Page 49 of Next Season
Look, I had no illusions of swooping in and being a savior, but the moment I was okayed to return, I needed to be there for my guys—on the bench, in the locker room, at practices. I had to show my face, be present, be a cheerleader, a sideline coach, or whatever they needed. I certainly couldn’t manufacture excuses to stay in Elmwood…no matter how much I wanted to.
I snapped to attention when my doorbell rang. “Hey, Tara, I gotta run. My buddy is here to drive me to my appointment.”
“Okay, good luck.”
“Thanks, I—”
“Oh! Hang on,” she intercepted just as I was about to disconnect the call. “Will I see you over the holidays?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I’ll try, but I don’t know where I’ll be and I’ve already been gone a long time,” I replied impotently.
“I know. We all miss you. Just…get better, and we’ll figure the rest out.”
“Yeah. Love you, Sis.”
“Love you too, Ri.”
I pocketed my cell, grabbed my jacket, and headed for the door.
The windy roadssurrounding Elmwood gave way to a tree-lined ribbon of highway about twenty minutes into the drive to Burlington. Vinnie regaled me with amusing antics of the group of juniors he was coaching in between manic deejay duties.
“Dude, I love this song.” He cranked the volume on fuck-knows-what for the fifth time in less than an hour, furrowing his brow when I smacked his hand.
“You’re giving me a headache, Kimbo,” I grumbled.
He shot an apologetic sideways glance at me. “Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. How’s your noggin doing?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Seriously. The music was a little loud, that’s all. Let’s just…talk.”
He nodded, eyes focused on the road. I couldn’t gauge his expression from this angle, but his mood so far had been typical Vinnie—relentlessly enthusiastic and upbeat. I figured we’d kill the remaining hour by running our own version of ESPN, giving highlights from every game we’d watched over the past week or something holiday oriented ’cause seemingly everyone wanted to talk about the damn holidays all of a sudden.
But he surprised me.
“We can do that. Tell me what’s going on with you and JC.”
O-kay.
Shit.
I froze…which probably made me look guilty as hell, but I didn’t know what to say. So, I gave one of those phony laughs that never fooled anyone and licked my lips nervously.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Why do you ask?”
“Believe it or not, I wasn’t born yesterday. You guys are tight and that’s great, but…I dunno, I gotta wonder if he has a crush on you.”
The correct response was, “I hope so ’cause I’m head over heels for that guy and he’s a man and it’s confusing, but good and I don’t know what to do about it. Do I come out? Now, later, ever? If I can’t be with him, I don’t want another guy, so does it matter?”
Of course, I didn’t say any of that. I was too chickenshit. I fidgeted in my seat like a kid on a sugar high and huffed, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Sorry.” Vinnie winced. “Fuck, that’s my bad. I made this weird, and I didn’t mean to. Forget I said anything. How ’bout those Dodgers?”
“I hate the fuckin’ Dodgers.”
“Me too.”
We both chuckled. It was awkward, but it was the best we could manage under the circumstances. Our brief, clumsy reprieve was followed by a strained silence. Vinnie countered it by turning up the volume on the radio and making small talk about the expected snowfall this season.
I should have been grateful for the segue, but my brain was pulsing against my skull now. My very real fear of a sudden migraine impacting whatever scan the doctors had in store for me today drove me to speak up.