A horrified, male voice came from two tables down. “Michigan?”
Cooper reached up and clapped a hand on my shoulder, leaning in. “Just wanted to say this, man, since you might not get out of Ohio alive tonight, but I think you’re an amazing athlete.”
“Thanks?” I was reeling.
When I turned back to her, I discovered Kayla was gone. She’d given up on trying to get out of the booth on her mom’s side and had crawled beneath the table. Was she going to hide under there, rather than face me? I was so pissed, I couldn’t even focus on the bullshit going on around me.
A fan from somewhere yelled out, “Get outta here, douchebag! Go Bucks!”
Kayla emerged from beneath the table and stared up at me with anxiety, maybe even fear. I sighed. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“No shit,” her mother said.
“Great,” the angry fan barked. “Take it outside, and don’t come back.”
Fuck this noise. I curled a hand around Kayla’s wrist and stormed away from the table, dragging her with me. Some people hurled profanities, while others clapped as I shoved open the door for her and followed her out.
It was cold outside, but fire burned inside my veins, flaring hotter when I saw my car. Someone had tossed what looked like a milkshake on my windshield. Ice cream was slung all over the front of it, and the Styrofoam cup was caught on a windshield wiper. I’d forgotten about my Michigan license plate holder. Why did Ohio State fans have to be so goddamn obnoxious?
“Oh,” Kayla said, pulling to a stop beside me and staring at my car.
I sighed. “You really do get thrown out of every place you go.”
She looked up and gave me a small, sad smile. “Only when I’m with you.”
“I don’t have a hard time with women.” I leaned over and set my fists on the hood of the car, avoiding the milkshake. “I could find some girl at Michigan to be with me, easy. Maybe even a dozen. These girls hang around outside practice, waiting. Shit, they practically line up.”
Kayla looked sick to her stomach. “You’ve mentioned it before, so why are you telling me again?”
“All those girls care about is the helmet, not the guy underneath it. I don’t want ‘some girl,’ I want you.” I pushed off the car and faced her directly. “You aren’t with me because you like who I play for, you’re with me because you like who I am.” I dropped my voice to a hush. “At least, I thought so.”
She looked pained. “I do!”
“Yeah? Then, why does your mom think my name’s Jason?”
“Because ‘Jason’ doesn’t go to Michigan, and he definitely isn’t their starting tight end. Jay Harris is. My parents are probably in there right now, examining where they went so horribly wrong with me.”
“Be serious.” My frustration was reaching a critical level. She’d met my parents. Spent the whole day with them. Yet hers hardly knew anything about me, and what they did, seemed to be lies. “I’m exhausted from practice, and all I want to do is crash. But instead I drove three hours to see you. Now I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here.”
“Don’t be like that.” She drew back as if my words had physically hurt her. “I was going to tell them tonight, I swear. I wanted to do it the right way. You have to understand, my family’s going to have a hard time dealing with this.”
Dealing with this? Was our relationship some sort of terrible situation?
The door to the bar opened and her parents came out. When Stephanie’s gaze found me beside her daughter, she stared daggers.
“C’mon,” I said dryly, “let’s find out how your folks are coping with the bad news.”
-29-
JAY
Since it was too cold to stand around outside talking for more than a few minutes, Kayla told her family to head over to her apartment and we would meet them there.
She sat silently in the passenger seat of my Charger while I cleaned the windshield off with the wipers and a shit-ton of wiper fluid. Even after the smeary mess was gone and I could see, I sat with my hands on the steering wheel, waiting for her to say something.
“I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry.” She smoothed her palms down her legs and her fingers played with the edge of her skirt. “I wanted to tell them, but I was nervous. I really like you, and I wanted them to like you, too.”
“So, you were, what? Protecting me?”
She nodded vigorously. I rolled my eyes and put the car in gear. “Sorry, but that sounds like bullshit. If you were protecting someone, it was yourself.”
“What does that mean?”
“Come on, Kayla. You take every chance you get to pretend I don’t go to Michigan. Part of me is beginning to wonder if you’ve even accepted it yourself.”
She straightened in her seat. “Are you kidding me right now?” She emphasized every word. “I went to a freaking Michigan game!”
Where she’d worn her OSU shirt, sulked the entire time, and thought my touchdown shouldn’t count, so it wasn’t like I had her support. “You did,” I said. “But let me ask you this. How come every time we’re together, you put your hand”—I tapped the spot of my tattoo—“here?”
Did she think I hadn’t notice how she always covered it up when I had my shirt off?
She was quiet, and when I glanced at her, she looked ashamed. I didn’t enjoy seeing her like that.
“You’re right.” Her voice was tiny. “All I can say is I’m trying. I’ve spent my whole life hating that school, and where do you think I learned it from?” She let out a deep breath. “This isn’t going to make them happy. I have no idea what they’re going to do.”
I nearly strained my eyes choking back the desire to roll them. This was just a stupid fucking rivalry. “I’m sure it’s going to be okay.”
She pressed her lips together and turned her head to stare out the window.
When Kayla unlocked her front door and let us inside, I took the secondhand reject chair positioned across from the couch, leaving that option for the McCarthy family. Cooper dropped down and played on his phone, indifferent to it all.
Bob and Stephanie were a whole different story. They sat on the edge of the couch, stiff and glaring at their daughter like she’d done something awful. Kayla stood halfway between us, trying to be Switzerland.
“How the hell did this happen?” her mother demanded.
Kayla’s mouth opened, then shut, like she wasn’t sure what to say, so I answered for her. “We met at Marcy’s wedding.”
The apartment door swung open without warning, and Chuck, still in his marching band uniform, entered. He unsnapped his collar as he gave a friendly smile to the McCarthys, but he must have sensed the tension in the room. His smile faded and everything went quiet as a tomb. When he saw me sitting in the chair, the thought running through his head was obvious. Uh, oh.
“Is this the intervention?” Chuck joked. “I tried to get her counseling, but the doctor said she’s too far gone.”