“Come to find out, taking a girl to the cliffs means different things for different people. Dad says you probably thought I was going to tell you that the night before shouldn’t have happened, which is why you were going on about school and everything else.”
I close my eyes as memories of prom, the night of and the day after flood my thoughts. I came onto him. I asked him to get us a room because I wanted him to be my first. I was finally eighteen and legal. No more silly thoughts or wasted hopes and dreams. Noah and I could be together. In my mind, it worked. He could live in Chicago until the season started, coming home on Sunday evenings and flying back for practice. But it wasn’t meant to be.
Noah doesn’t say anything as he gets out of the truck. He walks around the front and opens my door, resting his hand on my leg. “Peyton, that night meant everything to me.”
“Me too.” The words are out of my mouth and there’s no taking them back.
He nods and steps away. I want him to come back and tell me how he feels, but I can’t take much more heartbreak. Our moment, as brief as it was, has passed. I think about telling him about Dessie and the text message she sent me when they first started dating, but I bite my tongue. I’m not spiteful even though I want to be.
By the time he wakes up for his wedding, I’ll be gone. I can’t stay here and be a part of the ceremony of a man I love desperately, as he pledges his love to someone else. It’ll kill me. Nursing my broken heart in the comfort of my own home is what’s best for me. Telling my parents though, that’ll be hard. They won’t understand why I have the sudden urge to return to California.
30
Noah
I never intended to stop by the Powell-James home until I heard Katelyn say Peyton was by herself. Driving over there was like second-nature. I knew each turn like the back of my hand, and each house I drove by, I could recall which teammate lived there along with his position.
Beaumont means something to me. It’s home, and it’s taken me days to figure this out. It’s where I’m comfortable. Where I plan to retire or move to after I’m booted off the Pioneers for my lackluster performance on which I’m blaming Peyton in a roundabout way, even though it’s not her fault.
She messes with my mind. Let’s me dream about a time when we could’ve been together. Thinking about her and I together gives me a hope I’m not feeling right now. I’m getting married to a woman who’s pregnant, or says she is, that I’m not in love with and I didn’t even ask to marry me. If this isn’t some jacked up version of life, I don’t know what is. I can’t even lie and say I never thought of Peyton and I together, walking down the aisle with our families looking on, because I have and more so recently. I know there’s some saying about setting her free and she’ll come back. I did that already, the morning after prom. She almost left me and just when I thought I could be free and be with her, someone showed me I’m not.
Peyton is sitting on her little cart thing at midfield. She’s facing the broadcast booth, likely wondering if she’ll ever call a game. It’s her dream, and one I’d love to see fulfilled. Although there isn’t a single doubt in my mind when she calls my game, she’ll rip me apart. Thing is, I wouldn’t expect anything less.
It takes me almost a half hour to get everything set up and the machine plugged in. Normally, I’d like to have a few of the high school players hanging out to shag balls, and Nick offered to make a few calls, but once I set my mind on seeing Peyton, I knew this had to be just the two of us.
I’m a glutton for punishment, spending time like this with her, telling her about prom night and my feelings. But I had to let her know our time together meant something to me, that I wasn’t some cad who took advantage of her but truly cared about her. And care is probably the wrong word to use. I love her, but there isn’t anything I can do about it right now.
“I don’t remember Nick having this when I was in school?” Peyton says of the center machine.
“I bought it for him last year. Well, the Booster Club did after I made the donation. We use one in Portland and it’s come in handy.”
“How does it work?” She pulls herself over, using only her left leg.
“Aren’t you supposed to use your right leg as well with that?” I ask, pointing to her chair.
She shrugs and avoids my question. “So the machine.”
“So your leg,” I counter. “Tell you what, for every ball I get through the net, we walk ten yards together.”
Peyton looks at me with dubious eyes. “My therapy is going fine.”
“Prove it.” I raise my eyebrows at her, sending her a challenge she’ll never be able to back down from.
“Fine, and if I walk fifty yards, you run the snake.”
I nod. “You’re on.” We shake on our newly minted deal. “Anyway. I place the ball on the tray, tap the pad and it releases.”
“Sounds easy.”
“Eh, the pad tends to resist so I have to really push on it, but the process is effective.” As soon as I set the ball down, Peyton backs up. I look to see where she’s at and maybe to see if she’s staring at me, but her eyes are focused either on the machine or my feet. I take position behind the mechanical center and call out my cadence. Ahead of me is a net with multiple targets, each one representing a different route. I bump the pad and take my steps back, almost stumbling over my own feet.
“When did your footwork become sloppy?”
“When I left you in Chicago not knowing if I’d ever see you again.” I’m blunt and to the point.
“Well I’m alive and well so it’s time to come up with another excuse.”
“Touché.”