“I think that’s part of it,” she finally says. “I don’t remember much of it, honestly. Like I said, he wasn’t home a lot back then. He was coaching at Arlington. But my parents would fight a lot when he did come back. Once, I think I was eight or nine, he came home when I was down in the kitchen getting a drink of water. He was stumbling around, slamming into everything. I got scared, thinking there was an intruder or something, so I hid under the kitchen table. My mom came downstairs, they started arguing, and that’s when I realized it was actually my dad. I just remember thinking how if drinking could make my father act like that, I never wanted to.”
“But he stopped?”
“Yeah, when Liam and I started fifth grade. I think my mom gave him an ultimatum. He quit his job at Arlington and moved back to Glenmont full-time. My friend Brooke’s father owns an insurance company; he worked there for a little while, and then he started coaching at Glenmont when the position opened up. He took Liam to every practice and game, starting his very first season.”
“Wow,” I remark. “Liam’s been watching high school games since middle school? I was sticking frogs in my teachers’ desks at that age.”
Maeve laughs, lightening the heavy moment. “I’m not surprised.”
“I’m a big fan of a good prank,” I inform her.
“Really?” Maeve replies, raising her eyebrows. “So the fact that someone dyed our pool blue—Alleghany blue—last fall…” She looks at me questioningly.
“Yeah, I came up with that,” I admit.
“It was funny,” she replies, smiling.
“Thank you.” I grin back. Our mutual amusement fades slowly, and then I acknowledge the humorless revelations she just shared with me. “I’m sorry about your dad, Maeve. It’s his loss, I promise.”
“Thanks for listening,” she replies. “I, uh—I’ve never told anyone any of that before.”
“You can tell me anything, Maeve.”
“Yeah, I kind of feel like I can,” she whispers. Her phone vibrates on the grass between us, and she leaps up, dusting the errant blades of grass off her shorts. “Shit, I have to go get changed before work. I totally lost track of time.”
“Work?”
“Yeah, I’m a waitress atMo’s Diner.” She kicks the resting soccer ball airborne and catches it neatly before reaching down to grab her water bottle. “This was—uh, this was really nice, Wes. I’ll… I mean, I guess I’ll see you around sometime?”
“We could meet here again tomorrow?” I suggest. “You could decimate me at soccer again, or I’m supposed to be working on my throwing technique?”
I’m going for broke now.
We may have swapped some pretty personal secrets, but I’m asking MaeveStevensif she wants to help me improve at football. Me. The guy standing between her father and brother, and a state championship. There’s a very high chance she’s going to tell me to go screw myself. And I wouldn’t blame her if she did.
But I would care.
I would care a lot.
More than anything I’ve confided in her about, this is also my way of letting her know I trust her. Not just with some unpleasant truths, but with my football technique.
With my strategy.
With information Liam Stevens could use to beat me.
“I could—I could catch a football,” Maeve finally says. I let out a long exhale I hadn’t realized I was holding.
The release of air is followed by a rush of euphoria.
“Okay then,” I reply, fairly certain my wide grin is betraying my casual words and letting her know exactly how much her agreeing means to me. “I’ll text you and we can figure out a time to meet.”
“Okay then,” she repeats, and turns to walk toward the parking lot. I watch her go.
Maeve Stevens is like quicksand. I’m not even trying to get out, and I’m still sinking deeper and deeper.
I remain sitting on the grass until my phone buzzes. It’s Chris.
“What’s up?” I answer.