Page 18

Mayday

May

‘ S ometimes I just wonder what things would be like if I had said something. If we wouldn’t be pretending right now.’

I think about it all the time. There have been countless nights where I’ve stayed up living in a world where CJ Bradley and I addressed our feelings. I spent weeks bouncing between wanting him to have an exceptionally rough practice and take a mean crosse to the face, wanting him to have this ‘eureka’ moment where he figured out he screwed up a good thing, or even wanting him to have the biggest of big goals at his first game simply so that I’d know he was happy and content. Only now, years later, I find out that he’s been thinking about the same things. It’s a damn cruel twist of fate.

I pray he stops talking then and there, but the fool is getting emotional, and I don’t know how to feel about it when he says, his voice a quiet rasp, ‘I’m so, so fucking sorry.’

I hold my breath with every word that comes out of his mouth. At that moment, I have no idea what to say. I’ve imagined a million scenarios where Colt comes back and finally realizes he made a mistake by leaving me the way he did, and I’ve imagined a million more where he’s rich, famous, and doesn’t give a crap about me any more.

It took a couple of wine-and-cry sessions, but I got past those alternate universes, and I moved on. I did. But never, in any of those universes, did I imagine I’d get what I’m getting right now. This confession. These feelings.

A moment passes, and I decide for the sake of my sanity that hopefully Colt thinks I’ve fallen asleep. I’m not concerned with getting the best sleep possible since I’m not playing tomorrow, but my eyes stay open for the next few hours as I contemplate everything I just heard, everything I never thought I would hear. And somehow, I think that maybe Colt is doing the exact same thing.

Next morning, my eyes flutter open to bars of sunlight cast through the room by the slats in the so-called blackout curtains. I’m quite warm and cosy … toasty, even. Getting out of bed would be a crappy move right about now, I think to myself as I hum contentedly and burrow my way back into Colt’s arms.

COLT’S ARMS.

OH MY GOD.

I recoil so fast I think I’m going to knock Colt out cold, throw a punch right at his very muscular chest. There’s no match for us to worry about, but suddenly, I’ve never wanted a game to arrive sooner. I need something to take my mind off whatever the hell I’ve apparently got myself into.

Oh my god. Oh my god. I try my best to disentangle myself without waking Colt up. Our legs lie across one another’s, and there’s a mess of pillows every which way, not at all resembling the wall we’d put together last night. Colt’s arms are ridiculously strong and ridiculously difficult to move from. His hair is all tousled, sticking up in funny directions, a crease mark tracing its way along his cheek. He mumbles in his sleep just as I’m finally creeping off the bed, and I freeze in my tracks, eyes wide. Shit.

Thankfully, the guy doesn’t stir, completely passed out as he is. I let out a quiet sigh of relief and head towards my bag to grab a sweatshirt and running shorts. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Albuquerque has brought out cheerleaders and a full student section for this match. It’s never drawn too much of a crowd – after all, it’s a major rivalry game in a women’s sport, which means virtually no one makes an effort to learn about it, except maybe the lovesick Ronny Casamento – but I think I know the reason the school’s suddenly rolling out the red carpet. The reason, unfortunately, stands right beside me with eyes wide and arms flailing, a crowd of admirers behind him in the stands with phones out.

‘THROUGH!’ Colt and Coach yell in unison, pointing in the exact same direction. ‘RUN IT THROUGH!’

Maddie obliges, and in a split second, has made it through the defence to smack an absolute bullet of a goal into the net. She raises her crosse, and although the Albuquerque home crowd isn’t having it, our team cheers harder than anyone on the field.

Colt whoops, his wavy hair rustling about in the warm wind, as he claps loudly. ‘Go get ’em, Maddie!’

‘You make a good team player when you try,’ I can’t resist prodding him.

He smirks, getting one last clap in. ‘Maybe that’s something you didn’t notice back in high school.’

‘Oh.’ I cough awkwardly and raise an eyebrow. As if I’d buy that. ‘You were a ball hog. I watched enough of your games to figure it out.’

‘You watched my games?’ His incredulous tone is so obviously exaggerated, but it does its job, flushing my cheeks.

‘Only so Deena could see Michael play,’ I cover up my momentary slip cleverly. Those two were all over each other. The Romeo and Juliet of the Prosperity lacrosse programme, we called them. The girls and the guys didn’t get along for shit, but Deena and Michael would sneak little hushed conversations during practice, when we were supposed to rotate off the field. ‘We weren’t about to send her in alone.’

‘I see.’ Colt clicks his tongue, turning back to the game. ‘You know, Deena and Michael just got—’

‘Engaged. I heard from her,’ I finish before he can try and make a point. ‘That’s young.’

‘Yeah. But hey, they’re high school sweethearts.’

‘We are not high school sweethearts.’

‘Did …’ Colt does this awkward little choking cough that immediately alerts me to what he’s about to bring up. Oh, no. ‘Did you hear … any of the stuff I said … last night? I was out of it, I honestly didn’t mean to …’

‘What stuff?’

My poker face is exceptional. I grew up in a Texas Hold ’Em household, not to mention one that is half-South Asian, half-Mexican. He won’t get me to crack, I can promise that much. I keep an impassive expression and mirror his glances at the ongoing game.

‘Ah. Okay.’ He seems a little relieved, his brow less tense, but a look of disappointment flashes across his face. It’s gone before I can single it out. ‘It was dumb, anyway.’

It was absolutely not dumb. It was earth-shattering. He doesn’t need to know, just like he doesn’t need to know that—

‘This morning, we … that was totally unintentional,’ says Colt quickly. ‘I’m so sorry that happened. I swear, the fucking pillows must have just …’

‘Hmm.’ It’s my turn to shift awkwardly now. I had hoped this one wouldn’t make its way out of my treasure chest of secrets, but even Colt, as dense as he can be, has the keenness to recognize we somehow slept like a married couple last night. Fine. As long as he doesn’t realize that it was my leg that ended up splayed across his. My head that found its way to his chest. ‘I guess. It happens.’