“That’s right,” another sportscaster chimed in. “Plus, it looks like he might be headed to a national championship after the win against Taylor. Saturday was his best game of the season . . .” the voice drifted off, going into details about other games over the weekend.
Tate went to the kitchen and came back with beers, handing me one as he sent me a cocky grin. “Here’s to tonight and the end of an era. No matter what happens, I couldn’t have picked a better person to have this run with.”
“Cheers, my friend, and ditto that.” We clinked bottles, and I took a swig.
I leaned against the doorjamb, my eyes going to Sunny’s house across the street. When I’d called her this morning, she’d been rather curt, busy with packing so they could leave as soon as the funeral was over. I was thankful Mimi had gone with her. We’d talked everyday she’d been gone, but she’d been off. Her dad had died on Sunday, and she was busy, handling the funeral and visiting with distant relatives.
She also said she had something to tell me, but she wanted to do it in person. I already knew what it was, but for the life of me, I couldn’t ask her about it.
I went to my room and pulled the blue and pink packaging from my nightstand drawer and stared down at it. It was wrinkled and dented from the nights I’d cradled it in my hands. I’d been wrestling with what it meant since I’d found it in her house on Sunday after the game. She’d called and asked me to use the key she’d given me after the daisy incident to double check her lights and locks because she’d left in such a hurry.
She’d left the light on in the bathroom, and I found the empty box—with no test strip. Of course, she’d probably taken it with her.
I came out of the bedroom and headed to the kitchen to eat some of the catered food my dad had sent over. Our countertops and kitchen table were covered in sandwiches, fancy deli meats, dips, chips, and a plethora of other snacks. Two kegs were outside by the fire pit, also courtesy of my dad, just waiting for guests to show up later when we had our party that Tate insisted on.
Dad had even bought us a new eighty-inch big screen TV. Two guys had arrived this morning and set it up outside under the covered porch, so we’d have plenty of room for the players, coaches, and anyone else we wanted to watch the live show in the backyard.
Yeah. My dad was trying.
Buying me things wasn’t going to make a difference, yet we’d had a slight bonding moment when he’d gone to the police department with me. Just today he’d called to let me know that the police had sought out an interview with Bianca, but she’d left school unexpectedly. Bullshit. She just hadn’t wanted to squeal on Felix. He’d probably gotten to her and convinced her to keep her mouth shut. She wasn’t a reliable witness.
On the other hand, Cyndi and Felix had been questioned by the police, but according to my dad’s contacts, they’d denied any involvement in the library incident. As of now, everything we had was hearsay. Whatever. I wasn’t going to worry about it. Not today. Somehow, someway, Felix would fuck up.
As for my dad, it would take time and a shit ton of patience to build a relationship with him. Anything was possible, I guess.
“When does Sunny get here?” Tate asked from the kitchen where he was cramming pepperonis in his mouth. “I hope she makes the show.”
I grinned. “Tonight. You gonna string more lights up for her?”
Dude had gone nuts on the decorating, even calling some of his favorite groupies to come over and help him get the backyard situated like he wanted. Tiger football banners, twinkling lights, and an assortment of tables and chairs now dotted the area.
“Maybe,” he chuckled. “I didn’t think we’d get it done in time, but it looks great. I’m glad the weather warmed up.” He made a funny face. “Bloody hell, I’m a good decorator.”
I agreed.
A few hours later, the house was packed. About fifty people, most of them players and coaches, roamed around the den and outside. I got nervous, watching all the smiling faces as they came in the door. If I didn’t get a nod as a candidate, I’d be embarrassed while everyone watched.
I drank another beer and waited, my eyes bouncing to the bay window every few minutes so I could see if Sunny had arrived. I rechecked my phone. The last call I’d gotten from her had been two hours ago when they’d stopped for gas.
“Ten minutes ‘til show time, folks. Time to head outside,” Tate called.
Following him, we went outside where people crowded around the big screen. Tate turned up the television with the remote, pulled Kiki down onto his lap, and sent me an excited smirk. “It’s on, mate!”
The swing of headlights came from across the street just as the announcers came on inside the New York Athletic Club. A well-dressed sports anchor began the show. “Welcome to the live coverage of the Heisman finalists where five players will be chosen to represent the best of the best in college football. In one week, one of those five will hold the golden trophy . . .”
“Where you going?” Tate called as I stood to walk to the edge of the yard. “You’re gonna miss it!”