Crush

Jack November

Well, the season and my football career are officially over. Dad keeps trying to get me to send highlight videos to colleges because he seems to think I've got the size and talent to play at the next level. My brother Jake did it, but he also ate, slept, and breathed the game. When Jake played for Blue Lake, we were actually pretty good. That was before Cash came on the scene and our quarterback and coaching staff were actually dialed in. Jake played slot receiver and led the team in receiving touchdowns. And while I've racked up quite a few rushing TDs over the years, it's only because our passing game was so abysmal. Anyway, I may try walking on at whatever college I'm actually able to get into, but the whole recruiting things seems like one giant pain in the ass.

I'll play spring ball, though, just to hang out with the guys and travel around in the seven-on-seven league. It's kind of like flag football without the flags. I hope Peyton decides to play too. She seems a little lost since football ended. I see her out there on the track, alone, just running laps around and around every day after school. I texted Emma about it the other day, and she was super sketch about the whole thing.

Me: Peyton okay?

Emma: I think so. Why?

Me: She's always by herself after school just running laps.

Emma: She's probably just burning time waiting for me to be done with cheer practice—competition season is coming!

Me: Also, she seems hella sad.

Emma: Yeah. It's a hard time of year

Me: ???

Emma: There's just stuff going on. She doesn't want me to say anything to anyone—doesn't want people to feel sorry for her or something. She can be kinda stubborn 🙄

Me: Ya think?

Emma: IKR? But I can tell you a secret—her birthday is Friday. She probably doesn't want anyone to know that either. So, I didn't tell you!

Me: I gotchu. Thanks, Em.

Since today is Friday, I'm planning a little surprise for her—told the boys to meet me at the field for a pick-up game after school. She loves football more than anyone I've ever met, so I figure it'd be a nice thing to do.

When I pull back into the lot, it's a little after five, but the sun is already setting because of daylight saving and everything. She's trucking around under the lights wearing wind shorts and a crop top.

Poetry in motion.

I think back to the first time I saw her and how it felt like I'd been struck by lightning. And how confused I was about feeling something like that for a dude.

Maybe Bree was right—sometimes, you see someone, and you just know. Something about that person touches your spirit in a way no one else ever has. That's what it was like for me the first time I saw her smile. And when she played on that field, my heart would soar, just to see her so happy.

I'm standing at the gate leading into the stadium when she spies me. She stops dead in her tracks.

"Go long!" I yell. And she does—she runs off the track heading toward midfield. I send a long bomb into the sky, and even though it's a little overthrown, she's still able to snag it with a flying leap. She thuds to the turf and rolls a couple of times.

She's such a beast.

I jog toward where she's lying on the ground catching her breath.

"Dude, Thomas, don't you ever rest?"

She just looks up at me and shakes her head. I ease myself down next to her and we lay there together looking up at the darkening sky. I reach out to take her hand. It's a bit of a risk, but screw it. When she lets me hold it, I sigh in relief, then I bring her hand to rest on my chest. We lay like that, just holding hands in silence, for a long time.

I feel her energy—sad and electric and mysterious—it's bittersweet. There's so much I want to know, but she's still keeping me at a comfortable distance.

She squeezes my hand, so I turn to look at her. "Happy birthday."

She raises one eyebrow. "How did you know?"

"A little bird told me."

"Emma?"

I smile and nod. "Maybe."

She just shakes her head.

We hear voices growing louder so we both sit up. "Looks like they made it," I say.

"Who?"

"The boys." They all came—Darius, Lamar, Lucas, Geno, Micah, Louie, Beto, Rafa, and, of course, Marshall.

"You guys ready to go?" Darius calls.

"What's going on?" she asks, her brow furrowing.

"What else, Thomas? Football."

"You wanna play?" Marshall asks.

I see her eyes fill slowly, almost imperceptibly. She swallows, glances at me, and smiles. "Yeah, I wanna play."

*****

After the game, we all decide to grab some food at Joe's Pizzeria. They bring out a giant pepperoni pie lit up with candles, and we sing Happy Birthday to Peyton loudly and off-key. She finally seems to relax, a little more at peace.

She jokes with the other guys, comparing fantasy leagues—player stats, team performance, possible trades. She's got a really good fantasy team, no surprise there.

"How the hell did you get Patrick Mahomes and Christian McCaffery?" Lucas asks her.

"I'm in a league with my cousins—they have no idea how to draft strategically."

She smiles and takes a sip of her drink. She seems good, better. But I also know that she's probably putting on a bit of an act—tough guy mode. When she thinks nobody else is looking, she reverts back to staring off into the distance, mumbling to herself.

After dinner, I'm taking her back to the lot to get her car when I risk it again. "You wanna go to the pier?"

"You going fishing on a Friday night, Chaplin?"

I shrug. "It's never a bad time to fish. You in, or do you have big b-day plans?"

"No plans. I'm in."

Seriously? It's her birthday.

I'm not sad about it though.

We pull up to Lake Livingston and ease to a stop near the lake. I grab my gear out of my truck bed. I really didn't have fishing in mind, but, you know, got to keep up the act.

I hand her my tackle box and poles and grab a blanket out of my cab, tucking it under my arm. When we get to the pier, she sets the stuff down and helps me spread the blanket.

"So you're not celebrating with your family tonight?" I ask.

"Nah, we will. But probably Sunday when we go to see my dad."

I sit and open the tackle box. "Where's he?"

She sits down next to me. "Rehab."

"Oh." What?

"He's an alcoholic," she says, playing with her shoelaces.

That came out of nowhere...

"Seriously? My dad is too."

She turns to me, nodding. "I think you told me that once. Recovered, right?"

Did I tell her? Then I remember—it was the night of the party. She asked if I wanted beer, and I told her I didn't drink because of my dad. "That's right. It was so long ago, must have forgot."

She picks up a fishing rod and weighs it in her hands. "I didn't. It gave me hope."

"Why didn't you say anything then?"

She shrugs. "I guess I didn't know if I could trust you."

"And what about now?"

She studies my eyes. "I think I trust you now," she says softly.

God I want to kiss her so bad. This thing that started out as an innocent crush has snowballed into an avalanche that may end up crushing me.

I pull back when I remember Bree. I'm technically still her boyfriend, I think. I mean we never made it official, but sleeping together is kind of an automatic "Advance to Go" card. And we never really ended things. Like I said, I'm stuck until I get the balls to say something to her.

"Here, lemme bait your hook for you," I say, reaching out to take the pole. "I mean, unless you wanna do it."

She smiles. "No, I'm good. I'll let the expert handle it."

I dig a worm out of my bait bag and carefully thread the hook through it. She winces a little.

"A bit squeamish, Thomas?" I ask.

"Never." She gets that playful look in her eye.

"So...your dad. Is he the reason you've seemed a little sad?"

She nods. "Yeah, that and some other things."

"The stuff with Cash?"

"No. I'm done letting that fucker have free rent inside my head."

"Good."

She nods. "Fuck him."

"Yeah, fuck him. So what is it then?"

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "That night you rode home with me and Emma from the party...and she was drunk? She slipped up and told you about our brother. Do you remember that?"

I nod. Of course I remember. It's burned into my brain. I'll never forget the look on her face. Like somebody flipped a switch and extinguished all the light in her eyes.

"He died, right?"

She nods. "Last October."

"Jesus, Peyton. I'm so sorry. I wish you'd told me."

"I couldn't. I just couldn't talk about it. It makes it real. But it is real." She brings her knees up to her chin and wraps her arms around her legs. "Today is our birthday."

"Our birthday? What do you mean?"

"He's—he was—my twin."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah. It's been kind of a hard year—trying to figure out how to feel normal without him. He was like...my other half. Until last October, I'd never been on this earth without him. I've been kinda lost. And...pissed off."

"Who are you mad at?"

"My dad. God. Myself."

"Why are you mad at your dad?"

She lies back on the blanket and gazes up at the thousands of stars twinkling above. She sighs and says, "I can't explain it, really. But mostly because Pax is gone, and I needed to blame someone. I thought it was all my dad's fault...but then I had a realization not too long ago—my dad isn't the one I should blame."

"So, you blame God?" I lie down next to her and take her hand again.

She sniffs, and her voice breaks a little when she says, "I was angry at God. I still am, but...I don't blame God."

I turn to look at the tears trailing down the side of her face.

"I mostly blame myself," she sniffs again. "Because the thing is, I'm the reason he died...I...killed my brother."