Chapter 30: Electric Love

January

Coach Murphy sits behind the desk with hands folded over his substantial paunch. Murph is probably fifty, the hair peeking from underneath his ballcap is gray and thin, cropped close to his thick neck. I've only seen him a few times without a cap—he's bald underneath. I've always liked him because his dry sense of humor and kind face are a nice contrast to Coach Carson's more alpha-male attitude. Murph's blue eyes sparkle at me as he kicks his tennis shoes up on the desk and leans back in his chair.

"Boy, what the hell were you thinking?" he finally asks me.

I shrug, look out the window. "I don't know sir. I guess I wasn't thinking."

He takes a deep breath, then stretches his arms up before clasping his hands behind his head. "What's the deal with you and Thomas?" He studies my face, searching for his answer.

"She's a friend."

"Just a friend?"

"Yeah. I watch out for my friends."

"That's good. I suspect she's been through the wringer, that girl."

I nod. "Yessir, she's dealt with some things that most people don't even know about."

"She ask you to do it?"

"Do what?" I ask. "Kick his ass?"

He nods.

"No sir," I say, shaking my head. "No...she's pretty ticked off about it, actually."

"Why's that?"

"A few things. She was worried about Marshall. And she doesn't like anyone protecting her. I think it makes her feel weak."

He nods. "Tough cookie, that girl."

"Yessir."

"Well, I'd be lying if I told you I was all broken up about you beating the tar out of Cash. But, son, you know who his dad is. There's gonna be hell to pay if Cal can't talk him off the ledge."

"Yessir. I am prepared for the consequences."

"Good. That's good."

"Um, so, what are my consequences?"

He tilts his head, narrows his eyes at me. "Not sure yet. I'll have to talk it over with Cal. But I'll try to minimize the collateral."

"What about Payne?" I ask.

"What about him?"

"I noticed he wasn't on the roster."

"We'll clear that up too," he says.

Something about that doesn't sit right with me. I cross my arms over my chest. "So, when you thought it was Marshall, you didn't give him a spot on the seven-man team. Now you know it's me, but my spot's still secure?"

"What are you getting at, Chaplin?"

"Well, sir, I'm white. He's...not."

He clears his throat. "Yeah, I don't agree with it either. But I'm a bit of an outlier on the coaching staff when it comes to how we handle the minorities on the team—whether they're black, brown...or female."

I nod.

"Just try to stay out of the muck, Chaplin. Keep your own nose clean. The rest'll take care of itself."

"Yessir."

I come out of the field house long after practice is over. I walk briskly through the cold damp air to my truck, hands stuffed in pockets, head down.

At about fifty paces, I glance up, and my heart stops.

She's sitting on the tailgate of my truck, waiting for me in the parking lot, her gaze trained on my face. I pause a few beats, looking down at the ground, shaking my head.

What does she want now?

I wait there for a minute to see if she hops down. But she's rooted firmly in place.

She's set her snare.

The air is bitter cold, the way it gets here in January—damp, gray, with the dull bite of a Texas winter.

Smoke from a nearby brush fire hangs in the air. The campus is quiet, and even though it's only four o'clock, the sky is already beginning to darken.

I raise my eyes to look at her face. She sits stock still as I walk slowly towards her.

I'm not about to speak first. I stop, inches in front of her, and gaze down into her eyes.

She reaches out her hand, lightly clasping mine.

Studying my fingers, she finally says, "You made everything right again."

I nod. Move closer.

"You in trouble?" she asks, looking up at me.

"Yes," I whisper.

A single crow caws in the distance. Nothing else moves in that barren landscape except the pulse of hot blood pumping through my heart.

"So am I," she whispers back, reaching up, her thumb grazing my cheek, my lips.

She studies my mouth, then she leans closer, her hand skimming around to the back of my neck.

What is she doing?

She pulls me down to her, tilting her face up to mine. Then I release the tension, let my energy render into hers. I lean in, so that I'm standing against the liftgate where she's still sitting, her legs dangling on either side of my hips. The heat of her breath smells like she's been eating Redhots. My lips softly touch hers, sending electric currents to my fingertips, my toes. I press my mouth deeper into hers, tasting the sugar and spice still lingering there.

Her kiss is like candy in my veins.

Something fierce and full of need pulls me closer, my hands grasp the denim fabric on her hips, pulling her up against me. Her forearms wrap around my neck, and her hands clutch tufts of my hair as she tries to pull me closer too.

As if that were possible.

Anyone in the world could find us here, voraciously attacking each other in the bed of my truck, but I don't care.

I have a singular focus, a singular desire that's all-consuming.

I finally pull back, looking down at her. Worshipping her.

I surrender.

*****

I gave her a ride home that day and every day since. The doctor cleared her to drive again, but I don't care. I like her riding in my passenger seat. I picked her up extra early this morning so we could stop at Whataburger for breakfast before school. I sit across from her in the booth peppering my breakfast platter.

"There's a man likes eggs with his pepper," she says.

"I do like a little kick."

"I know." She shakes some Cholula on her egg and cheese sandwich. "It's a quote from a book."

"Aw, you know I don't read nothing, girl." I wink at her.

"You would like this book. I promise."

"What's it called?"

"All the Pretty Horses," she says, fishing something out of her backpack.

"What's it about...horses?"

She places the book on the table. The cover is black and white, a horse's mane blowing in the wind. "Yeah. Sort of. But it's mostly about the death of a way of life."

"Sounds kind of depressing."

"Yeah. It's good. It's about ranching. And cowboys."

"Now that I like."

"Is that what you want to be when you grow up?" She asks.

"What? A rancher?"

"No. A cowboy."

I take a deep breath and lean in close. "Don't tell nobody this," I say real low. "But I don't want to work the ranch, you know, after I graduate college."

"You don't?"

I shake my head. "It's a hard life. Market is unpredictable. And so is the weather. I think Jessie will take over when my dad retires. And Joe will help out...if he ever comes home."

"What do you mean 'if he comes home'? I thought he lived there."

"Yeah, that's his address. But he's been on the rodeo circuit for some time now."

"The rodeo?"

"He left home when he was about fifteen. When the drought hit, and my dad was going through some tough times. Dad and Joe butted heads a lot."

"You said things got bad when your dad was drinking. Is that when things were...bad?"

I nod and put down my fork. "Joe, he's always been a bit of a hothead. Always been the rebel. He couldn't keep his mouth shut. Couldn't keep out of the way. We all had it hard then, but I think Joe, he probably had it the worst."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

"Nothing. Like I said, I don't really like to think about it."

She studies my face. "When are you gonna let me in, Chaplin?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... you've listened to me go on and on about my dad's alcoholism and my brother's suffering. About how hard it all was on me, losing my twin and my dad in the process. But you won't tell me anything. Not anything real, anyway."

"This feels pretty real to me," I say

She blows on her coffee, eyeing me over the rim. "Okay, so you don't want to be a cowboy. What do you want to do then?"

I take a bite of bacon and look out the window. I shrug. "Don't tell anyone I told you this."

"Professional floral designer?" She smiles.

"Close." I wink at her.

"Bouncer?" She's enjoying this.

"No."

"Then what?"

"Don't laugh, okay?"

"I won't." Her expression suddenly turns serious. "Just tell me."

"Conservationist."

"Like...an environmentalist?"

"Yeah."

"Your dad is a rancher."

"Yeah...it's like saying you're a liberal around these parts. Frowned upon."

"Does he know your plans?"

"No. But I got some time to figure out how to tell him. I wanna major in fisheries and wildlife."

She smiles at me, nudging my foot under the table.

"What?"

"I didn't think it was possible for you to get any hotter. But defender of Earth, protector of nature...that's hella hot."

My cheeks grow warm. I've never told anyone. Not even my ma. I always expect people around here to recoil in horror. But Peyton actually thinks it's cool.

"You want to come over today after school?" I ask.

"I have an English test tomorrow."

Code for "I'm studying with Marshall." Ugh.

"We can do homework together."

"Um. Okay. Sure."

"Good. But you should know, I'm a serious academic. No shenanigans." I give her a very stern look.

"What about tomfoolery?" She smiles.

"Zero tolerance. And no hijinks, neither."

"Okay. I'll do my best." She grins mischievously.

"See that you do."