Page 25

Red Card

May

I t’s a full house at Chester yet again, this time versus Austin, and it’s something we’ve got more and more used to seeing at our games. That and the massive cameras and broadcasting teams that are here to televise this game.

We’re also collecting new fans with every game, new Riders loyalists flooding in from across the state as ‘Lacrosse Power Couple’ goes viral. The bleachers are starting to fill to the tops, brimming like the carbonation threatening to spill over the side of a full glass of soda.

I snap on my goggles. Beside me, Jordan grabs her stick, taps it against mine with a grin. ‘Ride on, cowgirl. Let’s bring this one home.’

‘Let’s.’ I return her grin, but it’s wiped right off my face when I see Colt heading my way. I can’t let him distract me now. Especially not after the moment we shared on the backyard field, and definitely not after the feelings that suddenly overwhelmed me at Holi.

‘May, I never got a chance to give you a proper thanks,’ are the first words out of his mouth. I’m not sure what the appropriate reply would be. I let him continue. ‘Those kids from Holi asked me to play a round, you know. They’re probably gonna whoop my ass, but I still want to thank you. For just getting me out on the field that other day. I guess I could say it felt like a first step.’

‘You don’t owe me,’ I tell him, pulling my roll of medical tape from my bag. I focus on picking at the torn end where it sticks to the rest of the roll. ‘What happened to you was terrible. I’m not leaving you out to dry after that.’

‘For the record, May …’ He sits down beside me on the bleachers. Jordan raises an eyebrow my way, but doesn’t say anything. That girl. We’re going to have a chat about this later over margaritas, I’m sure, but I mentally thank her for staying quiet. ‘I’m sorry it happened to you.’

I’ve had ups and downs in this sport. Twice I have suffered momentarily coming off my game. But I’ve never had to bench myself because I completely forgot how to play. I always bounced back. I had good people around me, a sounding board when I needed one, and other times, a cushion to fall back on.

I watch Colt, and something twists in my gut when I think about the fact that now he picks up a stick and doesn’t know what to do with it. This is the same kid who picked up a stick for the first time and immediately knew what to do with it. As athletes under stress all the damn time, crashes in our mental health are nothing if not common, and what Colt is facing is the worst kind of crash.

I keep picking at the stupid tape. The end doesn’t lift. Colt, for his part, holds out an open palm, expectant gaze meeting mine from beneath long lashes. He brushes a wave of hair back, and the muscles in his forearm do that flex thing that I hate to admit is unfairly attractive. ‘May I?’

His dumb forearm muscles have all my attention. I surrender the pink tape to him, and he unrolls it easily. Nice one, May. I stick my hand out. ‘It’s the wrist.’

Colt makes an affirmative humming sound, and his head dips in concentration, that same piece of hair falling over his forehead as he carefully wraps my joint, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of my inner wrist, the pad of his index finger smoothing the end that he tears off, tucking it in neatly. ‘That good?’

Is that good? Is that good?

‘Sure,’ I say.

May. You diabolical liar.

‘Get out there.’ He pats my hand; a tame little gesture, but I accept it.

Maybe it’s the closeness of the moment we just shared, or maybe it’s the entire front row of bleachers craning their necks to watch us. Or maybe it’s both. Either way, Colt catches on quickly. He leans down and brushes a gentle kiss across my cheek. The tiny wink that follows sends my pulse thudding away so hard I hope he can’t feel it in my fingers. ‘Grab a red card or two, while you’re at it.’

‘Why in the hell do you want my red cards?’ I resist the urge to cross my eyes at him like a little kid.

‘You look awfully pretty when you get pissed. Even prettier when you start to blow your top when the ref goes for the card.’

‘Stop playing.’ I snort, but that word fills a small part of the gap he left in my heart. Pretty . As if on instinct, I give his hand a squeeze. This little ritual – beginning of a ritual? Fake ritual? Whatever it is, it feels so simple. The warmth that spreads across my chest when I think of having someone sitting at the bleachers, a kiss before games, a celebration together after, someone to do your medical tape for you, is unexpected. It creeps up to my face when I realize that the only someone I can picture, at least at the moment, is Colt.

Miss May. The only reason you’re only picturing him is because no one else has ever done that for you.

But doesn’t that mean something? Even if we’re lying to the rest of the world? Does it mean something to us?

I watch Colt’s retreating back, and Jordan seizes the moment to scooch right on up next to me, batting her eyes dramatically. ‘Colt and May, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—’

‘Are you five, Jordan?’ I prod her in the side, rolling my eyes, but she just giggles in response.

‘Fuckin’ rain,’ we hear Lexi grumble a couple benches down as she starts heading onto the field. Great. We can’t have a proper game if Lexi’s upset.

‘See? Bigger fish to fry. Someone needs to turn that girl’s frown upside down so we win this,’ I point out smugly.

‘I mean, she’s justified.’ Jordan tips her head upward, the space between her eyebrows wrinkling with worry. ‘Looks like it’ll come down any moment.’

For a Meteorology major, I tend to lean optimistic with my weather predictions. I’m not exactly looking to go into forecasting; my intended area of specialty is a bit narrower. Unfortunately, the current cloud patterns fall under that umbrella.

‘Great.’ I head for the field, anyway. ‘Twenty bucks says we don’t finish this game out, Jor.’

‘You’re probably gettin’ your money.’

‘I’m almost positive.’

The ref waves a warning hand, insisting we get into our spots despite the clouds overhead, ones I recognize a little too well. It’s not just education that gets you to that point, it’s experience: seeing it all overhead as a child, knowing when it’s time to bring the horses in and start moving down to the cellar. I take classes with students from the city, and they have to start at square one to pick up that kind of intuition. My dad always insists that even if the university tries, they can’t teach it the same way farm kids in the South pick it up. Right now, despite the fact that a ton of them are probably wasted, said farm kids in the crowd are starting to look up, grabbing their stuff, their friends, and their bottles of beer.

I set up for the draw opposite the midfielder from Austin, and she gives the rumbling sky the same uneasy glance that I do as the ref blows her whistle. We get right into it. I win the draw, flinging the ball straight to Maddie.

‘HUSTLE!’ Coach Dillon calls from the sideline. ‘YOU GUYS GOT IT!’

We’re about to have it, with a play from the attack taking us through Austin’s layer of defence, Jordan right at the net with what’s going to be a sure goal …

The sirens start with a slow, eerie wail that increases in pitch as I count one, two, three Mississippi. Jordan drops the ball, and takes one peek at the clouds before she yells, ‘GO!’

No one needs to be told twice. In a town like Prosperity, we know the drill all too well. The stands file out immediately. The warning flashes across the digital scoreboard screens, and the announcer repeats the spiel. ‘Folks, that’s a tornado warning. A tornado’s been spotted a city over, and we advise you all to seek shelter now. Let’s clear the stadium.’

‘MAY!’ Colt’s voice cuts through the chaos. I’m in a sea of players and audience members. I look this way and that, my two braids slapping my cheek, but I can’t find him. My pulse picks up, sweat from my palms slickening my crosse. Shit, shit. People are starting to head through the tunnel on ground level to funnel out and into the stadium basement. Has he already been swept up in there?

‘Colt!’ I shout back. There’s a panic to my voice that I don’t recognize. I’ve experienced so many of these things, but the last one …

In the moment, May. In the moment. But my ribs feel like they’re closing in on my lungs, and every breath is shallower than the last. The wind whips up around us, creating a tinny whistle when it cuts through the bleachers. ‘COLT!’

‘Hey! Hey, May, come on!’

‘Colt!’ I see the top of his head first, his brown-blond hair, and then the bewilderment in his eyes, as frightened as I feel right now. Colt, as much as he grew up here, hasn’t witnessed a twister in years. I squeeze past a throng of fans, reaching a hand out and grabbing onto his as soon as I’m within reach. His palm is as clammy as mine. He wraps an arm around me. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he says, his chest heaving against my back with every word as he shields me from the push and shove of the influx of people trying to pile into the tunnels.

‘We won’t fit,’ I manage, voice breaking. In the moment . I try centring myself, imagining a cord around my waist tying me to the ground, channelling all my energy into my therapist’s advice, but it’s not working. The shouts of people around us, the body heat emanating from the crowd, it’s too much all at once.

And then the barrage.

The rain comes in a pounding sheet of water, washing over the stadium in a windy rush of moisture that slaps you square in the face. It takes maybe a minute before we’re soaked to the bone, even in the tunnel, owing to the openings on either side.

‘I got you.’ Colt rubs my back with one hand and holds me to him with the other, steering us to the right, into somewhat dry territory, and then down the set of stairs that leads to the basement. It feels like some kind of dystopia, what with the crammed staircase, the death march of people shuffling into the makeshift shelter.

Chester is just about the worst spot to wait out a storm. We may be D1, but our field is ancient, its shelter meant for crowds half the size of what we typically get – and a quarter of the size of what we’ve been getting as of late. We are shoulder to shoulder in the basement, cramped around piles of old lacrosse equipment.

My entire body shudders. I’m scared. And normally, I’d pull myself together, but now that I’m afforded someone who doesn’t expect that of me, in the way the rest of the world does, I don’t bother hiding my fear.

The tears freely trickle down my cheeks, and I bury my face into Colt’s shoulder, holding fast to his strong body. The rest of the crowd knows the drill, the Oklahoman procedure of looking for something that’s anchored to the earth. That’s what they’ll try their darnedest not to let go of, but for reasons I know I’ll never understand, I refuse to let go of Colt, as if he has roots that reach right down to the core of the planet.

‘I’m not scared of storms,’ I murmur. Got to salvage some dignity while I have the chance.

‘I know,’ Colt replies. He smooths my hair down, brushing errant curls from my face, and I swear I hear him say, ‘That’s why I fell for you.’ Or maybe it’s the whistle of the wind. Or the pounding of the rain and the crack of the thunder. I could have heard anything.

But I chose to hear that.