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“We’d be honored, Son,” he says, speaking for my sister. To her credit she looks thrilled, hands covering her mouth, bouncing on her toes. David turns, his grin wide and bright as the sun. The whole room vibrates with excitement, watching him push the gold ring on her left hand.

Although she’s the one making the commitment, I can’t help but feel the noose tightening around my neck.

Thank god for football.

With the game starting mid-afternoon everyone inhales their dinner, and while everyone heads to the den, I step outside.

For the first time, I realize that I miss the cold of the northeast. The Texas air is too warm, and I crave the cold slap on my face to wake me up and the sharp needles in my lungs to prove I’m alive. Or maybe I won’t breathe easily again until I make things right with Nadia.

I have to apologize.

Pulling out my phone, I see a slew of notifications from the team, all wishing Happy Thanksgiving. My roommates group chat is filled with photos: Reese and Twyler bundled up around a firepit. Jefferson on the beach with his family on some tropical island. Reid’s is nothing but him gnawing on a turkey leg. I send out my own best wishes, including a selfie.

I scroll down and another notification pops up and my thumb swipes across the screen, opening it to Nadia’s ChattySnap profile. My heart races when I see her in a bikini, standing in waist deep, clear blue, pool water. Her hair is wet and slicked back, the afternoon sun casting a glow over the curves of her sexy body.

I’m so entranced with her, that it takes me a minute to realize she’s not alone. I zoom into the figures in the background. There’s a couple–a guy and a girl–behind her. I recognize him as her brother from other photos she’s posted. But the other guy? Who the hell is that?

I skim the caption.“Thanksgiving is for real friends and family. Hope you get to spend the day with yours.”She tags a few accounts, but I already know it’s @will_holt1.

A lesser man would be crushed.

But I’ve spent my entire life fighting against odds. It may be my generation’s old Texan spirit–the need to rebel and fight for what’s mine.

I shoot off a text:Happy Thanksgiving, T. Hope you made it through the day fuck-up free. I know I barely did. My biggest fuck-up yet was leaving things the way I did the other day. I’m sorry. There’s no excuse. I only hope you’ll forgive me.

It’s not enough, but it’s a start. Nadia Beckwith may not know it yet, but that’s what she is–mine.

15

Nadia

Everything is fine.

That’s what I tell myself as I sit across from Will Holt at the dinner table on Thanksgiving afternoon. After avoiding him and the backyard, until my mother sprang the invitation on the family two hours ago.

“Beth, this is so lovely,” Mrs. Holt says, gingerly setting a roll on her plate, “we can’t tell you how appreciative we are.”

Mr. Holt agrees, piling turkey on his plate. Apparently their trip to Gainesville was canceled last minute when his sister tested positive for the flu.

“Any time,” my father says. “We’re always happy to have extra. Beth and Nadia made enough for the whole neighborhood.”

At my name, the visitors shift their focus to me. “Your football team is doing well this year,” Mr. Holt says, as he wrinkles his nose at the green bean casserole and passes it on without taking any. “That quarterback, what’s his name?” He thinks for a moment. “Reynolds. He’s the real deal.”

“The hockey team is undefeated, too,” I blurt in the world’s worst attempt to change the subject. Next to me, Jason’s eyebrow rises and I toss in, “And basketball team is in contention to go to the final four. Wittmore is, uh, competitive athletically.”

“Well, I still wish Will had continued playing football.” Mrs. Holt gives her son a sad smile. “You were so good.”

Will Holt has been good at two things in his life; smoking too much weed and drawing naive girls into his pool house. If he’d ever really been good at anything else, like football, the other two took priority. He’d quit the team by senior year.

Thankfully, conversation shifts to Jason and Kendall’s upcoming wedding, and I pretend to focus on my food. Pretend, because I have no appetite. I barely have since seeing Will. I lie awake at night, replaying our relationship, delving into all those feelings I’d thought I’d left behind when I moved to Wittmore.

I also have to stop myself from texting Axel.

He’s just another man I’ve been using as a crutch. Another man that likes me better as a secret.

Clammy heat rises on my skin and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The second dinner is over and it’s appropriate to leave the table, I hop up, grabbing a stack of plates.

“Are you okay?” Kendall asks, following me into the kitchen. “You look pale.”