The Last First Game Page 3

  I smile as I read Lila’s message.

  Lila: Hey, Cade. Thanks again for getting me settled this afternoon at campus. It was really good to meet you. Good luck at your first game. :)

  Cute. A smiley face.

  Me: Good to meet you too. Thanks. You should come watch.

  I wait several seconds to see if she responds. My phone chimes and I feel my smile grow wider. Jeez, what is wrong with me? It’s just a chick from the airport.

  Lila: I’ll see what I can do. Have a good night.

  I toss the phone on my desk and settle back, lacing my fingers behind my head. All in all, the day and night shaped up much better than expected.

  Chapter Six

  Lila

  The first day of my internship flies by. Orientation is lame: a bunch of doctors and school administrators blabbing about their expectations for the semester; nerdy, serious looking students scribbling furiously, eyes darting around to peek at their neighbor’s notes; an over-detailed PowerPoint presentation. As soon as it’s over, Kristen, Sam, and I beeline to the nearest bar to grab some beers and talk about everyone we saw/met/heard. Sam gives us the scoop on all the Astor people he knows in our program.

  “What’s the deal, Sam? This is your school. I mean, you must know the other Astor students really well, having spent the last three years taking classes with them. Why are you kicking it with the two of us newbies?” Kristen asks directly.

  Sam fidgets in his chair, taking a long pull of his beer. He sighs. “Did you guys notice the guy named Cliff Henderson?”

  We both nod. It’s hard not to notice Cliff Henderson. Cool, green eyes, disheveled brown hair, tall and muscular in all the right places.

  “We dated my sophomore year.”

  “And …” I press.

  “It didn’t end well. And after that, I was kind of the outcast of the pre-med group.” Sam looks up, meeting my eyes, daring me to ask him for more information.

  I don’t.

  Kristen rests her hand on top of Sam’s. “That sucks.”

  Sam nods, chuckling. “Yeah, it really did. But now, eh, now I’m part of the Three Amigos…” his finger circles around our little group “…so it’s not so bad.”

  We laugh at his horrible joke and toast each other for a job well done on surviving orientation.

  * * *

  On Wednesday night, Kristen and I grab pizza for dinner. The air is balmy and sweet as we walk back to our dorm. Random students pass by, shuffling between activities.

  Kristen sighs, plopping down on a bench. Her hair is tucked behind her ears and she looks tired.

  “All okay?” I ask as I sit down beside her. She was unusually quiet at dinner.

  “Yeah. I’m just tired, I think.” She checks her phone and responds to a text message. A moment later, her phone rings. “I gotta take this.” She waves her phone at me. “See you later on?”

  “Sure.” I smile at her. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, Li.” She looks at me gratefully as she walks away toward the parking lot, her phone already cradled between her ear and shoulder.

  I watch her back get smaller as she gets lost among the parked cars. After hearing her chat on the phone with her mom and sisters each night before bed and seeing her flawless family photo, Golden Retriever included, I assumed everything in her life must be perfect. Ideal.

  But, really, you never know what issues anyone is dealing with or struggling to conceal or trying to come to terms with. I silently scold myself for being so quick to judge, for assuming to know anything about Kristen that she hasn’t confided in me herself. Maybe Kristen’s life isn’t like it seems. And neither is mine.

  I tuck my legs up underneath me on the bench and enjoy the quiet solitude of the evening. Astor’s campus really is beautiful. I look up at the dark sky, taking in the twinkling stars as they emerge from dusk. The weather in California is so much warmer than home. Little wisps of humidity hang heavily in the air. I pull my tank top away from my chest, creating a gentle breeze on my skin.

  The shrill ring of my phone interrupts the quiet. I roll my eyes, already knowing who is calling before I even look at the caller ID. Brandon. Naturally.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Yo. How was orientation?”

  “Ha! Lame. How are you?”

  “Good, thanks. Keeping busy.”

  Silence.

  “Listen, Li, I Just want to check in on you. I know your dodging Mom’s and Dad’s calls. Glad you’re still taking mine.” He chuckles. It sounds forced.

  I sigh. I miss my brother. Brandon is three years older than me and has always had my back. He’s been sheltering me for years, protecting me from the truth about our family, hiding all the lies. Even now, he’s still trying to shield me from the aftermath of my parents’ divorce, which already happened a year ago. And yet the ugliness drags on.

  “Thanks for calling, Bran. What’s going on? Tell me honestly.” I suppose I’ll have to deal with whatever is happening now at some point.

  He sighs heavily. “Dad is taking Brenda on vacation. Some Caribbean cruise. Mom is livid and upset.”

  “Oh. Well, they are divorced now.”

  “Yeah, but you know how she feels about Brenda.”

  I nod, knowing he can’t see me. And knowing exactly how my mom feels about Brenda. She can’t stand her. Brenda was the quintessential other woman. She was Dad’s colleague, who sent Bran and me birthday cards and smiled sweetly at Mom during the annual company picnic and Christmas party. Mom was devastated when she finally learned about Brenda and Dad’s affair.

  “How’s Mom?”

  “She’s not handling it too well. She’s depressed, emotional … despondent.”

  “How bad?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “Thanks.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I feel really bad for Mom. I mean, Dad totally blindsided her when he finally came clean about his affair. Or affairs. Whatever. At the same time, she needs to move on. I mean, it’s been a year and we are still dealing with the same issues.”

  “I know.”

  “And I just don’t feel like talking to Dad and hearing him try and rationalize everything.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  I smile to myself. I really do love my brother.

  “Thanks, Bran.”

  “You going to be okay with all this? Dad and Brenda, they’re getting serious. Well, more serious.”

  “Sure. I’ll be fine.” I try for nonchalance, but already the sting of tears pricks behind my eyes.

  “You don’t have to be a tough guy about it. If you want to cry, cry. If you’re pissed, be pissed. Do whatever you need to do, Lila. This is a tough situation and you’re really far away.”

  Brandon’s concern causes the tears to bubble over. I squeeze my eyes shut, silently imploring them to stop. Several beats of silence pass as I try to control my emotions. The hot tears slide down my cheeks silently, and I hold the phone away from my face as I take a few calming breaths.

  “So are you,” I challenge, not wanting him to hear the tears in my voice.

  He chuckles. “I’ve been living in Seattle for months. You’ve been in California for less than a week. You okay?”

  “I’m fine, really,” I manage to tell Brandon after a minute. The shakiness in my voice betrays me though.

  He sighs heavily. “Lila.”

  “I’m okay.” I take a deep breath. “Really. I need to start learning how to handle things on my own.”

  Brandon is quiet for a few moments. “Are you sure? You just moved.”

  “Yes,” I say. I sound confident this time, sure of myself. Thank God.

  “Well, if you need anything, just call me alright? I promise we’re all going to get through this. Dad’s life is his own. We can help Mom deal with everything the best that we can. And you and I, we’ll be fine.”

  I smile to myself. It always did seem like B
randon and me against everyone else, against the world. “Thanks, Bran. Thanks for calling.”

  “You got it, Bean,” he says, using the nickname he used to torment me with when we were growing up. Bean, for beanstalk, since I was an awkwardly tall and gangly adolescent.

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too. Talk soon.”

  “’Bye.” I hang up.

  I take a deep breath, soothing the emotions that swirl in my chest. My dad is taking Brenda on vacation. What’s next? Probably moving in together. Right now, he’s living in the city apartment. Does he live there alone? Or does she already live with him?

  Mom’s despondent. Depressed and broken. All alone. My heart swells for her, even though her turning a blind eye to Dad’s extracurricular activities has infuriated me for years. I hate that she never stood up to him, called him out on his behavior, reacted at all.

  I sigh to myself, my breath shaky. My parents officially divorced a year ago, although things were far from pleasant for at least three years leading up to their separation. It still surprises me that my mom was blindsided by the whole thing. Dad is a notorious flirt and has a penchant for young blondes. Brenda is thirty-three. Before her, it was Dawn. She was my yoga instructor. Ugh, so gross.

  Tears well in my throat, and before I can stop them, they spill over and a sob escapes. Oh my God. I am the crazy girl sitting on a public bench crying. I take a deep breath, but another sob bursts out.

  Please stop.

  The harder I fight to control my tears, the more they flood forward, like a river through a broken damn. Soon, I’m hysterical, brushing the backs of my hands against my eyes to dry them. My cheeks are slick with moisture. I taste salt as several tears roll past my lips and tiny droplets land on my shorts. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. After several moments, my heart rate returns to normal and the sobs that racked my body subside. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

  I lift up the bottom of my tank top and bury my face in my palms. My shirt absorbs the wetness from my skin. I sit quietly for a few minutes, the balmy breeze refreshing and soothing, calming my erratic emotions.

  My phone chimes again. Probably Brandon double-checking on me. I look at the message.

  Cade: Hey! You busy tonight? Wanna grab Italian ice?

  Cade! My heart rate accelerates immediately, my spirits lifting at the thought of spending some time with him, laughing, joking, being normal. Now I don’t have to sit in my dorm room alone, plagued with my thoughts, consumed with worry and guilt, crying over my broken family, and anxiously waiting for Kristen to return and distract me.

  Relief.

  Me: Sure! I’d love to.

  Cade: Pick you up from your dorm in 10?

  Me: Sounds good. See you then.

  I duck into the nearest building and beeline to the bathroom to try and sort myself out. My cheeks are splotchy and my eyes are a bit puffy and red-rimmed. Damn it! I run my fingers through my hair, scrunching it at the roots to add some lift. I have a date. And I look like a legit disaster.

  But, I smile at my reflection. At least I have a date.

  Chapter Seven

  Cade

  I pull into the front of Lila’s dorm and already see her leaning casually against the side of the building. Her long hair is down, blowing softly in the night breeze. She’s wearing a tank top and cut-off shorts, her arms and legs sun-kissed. She tugs on her shorts self-consciously before she spots me. Immediately, she raises her hand and waves, a big smile spreading across her lips.

  Damn, she’s beautiful.

  I push the gearstick into park and hop out of my F150, walking around to greet her on the passenger side and opening the door for her.

  “Hi,” she says cheerfully, taking my hand as she steps up and slides into the passenger seat. She tosses her small purse on the floor.

  Automatically, I notice something’s off. Her greeting sounds forced, her eyes look like she’s been crying, and her hands fidget nervously with the fray on her shorts. Not that I’ve known Lila for long, but the last time I saw her, she had this reserved, blasé, chill vibe going. Now she seems anxious and on edge.

  Her smile widens at my silence. Oh yeah, something is definitely up. She just doesn’t want to talk about it.

  Yet.

  “Hey.” I smile back, letting her off the hook. I close the passenger door and walk back to the driver’s side. I start the engine and look over at her. She lets out her breath slowly, her face relaxing, and I reach over and pat her knee. “How’s your week going? Settled in okay?” I ask, pausing to check for oncoming traffic as I turn onto the main road.

  Lila clicks her seatbelt in place. “Yeah, so far so good. I really, really lucked out with my roommate. Her name is Kristen. She’s a really nice, cool girl, and after meeting all the other girls in the program, I’m happy to be paired with her. We made friends with a guy named Sam, and the three of us hang out a lot. It’s a relief to have found some friends.”

  I nod. “That’s good. Your living situation makes a huge difference. It can make or break your experience anywhere.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How is the internship going?”

  She makes a face. “It’s okay.”

  “You don’t like it?” I press.

  She shrugs. “It’s going fine. The people are nice and the program is really competitive so …”

  I wait for her to continue.

  “Are you excited for your first game?” She changes the subject.

  I eye her curiously, but she’s looking at me expectantly, her body angled toward me.

  “Yeah, really excited. Arizona is a tough team, so it will be a good opener. Hopefully, we’ll have a big win and it will set some momentum for the season.”

  She nods. “Is it weird that it’s your last season?”

  I’m quiet for a few moments, thinking her question over. I would be lying if I say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. This is it. The last first game. The last season. It’s strange to know that something I’ve done for my entire life, the one thing that has always defined me, is about to end.

  “Yeah. It’s weird to think about. My whole life, this has been the goal, to play Division I college football. Now, that it’s almost over, it’s kind of like, what next? Where do I go from here? It’s strange that I never thought about it sooner, but I guess you never really think it’s going to end, you know?”

  “Would you ever try to go pro?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s everyone’s dream, isn’t it? We’ll see what’s in the cards for me. I’d love a shot, but I don’t want to bank on that happening. Sports are tough. One injury and it’s all over.” Roberts and Bellans flash across my mind.

  She nods her head sympathetically, her eyes widening slightly. “What do you want to do if you don’t play football?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I have no idea.” I chuckle, pulling at the back of my neck. Damn, this girl is hitting me with the tough questions already. “I haven’t given it much consideration. I wish I was more like you, already decided on an actual career path. You can’t go wrong with medicine.”

  Her face darkens immediately, and she turns her head to look out the window. “Mmm.” She mumbles, non-committedly.

  Touchy subject.

  I turn into the parking lot of Paolo’s Italian Ice. “This is seriously the best Italian ice you’ll ever have,” I tell her, putting the gearstick in park.

  Her face brightens. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Lila unclicks her seatbelt and bends to retrieve her purse. By the time she straightens, I’m opening the car door for her. Dad was insistent on always opening doors, any doors, for a woman, especially for Mamma. It’s something I watched Jared do with all his first dates, and then I copied him.

  “Thank you, kind sir.” Lila smiles at me gratefully. I dip into a small bow and she laughs, some of the tightness leaving her face as she finally starts to relax.

  We walk into Paolo’s and wait in line, r
eading the list of flavors.

  “What’s your favorite?” she asks me.

  “Lemon.”

  “Oh my God, you’re so boring!”

  I laugh. “I know it’s basic, but it’s classic. What’s yours?”

  “Cherry.”

  “Your whole mouth will turn red!”

  “It’s worth it.” She laughs.

  I order us two Italian ices and the woman behind the counter hands us the paper cups. Lila grabs extra napkins and we head outside to an old picnic table on the side of the building. Lila sits on the bench, her elbows resting on top of the table. I straddle the bench next to her, facing her body directly.

  “Oh my God, this is amazing,” Lila moans, taking her first taste of the ice.

  “Told you.”

  “At least now I know you’re honest.” She smiles at me, her front teeth already turning red.

  I laugh. She’s cute like this, playful, engaging. I’m so sick of dating the sorority types who spend years getting ready, painting their faces with makeup, stinking up my truck with all of their hair products and body lotions. Lila, she’s just natural, and on her it’s sexy as hell.

  “Is my tongue red?” she asks, sticking out her tongue.

  “You’re whole mouth is red. Teeth included.”

  “Damn.” She laughs, tucking back into her ice.

  We eat in silence for a few minutes. When I look at her, she seems lost in thought, her eyes wide, staring into the distance.

  “Hey.” I nudge her calf with my flip-flop under the table. “You okay?”

  She sighs heavily, slowly bringing her eyes up to meet mine. They seem larger than they did a few moments ago, and I note the drops of moisture accumulating in the corners.

  Uh-oh.

  She tries to smile but her face collapses, and she ducks her head in embarrassment. Pink floods her cheeks and creeps down her neck. She clears her throat. “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I lean closer to her, placing my hand on her forearm. “What’s going on?” I trail my fingers up to her elbow, tugging slightly so she turns and looks at me. Her skin is soft under my touch.

  A tear trickles down and I reach up, my fingers stopping its track, brushing her cheek gently.