At the football game, everyone seems to know Callum Royal. Or at least, everyone wants to appear to know him. People in the stands rise and hail him with a wave. Some stop him at the bottom of the bleachers before we can find an open seat. He shakes a few hands. More than one person comments about his loss, which I find kind of rude. Callum’s wife died two years ago. Why even bring it up? But Callum smiles and thanks each person for thinking of him and his family. It takes thirty minutes before we climb the bleachers to find a seat in the parents’ section.
“You sure you don’t want to sit with your friends?” He waves a hand toward the middle section of the bleachers, which is arranged in alternating colors of blue and gold. He squints. “All the jersey-wearing girls are down there.”
My shoulders twitch under Reed’s jersey. I didn’t wear it to school, much to Reed’s frustration, but I’m wearing it now. I figured that by sitting with Callum, the jersey looks like I’m supporting the family instead of Reed personally. Callum’s wearing Easton’s jersey, and he fills it out pretty well. I look like I’m swimming in mine.
“Nah, I’m good. We gotta save a seat for Val,” I remind him.
But even if Val wasn’t coming, I would still rather sit away from my “friends.” I find the entirety of Astor Park Prep a bunch of assholes. The pranks at school have died down, but not completely. My locker was jammed the other day and I couldn’t get it open in time to make it to class. Thankfully the teacher accepted my explanation for being late. In PE this week, my underwear went missing and I had to go around for the rest of the day commando.
I made the mistake of telling Reed this and he dragged me into a music practice room to “see for himself.” That made me late for bio, and Easton, who’s in the class with me, immediately guessed why and teased me mercilessly.
“You play football in high school, Callum?” I ask as we watch the team warm up by doing some weird leg lifts in unison.
“Yep. I played tight end.”
I smirk. The football terms are so dirty.
Callum winks as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “And your dad played the same position that Reed plays. Defensive end.”
“Did you know that my mom was sixteen when she met Steve?” I thought about the age difference the other day and was slightly horrified. Callum is in his mid-forties, and if the two of them went to high school together, that would make Steve the same age. My mom was seventeen when she had me. Sixteen when she got knocked up. So I guess Steve was a dog even back then. None of that makes me glad he’s dead, though.
“Never thought of it, but you’re right.” Callum casts me an uncomfortable glance. “The girls around the base bars are…it’s hard to tell how old they are.”
I roll my eyes. “Callum, I was fifteen and dancing in strip clubs. I know it’s hard to tell the difference. It was just a thought that popped into my mind.”
“Steve wouldn’t have taken advantage of a woman. He wasn’t that type.”
“I never said he did. Mom didn’t have a bad word to say about my sperm donor.”
Callum grimaces. “I wish you could have met him. He was a good man.” He snaps his fingers. “We should have a visit with some of our old SEAL buddies. You don’t know a man until you’ve slept in a hole in a desert with him for seven days.”
“That sounds legit terrible.” I screw up my nose. “I think I’ll take shopping trips for the win, Alex.”
He laughs. “Fair enough. Oh, here’s Valerie.” He stands up and gestures for Val to come and join us.
She’s all smiles when she takes a seat beside me. “Hey girl, what’s up?”
“Oh good, you’re here to save me from Callum’s literal war stories.”
At Val’s blank look, Callum explains, “I was telling Ella that she needs to meet some navy buddies of her dad’s.”
“Ahh. I met Steve once. Did I ever tell you that?”
“No, when?” I ask curiously.
“It was at Fall Formal last year.” She leans around me to look at Callum. “Remember? You brought the boys in a helicopter?”
My mouth falls open. “For real? A helicopter?”
Callum barks with laughter. “I’d forgotten. Yup. We were testing out a new prototype and Steve wanted to give it a go. We picked up the boys and their dates and flew them up and down the coast for an hour before landing on the school grounds. Beringer had a coronary over that. I had to shell out a landscaping architecture donation.” He grins broadly. “Worth it.”
“Sheesh. No wonder the girls climb all over themselves to date the Royals.”
“Ella,” Callum says with a mock-wounded look, “my sons are pictures of masculine virility. It’s their character that draws the women and not their pocket books.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”