head to the side and pushed my forehead against the pillow. I took a couple of deep breaths before looking back into her eyes. “You really did a lot for me yesterday.”
She flashed me another Mona Lisa kind of smile.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I continued. I turned my head away and closed my eyes for a second before looking back to her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said softly.
My hand moved up her back, over the top of her shirt to the middle of her back, realizing for the first time all night that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Did girls usually take them off to sleep? They probably did. It didn’t seem like they would be comfortable otherwise.
I tried not to think about how her body was pressed against mine and how I was pretty sure her nipples were up against my chest. If I thought about that…well…I just didn’t want to push my luck. Not now.
If nothing else, Sheriff Skye was supposed to be home today.
“I should probably go,” I said, hating the words as they came from my mouth. “I really don’t think I want to have your dad walk in right now.”
I watched Nicole’s pale cheeks turn crimson.
“No, probably not,” she agreed. “He’s not supposed to be back until noon, though.”
I glanced back at the clock on the nightstand, which indicated it was just a quarter past eight. I wondered if Dad was hung-over enough to still be in bed. I took a deep breath. If I got home before he woke up, I could get my run in, and he wouldn’t even know.
“I should still go,” I said softly.
“Do you want breakfast first?”
God yes.
“I should just go.”
She nodded slightly.
I didn’t move.
My fingers fluttered over her skin again, and I felt my heart begin to pound in my chest as I looked into her eyes. My face was only inches from hers, and my eyes were drawn to her lips. Nicole’s hand was splayed out against my chest, and I could feel a slight increase in pressure from her fingertips. I reached out with my tongue and wet my lips.
There had been many, many times I’d looked at a girl and had wanted to feel my cock in her—in her mouth, in her pussy—I didn’t care. I’d kiss her because it was a means to an end—the end being me getting off. I’d get her off, too, because it just seemed like the polite thing to do, but the main goal was still the same.
But this… This was different.
I just wanted to kiss her.
Be closer to her.
Keep touching her.
Stay here with her.
Never, ever leave.
If someone told me I could stop time—stay right here where I was, feeling exactly how I was feeling, but I would never get off again—I wouldn’t even hesitate to agree.
“I have to go,” I said, and though I was sorely tempted to give up and stay where I was or take her up on her offer of breakfast and damn whatever consequences may come, I knew I had to leave while I still had my sanity intact. I slowly brought my hand from her waist and pushed myself out from under the blankets and excused myself to locate my clothes.
My shirt was all crispy-feeling from air-drying on the coatrack. I didn’t even bother buttoning the damn thing up. I pulled the still-tied tie over my head in a loose loop just so I wouldn’t have to carry it. With my shoes in my hand, I cringed as I walked in bare feet over the gravel drive to my car.
At least my pants were dry.
I tossed my likely-ruined sweater into the back seat of the Jeep along with my socks and shoes and then walked around to the driver’s side door. A car horn beeped, and I looked up to see Clint Oliver cruising by, waving and smiling broadly at me. I gave him a half wave, got into the car, and drove home.
I didn’t think anything of it.
My focus was on getting home and trying to get into my room without being noticed. I parked the car and walked up to the door, looking around as I did. Dad’s Mercedes was in the garage, and it was nearly nine in the morning. The chances of him still being asleep weren’t great, but it was possible. Taking a slow, deep breath, I opened the door as silently as I could and peered though.
Silence.
So far, so good.
I peered around the corner to the living room but didn’t see him. He wasn’t in the kitchen, either. I tiptoed down the hall, up the stairs, and right to my bedroom door.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Shit.
I froze.
I was close, so close, to my bedroom door. He was already pissed. How much more pissed could he get if I just made a run for it and locked the door behind me?
It wouldn’t work.
I’d never get it locked in time. Even if I did, I would have to come out sometime, and that would just be worse. He might even just break the door down, and then I wouldn’t even have that normal barrier between us.
Shit.
“I asked you a goddamned question, asshole!”
I closed my eyes for a second before I turned around to face him.
His hair was plastered to one side of his head and sticking out the other. His normally clear blue eyes were bloodshot and narrowed, and his hands were tightened into fists. His face was contorted and his jaw clenched, and he breathed heavily through his mouth.
Not good.
Not good at all.
Taking a step backwards, I felt the edge of the door against my shoulder.
As Shakespeare’s Hamlet gave me the words: “A countenance more in sorrow than in anger”—I knew well that Dad was not angry with me for coming home late; his grief over what I had done was just more than he could handle. Somehow, lashing out at me for causing that pain was the only thing that made it bearable for him.
Now to buckle down and take it.
CHAPTER 8
DIVE
“Hey, Paul!” I cringed and tried to breathe a little deeper while trying to keep my voice from sounding weird over the phone.
“Wassup, Malone?”
“Let’s scrimmage,” I said. “Get a few guys together—play over at the school field?”
“Yeah, sure,” Paul replied. “What time?”
“I can be there anytime,” I told him. I swallowed hard. “Half hour?”
“Sure, I can get people together by then.”
“Cool—see ya there!”
I dropped the phone on the floor and tried to lie back against the pillow. I couldn’t breathe deeply enough, and I was having a hard time trying to keep myself from hyperventilating. I ran my hand over my ribs and winced even though I had taken a half dozen Motrin tablets. I tried taking a deeper breath, but sharp pain rippled through the left side of my body.
I need to get to the field quickly.
I told Dad I was going to go practice, but he ignored me. He usually did for a while afterward. I would be seeing him again soon enough, no doubt. I drove over to the school, but there wasn’t anyone else there yet. Bending over to lace up my cleats was difficult, to say the least, and took forever. By the time I was done, other cars started showing up, and we started playing six-v-six.
Paul wasn’t nearly as good a player as he thought he was, but he was a damn big guy with a temper that just wouldn’t quit. He was exactly what I needed on the opposing team. I stood up as straight as I could and didn’t pant, no matter how tempted I was. It didn’t take long for Paul to come barreling down the field at me. His ball control was all right, but he didn’t play smart—always going for the goal instead of making it harder on me with a quick pass to a teammate.
It didn‘t matter now. I didn’t care if he scored or not; I just needed his temper.
As soon as he got to the top of the box, I ran u
p, dropped shoulder and rammed him—taking the ball at the same time. He dropped to the ground right at the top of the box.
“What the fuck, Malone?”
“Get off your ass, you pussy!” I screamed at him. “You were offside anyway! If you can’t take a hit, I hear we need a new water bitch.”
I tossed the ball over to Paul, who started running in the opposite direction, passing to Jeremy and then to Klosav. I tried to breathe again, but it just wasn’t working. I was only going to be able to take one more hit. I had to make it look good. It didn’t take long for Paul to get another breakaway and start heading for me. His eyes found mine, and I knew I had gotten to him. He didn’t care about the goal anymore, either. He just slammed right into me.
Perfect angle.
I flew into the air and landed on my back inside the goal. I rolled quickly to the left and cried out as my breath left me.
“Malone! You okay?”
“Hey, man!”
“Shit, is he hurt?”
“Fuck,” I groaned. “Can’t breathe.”
“Shit—I’m sorry, man!”
“Call 911!”
“No, let’s just get him to the hospital,” Jeremy said, his voice calm. “Tom, can you walk?”
“Dunno,” I said. “Maybe.”
He helped me to my feet, and I stumbled to his car. A few minutes later, I was in the emergency room getting my cracked rib taped up. Dr. Shepherd wrapped the bandages around my side as I winced and bitched.
“Do you have to make it so tight?”
“Do you want a punctured lung?” she retorted. “We’ve been through this before. You know the drill. I’m sure your father will remind you of everything you need to do until it’s healed.”
“No way,” I said. “I’ve got a game on Friday.”
“If you get hit again, it’s going to be a lot worse. You should stay away from contact sports for three weeks.”
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
“Thomas? Thomas! My God, what happened?”
Right on cue.
“It’s nothing, Dad,” I told him as he walked over and started shining a penlight in my eyes. “Paul went for the ball; I went for the ball. You know how it is.”
“Are you dizzy?”
“I didn’t hit my head,” I told him. I glanced at Dr. Shepherd, who had an amused smile on her face as she wrote some shit down on my chart.
“No headache?”
“No headache.”
“Well, thank God for that.” Dad took a step back and tilted his head so he could look at me straight on. “You have got to be more careful, son. You know if you get hurt too bad, you won’t be able to play pro. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Of course it is,” I said. I tried to keep my eyes up toward his as we said our lines. It was hard, though, because my side was still aching.
“I was going to write him a script for the pain,” Dr. Shepherd said. “Do you want me to send it down to the pharmacy to be filled here?”
“That will be fine, thank you,” Dad responded. “I’ll pick it up on my way out. Thomas, why don’t you let Jeremy drive you home? He’s still in the waiting room. I’ll pick up your script and be home right after you.”
“Sure,” I replied. I found Jeremy in the waiting room, and we walked back out to his car.
“Thanks for sticking around,” I said. “Dad will probably be here a couple more hours. I hate hanging out at the hospital.”
“No problem,” Jeremy said. “Paul and Mika went and got your Jeep and took it back to your house. I got the keys out of your bag. It’s in the back seat.”
“Cool.” I hadn’t really thought about my car. I tried to breathe a little deeper, but it still hurt a lot. I wondered if Dad would actually let me have the pain pills or if I was going to need to stock up on Motrin. I leaned my head against the cool window as the mist turned into rain.
“Thomas?”
“Hmm?”
“You landed on your back,” Jeremy said.
“Yeah? So?”
“You didn’t fall on your left side—not even on your stomach. How did you crack a rib on your left side?”
I glanced over at him and saw that he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Maybe it was how we collided,” I said with a shrug.
“I thought about that, too,” Jeremy replied, “but he didn’t hit you there, either.”
“You obviously have the eyes of a ref,” I told him as I turned back to the window. “Blind as a fucking bat. The x-ray says I have a broken rib, so you must have missed something.”
Jeremy didn’t respond but turned the wheel sharply to move us from the highway to my driveway. He gunned the engine and took us up the hill and through the trees. When he stopped near the house, I opened the door and jumped out—not thinking. I winced and held my side for a minute until I could breathe right again.
Jeremy came around from the other side of the car to help, but I waved him off.
“Hey, Thomas?”
“Yeah?” I replied as I opened the door.
“I didn’t miss anything,” he said. When I looked over to him, his eyes were focused on mine, and for a moment, we just stood there looking at each other. Jeremy finally inclined his head a little and opened up the car door as I went into the house.
My head was feeling a little wonky after the pain pill Dad let me take. He didn’t say anything about it at all; he just brought one of the pills with a glass of water and a sandwich and told me to eat first. I knew he felt bad about it—he usually did when I actually got hurt. That hadn’t really happened since last year, though.
Dad knocked on my door, and I pulled myself out of bed to go and unlock it.
“You doing all right?” Dad asked.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I told him.
He stood in the doorway while I went and sat down on the black leather couch under the window. He was fidgety, and that could only mean one thing. I didn’t want to hear it. It didn’t matter.
He started saying it anyway.
Babbling…barely understandable.
I knew he was sorry. I knew he didn’t mean it. I didn’t need to hear him say it.
“I never really thought…I mean…when she was here…I never thought I’d have to do this on my own.” He looked back at me. “I get a little carried away sometimes. I know that…but I don’t mean it. You know that, right?”
“Sure, Dad,” I replied. I needed him to just stop and move on. I didn’t want to talk about this. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have been out all night.”
“Right,” he agreed, though I kind of wondered if he even remembered that bit of it. “Yeah…we’ll have to talk about your curfew.”
“Sure,” I said with a nod. I knew he’d never actually come back and talk about it. I’d never had any real rules, not that kind, anyway. Play soccer. That was my only real mandate.
He walked over and sat down next to me, and I tried not to flinch.
“I’m not going to do that again, son,” he said quietly. “I just…I had too much to drink. You know how it is…on that day.”
“I know,” I replied. I didn’t look at him and focused all my energy on being completely still.
“You’re a tough kid, though,” he said. “So…you’re okay, right?”
“Sure, Dad,” I said again. “I’m fine.”
“Good kid,” he said as he patted me on the back and stood up. I didn’t exhale until he left the room, and I could lock the door again.
I crawled into bed, careful not to bump my left side too much. The pain was down to a dull ache at least. As I slipped off into that state of mind where you’re not quite awake and not quite asleep, my brain recaptured the day’s events. I slowed down the images as the morning scrolled by, reveling in the memories for a bit and then tried to ignore the rest of the day as it spun through my mind.
The next day at school was…awful.
It started off okay—I got up a
nd did my run. My time sucked because my side fucking hurt, but Dad didn’t say anything about it. I gathered my stuff together, threw on a jersey, and headed off to school.
So far, so good.
As soon as I got out of my Jeep, the comments started.
“Hey, Malone!” Some other senior walked up to me and raised his hand for a high-five. “Nice job!”
“Thanks,” I said, having no idea what he was talking about. I had played a mediocre game at best last Friday.
“You’ve got balls, dude!” Another guy clapped me on the back as he walked into the building. I shook my head a little and headed in.
All morning long, the remarks continued. Random guys coming up repeatedly and making some comment to congratulate me. They were always just rushing past me—people trying to get to their classes and shit, so it wasn’t until lunch that I figured out just what the hell was going on.
“Holy shit, if it isn’t king stud himself!” Mika smacked my shoulder as he walked past me.
“What the fuck, Klosav?”
“You, my man!” he cackled as he plopped down in the chair next to me. “You have to have balls the size of Texas!”
“Are you going to tell me what the fuck you’re talking about?” I asked, “or do I need to beat the living shit out of you first?”
Klosav laughed.
“I’m talking about you, dude!” he yelled. “Who else spent the weekend boning the sheriff’s daughter while he was out of town? In the sheriff’s house, too! Leaving your Jeep right out front and everything? Holy shit!”
Oh no.
Oh, fuck no.
“Who the hell told you that?”
“Clint,” Mika said with a shrug. “He said you were fucking her all night while her dad was out of town. Said he saw you coming out of her house with only half your clothes on, looking like the cat who ate out the pussy.”
“That didn’t make any fucking sense,” I told him. Inside, my head was reeling. I had completely forgotten about Clint, but when I thought about how I must have looked as I walked out of Nicole’s house first thing in the morning—shirt unbuttoned, shoes in my hand—I knew exactly what he had assumed.
And had obviously told everyone else as well.
Shit, shit, shit.
“You gotta tell me.” Klosav leaned over conspiratorially. “Did you fuck her in the sheriff’s bed? Because if you did…holy shit!”