Page 38

Reckoning

Colt

A bout an hour in the back of the truck, and one gas-station stop later, we casually wind up back at my house as if nothing at all had just happened. ‘HOME!’ May calls out upon our arrival, and then the screen door slams behind us, protesting noisily as always. So many familiar things, but so much change.

Wordless, save for a parting smile, we head in our separate directions. Once I’m all ready for bed, I head to climb under my covers, but my bedroom door creaks slightly ajar.

For the first time since the Velascos have temporarily moved in, May stands there, hair piled on top of her head, yawning hard, her pillow in her arms, and I don’t have to say anything. We run through the motions like we’ve been doing it for ever. She curls up beside me, her head to my chest, wearing shorts and a huge T-shirt with a map of the historic OKC Diamond Quad on it, and I drape my arm over her, her leg laid across mine. No pillow wall. No distance between us. She smells like roses and Busch Light Peach.

I’ve known it for a good part of my life. That’s the first time, though, that I really, really think about it. I think about the fact that I am in love with Manmayi Velasco, and I choose to forget about the logistics. In that moment, it doesn’t matter that I might leave and she might put her guard back up. All that matters is that I am unconditionally and unabashedly in love with her.

I wake to the sound of the shower running, and I run a hand over the space next to me – empty, save for a lingering warmth from the heat of May’s body and the indentation she left in the sheets. I check my phone. Fuck. It’s seven-thirty a.m. on a Tuesday. She has class, and I have a ton of my MBA stuff to work on.

I find a shirt somewhere on my desk chair and pull it on, stumbling bleary-eyed towards the stairs and down to the kitchen. Sav has a seven-thirty class that she’s probably already at. Pop’s shift at the hospital started at six-thirty. The Velascos head out early every morning to tend their remaining cattle and oversee construction of their new ranch. And Ma’s likely just left to teach her eight a.m. lecture, leaving no one but the two of us in the house. Sure enough, my mom’s signature sticky note is slapped on the side of the fridge: Pancakes and berries inside. EAT THE BERRIES, COLT. Feed May.

Great. It’d be nice to have a distraction or two running around the house right about now.

‘Colt!’ her voice comes from upstairs.

Nonchalant , I recite my mantra for the day. I can’t risk scaring her away. Unfortunately, that lasts about two seconds. I run right up the steps like my life depends on it. ‘Yeeeaahhh!’

‘Colt!’ May’s still yelling from the bathroom. ‘I can’t find my hair towel!’

I mentally curse my sister. Always moving shit around in there so she can get dressed up for all of three lectures. May’s towel turban, purple with white and yellow daisies, is definitely not outside on the towel rack. ‘Savannah!’ I hiss, rifling through the linen closet in desperate pursuit of the offender.

‘Is it out there?’ May calls, as exasperated as I am right now. I’m basically throwing half the closet over my shoulder looking for this thing. If it doesn’t show up …

The bathroom door creaks open behind me. I whip around, and I am decidedly unprepared for the sight that greets me.

So maybe I’m going to go ballistic. Or feral. Or both. I remember picturing May in my house, in my room, fitting right in like our lives were made for one another. I think the sight of her, cheeks flushed, water dripping down her temple and jaw, her curly hair soaked, and nothing at all on her person except for her matching lavender bath towel, might do me in.

I blink a couple times. Remind myself this situation is not about May’s long, tanned legs, still glistening with water. Or the gentle curves that the towel does a poor job of concealing. It’s not an easy reminder to give myself. My rational mind is checked out. I’m definitely not thinking with my brain when I rewind back to last night, to the way May’s skin felt flush against mine, her nails digging into my back …

‘My hair towel,’ May says, a slightly concerned look on her stunning face.

‘Huh?’

‘Did you find it?’

‘Um – let me see.’ Towel. You’re on a mission, damn it, Colt. I turn myself cleverly towards the linen closet so she can’t see the evidence of her immediate effect on me. At this point, I’m practically begging my dick to leave this conversation as soon as possible so I can save some semblance of face. I shove yet another stack of washcloths to the side, and fortunately, there it is. The towel turban.

She sticks out a hand, and I cough, looking away as I push the thing in her general direction.

‘Thank you,’ she grumbles. She promptly disappears into the bathroom and slams the door closed.

Way to make things harder, May.

I hit the bathroom the moment it’s free, brush my teeth, and take what might be the most thorough shower I have in a while. Suddenly I’m self-conscious. Do I smell like lax bro? Does May think I smell like lax bro? I’m not sure, but all the Dove soap I’m using had better do the trick.

Tugging on my jeans and T-shirt for the day, I thunder back downstairs. May’s backpack is slumped against the leg of the dining-table chair she sits at, half-eaten pancakes in front of her as she chews, humming a happy little moan, closing her eyes for just a moment to savour it. ‘Colt, what did your mom put in these?’ She waves her fork my way.

I’m a bit busy trying to distract myself from May’s happy little moan as it strikes me that it’s pretty similar to some of the blissful sounds I had the pleasure of hearing back in the bed of my truck, but the mention of my mom snaps me out of it a little too well. ‘Oh. Uh, it’s her signature biscuit mix pancakes. She uses Bisquick. Nothin’ to it.’

‘No way.’

‘Yes, way.’

I grab myself a plate and heap on the pancakes, pop them in the microwave, and then add berries. I sit down across from May and grab the syrup. ‘So.’

‘So.’ She smiles wryly, swallowing a bite of pancake. ‘You sleep well?’

Haha. As well as a man could when he’s hyper-aware of his every-stage-of-life crush asleep next to him. ‘Sure. You?’

She shrugs. ‘Sure. Thanks, by the way. For letting me sleep in there last night.’

‘You don’t have to thank me,’ I say way too quickly. ‘Considering—’

‘Considering,’ echoes May. I watch as she chases a strawberry around her plate, pushing a loose wave of semi-wet hair from her face. She’s traded her jeans for sweatshorts today, paired with a UOKC Meteorology T-shirt. ‘We don’t need to … make it a big deal. Do we?’

I blink. And then I blink again. Don’t need to make it a big deal? Call me a dud, but that was kind of the biggest deal of my life in a really long time. I’d hoped it was at least top ten for her. Maybe.

‘May …’

‘Colt.’ She finally stabs the strawberry with terrifying conviction, locking her eyes on mine. ‘Remember when I mentioned we have different destinations?’

I nod warily. This doesn’t sound great.

‘Well … I think I have an idea of mine. And I think I’m going to be extraordinary. At meteorology.’ Her eyebrows furrow nervously. ‘I’ll stay in Oklahoma for the foreseeable future. And you’ll head right on back to New Haven.’

I feel like I’ve just been kicked in the chest by that temperamental horse Rocky. She’s not declaring? May Velasco, the best the entire South has had in lacrosse in years and years, isn’t going to declare for the MLL draft? It’s a let-down for the sport. It’s a let-down for our game plan, considering what we’ve accomplished – bringing attention to women’s lax at OKC. Getting May on MLL radar will have been in vain. And honestly, it’s a let-down for me, because I’m selfish and I saw a chance, a glimmer of red-card May, the May who’d break any rule to get her way. But above all of it, it’s a let-down for May. May, who will work a nine to five until she retires, and then, who knows, maybe she’ll have all these what-ifs to live with. I see them in her eyes already.

‘We’ve just started repairing this bridge,’ she goes on. ‘I don’t want to sink it before it’s even built. We’ll be miles and miles away. You’ll be on contract …’

She stands up and walks her plate to the sink, rinsing it before racking it in the dishwasher. Maybe nonchalant was my mantra, but she’s the epitome right now. And it’s kind of terrifying.

‘So you’re saying …’

‘Heat of the moment.’ She shoots me a forced smile. ‘We’d just won a huge match. Spirits were high. It happens.’

May grabs her backpack and darts out of the door, but her words stay behind. My heart thunders like an oncoming storm. Am I pissed? Sad? Confused? I’m not totally sure any more.