Page 33

Liza

I t’s game time, but it’s not a regular game.

It’s the first game where my. . . maybe boyfriend is playing on the field.

My heart pounds a mile a minute, but I can’t let Violet catch on to my nerves.

I’ll never hear the end of it before the game starts.

Instead, I’m rocking back and forth in an obnoxiously long nacho line at the stadium, fiddling with the necklace Hartley gave me earlier today.

You’re my lucky charm, now.

How does he seem to say things straight out of the romance novels I devour, courtesy of Violet?

I fumble across every sentence when he’s around.

I don’t remember feeling this level of nervousness around Layne, but then again, did I care enough to feel all the things I thought I did?

I’m starting to question our failed relationship more and more as Hartley continues to set the bar exceptionally high.

Violet’s head suddenly whips around to talk to two strangers behind us in line. “Who is out tonight?”

One of the guys replies, “Rumor is Ryan Shane is out for the game.”

“Oh, that’s not true. He’s my boyfriend and he’s definitely playing,” she says with confidence as I continue to fiddle with the chain around my neck.

“Could just be a rumor,” the other guy answers with a nonchalant shrug.

Violet turns back around and hits me with a confused stare. She leans over and whispers as soft as she can over the crowd. “Did you hear those guys? They said there’s a rumor that Ryan isn’t playing tonight.”

“What? No way. Ryan would have told you if he got hurt.” I’m not phased. One thing is certain—that boy is obsessed with her. She would be the first to know if he was injured and out for tonight.

“I guess it’s just a stupid rumor. When you’re good that happens.” She shrugs off the comments and we finally make it to the front of the line, order a boat of loaded nachos to share, and shimmy to our seats to watch the pre-game warmups.

My favorite part is the booming music through the stadium as we watch the guys do their thing.

I make a mental note of some things I’d like to sketch later to capture this electrifying moment for my portfolio project.

Before long, I spot Hartley as he runs straight to me with his sweaty blonde hair flopping on his shoulders.

One hand grips his pads while the other flies through his hair, moving it away from his face.

I wave frantically and blow him a kiss matched with a playful wink.

If he’s going all in on us, I need to show him effort as well, but panic settles over my body when he approaches us.

His jaw is set in stone, and his usual goofy playfulness is replaced with stricken anger.

I scan the field, remembering what those guys said in the concession stand line.

Leaning over to Violet, I scream over the rowdy crowd, “Where’s Ryan?

I don’t see him with the running backs.”

Violet scans the field and quickly comes to the same realization. She jolts off the bleachers and descends a few steps to make it to the metal barrier between the stands and the field. I follow close behind and catch her asking Hartley, “Where’s Ryan?”

“Vi, I’ll have to explain after the game.

Some shady stuff went down. I can’t let myself go there or I’ll lose it.

” His eyes shift to lock with mine. His pupils are blown and full of hurt, anger, maybe both.

Nothing needs to be said between us. I nod, continuing to clutch the number thirteen chain between my fingers so tight it’ll bruise, giving him and Violet space to sort this out.

“Where is he?” she asks with clear panic in her voice.

“I don’t know. No one can reach him. We’ll talk later.” He tries to reason with her, but she’s out of our section before he can finish.

In a split second, I look to the exit to see the back of Violet’s head flashing through the crowd. I also see a lost Hartley in front of me and I don’t have a clue what to do.

“Go,” he mouths.

“But. . . you. . .”

He cuts in before I can finish my chaotic thought. “She needs you. Please. For me.”

Nodding frantically, I dash out of the crowd and out the exit in an attempt to catch up with the speed demon. “Violet! Violet, wait! I’m coming with you. What’s going on?”

“It’s Ryan. . . He’s. . . I don’t know. . .Hartley said—” She’s a babbling mess, and her thoughts are all over the place. I need to put my friend hat on and put my worried feelings for Hartley on the backburner. They can wait until after the game.

“Well, I’m not letting you drive by yourself. You’re too upset!” Placing my hands on my hips, I take a moment to catch my breath from sprinting through a college football stadium. “Don’t fight me. I’m coming.”

“Get in,” she says, and I release a sigh of relief that she won’t face this alone.

As we take the usual short drive into town, each block feels like an eternity.

What did he get himself into?

Why is he missing?

My mind races as I try to hold my composure for Violet’s sake. “What did Hartley say happened?” I ask timidly. I know she’s in a fragile state, and I don’t want to rile her up even more.

“He said something sketchy happened, but he couldn’t talk about it.”

“Maybe he’s hurt.” Although, I doubt that’s the case. My stomach twists and turns with the same feeling I had moments before I walked in on Layne cheating on me. Something’s not right—and I don’t think it’s an injury.

“If he got hurt, he would have told me. I have a feeling this is worse.”

I nod in agreement, even though I pray this is all a big misunderstanding.

After driving in circles around town for hours, we stop at Downtown Tap to check it out as a last ditch effort.

Ryan doesn’t drink, so the bar seemed like a longshot, but anywhere is worth checking at this point.

Violet hightails it out the car and speedwalks past the bouncer and into the bar.

I do my best to keep pace, but I fall behind.

When I make it past the entrance, the sight is gut-wrenching.

Hunched over the sticky bar lined with more empty glasses than I can count, is Ryan.

He’s in bad shape—that much I can tell from a distance—but what’s worse is the agonizing look on Violet’s face as she comes to the realization that everything isn’t okay.

I keep my distance, giving them space to sort out the situation at hand. The booming sound of Ryan’s voice hits me square in the chest from across the barren bar when he says, “Figured your best friend would have mentioned how much of a screw-up I am.”

Hartley.

Stepping outside of the bar for air, I curl my legs into a ball against the exposed brick wall. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I text Hartley. I’m not sure if the game is over yet, but it has to be close.

Me: We found him at Downtown Tap. It’s bad, Hart. What’s going on?

Hartley: * link to sports article *

When I click the link he sent, my heart barrels out of my chest. My mind moves at a thousand miles a minute while I register the magnitude of this.

Ryan got caught up in a sports betting deal.

Even worse? He bet on his own game. I know enough about sports from dating an athlete long-term that betting is one of the cardinal sins.

He won’t play after this. I click back to our text thread to see I missed one text from him.

Hartley: How is she?

Me: Not good. They’re arguing in the bar. How are you?

Hartley: It doesn’t matter.

Me: It does. You matter to me.

Hartley: I fumbled. Cost us the game.

Me: Where are you?

Hartley: Leaving the field, going to the apartment

Clicking my phone off, I lift myself off the concrete sidewalk and head back into the bar to check on Violet.

The potent smell of liquor and bad decisions hits my nostrils, as well as a red-eyed, sobbing Violet.

Slamming into my chest, she grips my shoulders in sheer panic and clenches onto the fabric of my jersey.

Reading her expression, I take control. “Let’s go.

” She nods frantically and allows me to lead us back to her car.

She fishes her keys out of her purse and drops them into the palm of my hands to drive us back home.

We take the somber drive back in the darkness of the night, and I manage to keep my mouth shut and allow her to talk to me when she’s ready.

As we pull in, my mind wanders to Hartley and how he’s taking this.

Since we have the car, he must have walked or caught a ride back from the field.

The dome lights dim as I put the car in park.

Violet’s eyes stare ahead at nothing, but I imagine she’s thinking about everything all at once.

“C. . . Co. . .Could you—” She tries her best to form the question her brain is thinking.

“I’m staying.” For both her and Hartley.

Guiding her exhausted body upstairs and into the apartment, I help her into the bed and climb in next to her.

She rolls over and tucks her covers under her hands like a foil-wrapped burrito.

With the lights turned off, her bedroom illuminates with moonlight peeking through the sheer curtains she hung a few weeks ago.

The midnight haze casts shadows over us.

Leaning up on my elbow, I peek over to check if Violet’s sleeping.

I’m greeted with her heavy-lidded eyes staring at the wall.

“It doesn’t seem like it, but everything will be okay,” I whisper softly, not to startle her. “It feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest with no medicine to ease the pain.” I rub her back to soothe her into sleep. “You’re stronger than you think.”

“I hope so.” Her voice cracks before one of her hands untucks from the comforter and grips over her mouth. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to trust him again after this.”

I snuggle closer to her and squeeze her into a tight hug. “You may or may not. Just know I’m here for you, regardless. I’m your ride or die.”

We lay there like that for what has to be over two hours before her breathing steadies and the first snore leaves her mouth.

The sight of her like this reminds me of the night my life came crashing down before me.

I wish I had a friend to stick by me through it all and to tell me that everything will be okay, eventually.

Now that I know Violet is asleep for the night, I throw around the idea of checking on Hartley. Part of me wants to make sure he’s doing okay, but the other part doesn't want to over step.

The impulsive side of me takes over as I roll out of bed with as little movement as possible to not wake Vi.

I move through the apartment at sloth speed, careful not to creak the old wooden floors before I make it to Hartley’s cracked, open door.

Darkness peaks through the crack, giving me the evidence I need to know he’s asleep, but as I turn to head back to Violet’s bed, a raspy voice calls out, “Goldie?” That voice stops my tiptoes dead in their tracks as my body flies around to meet the man behind it.

“It’s me,” I whisper back.

“Don’t leave.”

My fragile heart cracks at the sound of him pleading with me to stay, so I enter the dark room, reaching my hands out to feel around so I don’t run into furniture or trip over his clothes piled on the floor.

“Right here,” he says, making a patting sound next to him under the sheets. Breathe, Liza.

“I don’t want to. . .” My breathing picks up as my chest rises and falls with anticipation and trepidation. “Intrude.”

“Please.”

Before I can overthink myself being in his bedroom, I slip my socks off and scoot next to him, careful not to touch his legs with my freezing toes. His warmth is everywhere when our bodies are this close, and it takes all of my will power not to scoot against him and cuddle. “How are you?”

“Could be better.” His voice is filled with a mix of anger and sadness, but he mostly sounds tired .

“Tell me what happened.”

“I fumbled. It wasn’t even close,” he scoffs as pulls his hands down hard, running them over his face.

“It’s not all your fault, Hart. Football is a team sport, and you’re allowed to feel the way you did.”

His voice goes softer, more tender as he continues to share his horrible night with me. “I should have blocked it out of my head, but I couldn’t.”

“I can’t believe it. Why would he do something like this?”

“I’m done trusting people only for them to stab me in the back,” he admits. “I’ve been blindsided too many times.” He exhales. “I’m tired, babe.” His vulnerability shocked me into silence. “The team aside, he was supposed to be there for Violet. I trusted him.”

“Maybe there’s more to the story. Is it worth hearing him out?”

His hands rub over his tired eyes as he contemplates my suggestion. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to do it all, you know.” My hand slips across the invisible barrier I built between us and interlaces with his warm, calloused one. “She’s strong.” Violet’s grown a lot since I’ve met her, so I’m sure she’s leaps and bounds past what Hartley sees her as.

“If I don’t do it all, who will?” His hand grips onto mine tighter. He slowly rolls over from his back to his side, so I do the same. Even though it’s too dark to see much, I still feel his eyes piercing into me through the pitch black. “I don’t have anyone.”

Without question, I say, “You have me.” My free hand reaches up to trace patterns over his strong jaw. “I’m here to stay.”

His breath whooshes out as his shoulders shift further down. His presence draws closer seconds before his lips are on mine and I crumple into his strong arms. Arms that hold it all together for everyone but himself. We only part for small breathes before going in for more again and again.

“I’ve waited—” His fingers run through the long strands of hair that cascade well down my back.

“—too long—” His teeth nip my ear, forcing me to suck in a deep breath from both pleasure and pain.

“—to hear those words come out of that pretty little mouth.” His lips move to my forehead for a gentle kiss, ruining me forever for anyone else.

He pulls back slightly and traces his fingers up and down my blazen arm.

“I should have said it a long time ago, when I realized I couldn’t get rid of you.” I giggle into his bare chest and inhale his woodsy smell I love so much.

“And when was that, Goldie?”

“Freshman year?” Even though he can’t see my face in the darkness of the bedroom, I tap my chin to think. “At the bar where we first met.”

He digs his thumbs into the curves of my hips, my spandex boy shorts riding up inch by inch. “Since you’ve loved me since the day you met me, you shouldn’t have a problem being my girlfriend.” So matter-of-fact. So cocky.

Instead of feeding into the cat and mouse game we’ve played for too long, I give him the truth. “No. I think I would like that.”

“Finally,” he groans out.