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eleven

S taring at the paper in front of me, I bite my lip in anticipation. Silently I give him directions on how to solve the problem, but I keep my mouth shut, making him work through it on his own. When he sets down his pencil, I can’t help but smile.

Yes, he did it!

“Great job, Rev,” I say when the little boy in front of me gets a math question right.

Rev is one of my favorites who comes in daily. He’s only six, but he’s been through so much. His mom died during childbirth, and he’s being raised by his grandmother, who took custody when she did. The father didn’t know he existed and is trying to get custody.

That’s where we come in. Rev comes in every day after school to wait for his father to show up for visitation. Usually they only allow one or two a week, but his grandmother is elderly and can barely keep up with him. They are trying to fast-track his reunification with the father.

Maybe that’s why I connect with him so much. Both of us come from broken homes.

“I got it right?” he asks me, wide-eyed.

“You did.”

He pumps his fist in the air, making me laugh. “On my first try even!”

“Okay, keep going, and if you get stuck, just yell for me, okay? Once you’re done, I’ll check it over too.”

“Thank you, Miss Cora.”

“You’re so welcome, Rev.” I stand and walk away from the table.

I scan the room to see if anyone looks like they might need help, but my supervisor Martha gets my attention.

“Hi, Martha,” I say as I get close to her.

“Hello dear, how are you?”

“I’m good.”

“How’s school going?”

I must make a face because she laughs.

“That good, huh?”

“I’m just not sold on it really.”

Martha gives me her full attention. “What do you mean?”

“Truthfully?”

“Always.”

“Well, I don’t know what I want to do career-wise, so I feel a little bit guilty that I have a scholarship that someone else could be using. Someone who knows what they want to do, you know what I mean?”

Martha nods slowly. “I do. Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Did you come to college because you wanted to or because your family wanted you to?”

“I mean, college is what you do, right? It’s to be expected.”

“College isn’t the only option, though. Now answer the question. Are you there for you or someone else?”

“My mom and my brother both really wanted me to go,” I admit reluctantly.

Martha hums. “Well then, I guess it’s up to you if you want to stay now, isn’t it?”

I bite my bottom lip and nod. I know I should stay. I’m just not sure if I want to.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Martha asks after a beat of silence.

“Please,” I blurt out, making her chuckle softly.

“I think you have a real talent for helping these families. The kids adore you, and the parents listen to you. You guide them with a gentle hand even when they probably don’t deserve it. You do good things here, Cora.”

“I love it,” I whisper.

Martha smiles. “And it’s obvious, especially with how much time you spend here. So have you ever thought about making this your job?”

“I…” I stumble over words because, no, the thought never actually crossed my mind. “I don’t even know how that would be possible. I can’t volunteer for the rest of my life and live at my mom’s house.”

“Do you think I still live at home with my mother?” Martha deadpans.

Wincing, I hang my head. “Sorry.”

“I’m only teasing, Cora, but to put you at ease, there are paid positions to do exactly what you’re doing here. We even have two open right now. It’s hard to find people to take them, though, because while you get all the easy cases, they aren’t all that way.”

“Really? I mean not about the cases, but the job. You have one available?”

“Really, and the best part is you don’t have to have an expensive piece of paper to do it. Granted, a degree can help you get ahead in your field, but it’s not required. You could work here for now, and if you want to go back to school later on for it, we would pay for it.”

I open my mouth, but the words don’t come out. I’m overwhelmed in the best possible way. I didn’t even know that this was an option. Could this be it, though? I love what I do here. Hell, I keep coming back whenever I have free time, even when I’m not on the schedule. I like the way this place makes me feel afterward too. I feel like I’ve done something good, something useful. Like I’ve contributed to society.

At the same time, I don’t want to let my mom or Clay down. They have both worked so hard to make sure I have everything I need and could want. Wouldn’t it be selfish of me to bounce on the one thing they want me to do? That and Clay is always thinking about how it’s his job to take care of us when he goes pro. For some reason I have a sneaking suspicion that this job won’t pay a whole lot, and while I know I don’t need much, I know it would give him another reason to worry.

But whose happiness is more important, his or mine?

“Can I think about it?”

Martha reaches out and rubs my shoulder. “Of course you can. Take all the time you need. Just know I’m here if you want to talk about it more.”

“Thanks, Martha.”

“Of course, now you best get out of here. Your time ended an hour ago, and I’m sure you have some studying to do,” she says, raising a brow.

“But helping the kids with their schoolwork is so much more fun than working on mine,” I groan.

Martha laughs and pushes me toward the door. “Go. Rev’s visit is the last of the night, and we both know that it’s just a formality at this point. I can handle it.”

I wave over my shoulder and go to collect my things.

The entire time I make my way back to campus, my mind swirls. I play over the possibility of doing this for real, and I can’t help but be excited over the prospect of it. By the time I make it back to my dorm room, my mind is made up. For the first time since I graduated high school, I feel like I have some sense of direction for my life.

Now I just need to figure out how to tell my mom and Clay about it.

* * *

When we enter the bar, I can’t help but cringe as the music assaults my ears. There’s loud and then there’s this. A person is up on the stage attempting to sing, but it sounds like someone’s assaulting an animal. It’s even worse than nails on a chalkboard.

“Goddamn, someone get them off stage,” Brett grunts next to me.

“Amen,” I mutter.

I follow behind them and we make our way to a table. “Why are we here?” I ask as we sit down.

“What’s wrong with here?” Brett challenges.

I don’t know the guy very well, but he seems a little bit moodier than normal, and by the way his friends look at him, I’m not the only one picking up on his piss-poor mood.

“I didn’t say anything was wrong with here, I just wasn’t expecting a karaoke bar.”

Wyatt grunts as he takes a seat next to me. “They have some bomb-ass mozzarella sticks.”

“I’m partial to the fried pickles,” Beckett says as he takes a handful of peanuts that are in a bowl in the middle of the table.

Clay shakes his head as he stares at him. “How many times have I told you not to eat those? We don’t know who’s touched them and where their hands have been.”

“A little bit of germs won’t kill me.” Beckett winks.

“Yeah, but it might take you out for a game,” Wyatt points out.

“Then we will really be fucked,” Brett mutters.

Clay sighs and stares at me from across the table, silently saying what can you do?

Fuck, this is awkward. I don’t know these guys as well as I should, and I don’t know where to start after spending all of last year hating them. Still, they went out of their way to try and bridge the gap between us by inviting me. I know they are only doing it because of Cora, but still I’m thankful that they are trying, and I know I need to do the same.

I clear my throat. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Brett mumbles.

Clay opens his mouth to say something, but a big, burly motherfucker stares down at our table.

“What can I get you kids?” he grumbles.

“Hey, Burt, can I get a round of waters for my friends and a pitcher of beer for myself?” Brett says.

Burt grunts. “Anything else?”

“Fries, please,” I say when he looks at me.

“Mozzarella sticks with extra marinara sauce, please,” Wyatt says.

“Fried pickles, please,” Beckett says.

Burt looks at Clay.

Clay sighs. “I guess I’ll take some fries, please.”

Without saying anything, Burt turns around and walks away.

“Don’t look so glum, James. We all know you love fries,” Beckett says as he pops another table peanut into his mouth.

Clay winces. “You know I take my in-season diet seriously.”

“Season hasn’t started yet.” Brett points out.

“But it does soon,” Clay says, trying to defend himself.

“I get it. I try to eat clean year round, but sometimes a cheat meal is good for the soul,” I add.

Beckett tosses a peanut in the air and catches it with his mouth. “That sounds like something our Jelly Bean would say.”

“Jelly Bean?”

“Grace,” Clay says.

“Makes sense considering she’s the one who always said it,” I shrug.

It’s weird talking about her with these guys. Guys who clearly have a nickname for her. One I have no idea how she got, but as curious as I am, I won’t ask. I’ll wait until someone fills me in.

Burt comes back and slams the drinks down on the table, making water slosh over the sides before walking away.

“Great service as always, Burt!” Brett says loudly right as the horrible music stops.

Clay slaps him on the shoulder. “Knock it off before he kicks us out of here.”

Brett scoffs. “Please, we all know that man can’t turn away business. Look how dead it is in here.”

“How did you guys find this place?” I ask.

“By sheer accident,” Wyatt says quietly.

“Our sophomore year, the team thought bowling would be a good form of team bonding. One of the players shredded his bicep tendon and had to go to the hospital. Some of us stayed and then got kicked out when water started shooting out of the ceiling. We weren’t quite ready to call it a night, so we came over here since it was across the street,” Clay tells me.

“And then they dragged me here last year against my will,” Wyatt adds.

I grab my arm and wince. I’ve heard shredding your bicep is painful as fuck. I can’t imagine doing it while on a team-building exercise that’s mandatory.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to play other sports or do anything too dangerous so close to the season,” I mutter.

Brett raises his beer. “Why do you think that rule was created?”

I tip my head toward him. “Fair enough.”

“So, Kellan, how do you feel about bad karaoke?” Beckett asks.

“I mean, I’m here, aren’t I?” I quip, making Wyatt smile.

“Yes, but how do you feel about getting up there on stage and serenading all of us?” Beckett presses.

I look at all the guys before looking back at Beckett. “You can’t be serious.”

“If you want to date our sister, you need to prove that you are worthy of her,” Brett says.

I look at Clay and raise my brow. He responds with a shrug.

“I mean, if you ask me, we’re letting you off easy. We could be asking you to do something way worse,” Beckett adds.

My jaw clenches. I hate that they think I have to prove myself to them just to date Cora, but I get it. Hell, I’m sure I would feel the same way if I had a sister. Besides, a few minutes of torture isn’t that bad in the grand scheme of things, right?

“Okay, what do you have in mind?”

“I hope you know the words to ‘Barbie Girl.’” Beckett smirks.

“Seriously, that? Come on, pick something else, please,” I say, trying not to beg.

Anything but that.

“Nope. That’s our song of choice, take it or leave it. Just know if you walk out that door, then you won’t get another shot with Cora. You gotta be a team player and all that shit,” Brett tells me.

My eyes drift over to Clay and see that he’s trying not to laugh.

He holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m just along for the ride.

“Fuck it,” I mutter as I stand.

Reaching over, I grab Brett’s beer and swallow the rest of the glass in one go.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he groans when I place his empty glass back in front of him.

I make my way to the stage and give the god-awful song of choice to the DJ.

The DJ smirks. “Good luck, Barbie.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter under my breath as I walk on stage.

I squint when a light hits me just right in the eyes. When the white spots in my eyes finally clear, I see the guys have their phones pointed right at me.

Clearly it can get worse.

When the song starts up, I grab the microphone. At first I try to just say the words and not sing it. I should have known that the guys wouldn’t let that slide, though, and they start booing.

Rolling my eyes, I decide to fully go for it and try my hand at singing. Even from up here, I know I sound awful, but I don’t give a fuck. Especially when at the end I’ll get their approval to date Cora. Logically I know I don’t need it, but I want it.

When the song ends, the guys cheer and I bow before making my way off stage.

“Please tell me I never have to do that again,” I plead as I grab my glass of water.

“Yeah, we can’t promise you that.” Clay chuckles before looking over at Wyatt. “You’re up.”

Wyatt rolls his eyes and stands. I’m shocked when he doesn’t put up a fight. The guy is so quiet I can’t imagine him standing on a stage.

As soon as he gets up there, though, under the lights, everyone falls silent. Then he opens his mouth and belts out the lyrics to a Rolling Stones’ song.

“Wait, he can fucking sing?” I hiss to the guys.

Without looking away from the stage, the guys nod.

“He can sing,” Clay says with pride in his voice.

Huh, who would have thought that the quiet goalie was a secret musician?