Page 13 of Backward Motion

Sam glanced over at Connor. “You clean up nice.”

Connor made a face to detract from the flutter in his stomach. “Shame no one will recognize me without the overalls.”

Sam laughed. “Come on, give yourself some credit.” As the game ramped up, he ducked his head and lowered his voice. “You’re going to have to explain this to me. I have no clue what’s going on.”

“I’m no expert,” Connor admitted. “But I’ll tell you what I know.”

He’d spent enough Sundays sulking in the living room with his dad glued to the TV to have absorbed a few things by osmosis. He launched into an explanation of zones and stoppages while Sam listened attentively. This close, he could smell Sam’s cologne, light and citrusy, and he spotted a small star tattoo on the underside of the man’s wrist, partially hidden by the sleeve of his jacket.How did I miss that?

He wasn’t sure why he’d been so insistent on inviting Sam. It was clear Sam had no interest in football and had only shown up to be polite. Maybe Connor had wanted another excuse to see him outsideof work, where they were on equal footing. He still felt weird about the fact that, technically, he was Sam’s boss.

At halftime, they all stood to let Mimi out—it wasn’t the first time she’d excused herself to pee—and Tyler headed to the concession booth for nachos and more soda. As Tyler disappeared into the crowd, a voice called out from the rows behind them.

“Look who it is!”

Connor turned to see Blake Plimmerton descending the stairs in their direction. Blake had been in the same year at school, and after his GPA dropped too low to maintain his athletic scholarship at Wayne State College, he’d returned to Oakdale to work as assistant coach for the middle school football team. Over the years, his bulky frame had filled out even more, his neck widening to swallow his jaw and a spare tire encircling his midsection.

The man swayed on his feet. His eyes were glazed, and he appeared more than a little drunk. “Sammy Bryant, what are you doing back here?”

Sam visibly stiffened. Recovering quickly, he fixed Blake with an easy smile. “Felt like a change of scenery. I see everything’s exactly how I left it.”

“That right?” Blake smirked and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “And here I was thinking you couldn’t get enough of little old me.”

Connor clenched his jaw, surprised by the red-hot anger that surfaced.

“Move on, man. You’re wasted,” Brian said, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “It’s a school game. Do better.”

Sam reached down to zip up his jacket, a slight tremble in his hand. He clenched it and rose to his feet. “I’m heading out. Nice to see you all.” He stepped past Blake without another word and threaded his way through the crowd toward the exit.

Blake sniggered. “Must’ve hit a nerve.”

Connor stood and squared off against the man. “Get fucked, Plimmerton,” he muttered and knocked Blake with his shoulder as he followed Sam’s path down the stairs. He caught up with him outside the school. “Wait up.” He reached for Sam’s elbow as they stepped out onto the crosswalk. “Let me walk you home.”

“Why?” Sam retorted, pulling his arm away. “I’ve already encountered the worst thing lurking the streets of Oakdale.”

“I don’t know about that. I hear the playground flasher’s still at large,” Connor joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam said nothing, but he didn’t stop Connor from accompanying him across the road and down a tree-lined street. It was a warm evening, and the sky was streaked a dusky orange as the sun began to set. In the distance, Connor could hear a faint cheer coming from the direction of the football field. He looked over at Sam, whose face was stony.

When Connor spoke, he kept his eyes trained ahead. “It was fucked-up back then. What Blake did.”

Beside him, Sam shrugged. “Apparently, it was the highlight of senior year. People couldn’t stop talking about it.”

Connor had heard the jokes, filtered through his old school connections. The most disturbing thing was that no one acknowledged Sam as the victim of a malicious prank. If it had been a girl, a straight kid even, the conversation would never have been about how much they must have enjoyed it.

“The guy’s an asshole.”

“Who also happens to be the first guy I ever kissed,” Sam said, attempting to sound flippant but falling flat.

Connor’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It was like I became communal property.” Sam’s expression darkened. “Someone spread a rumor that I wanted to try it on with the entire team before graduation.”

Connor had never heard him like this, his voice hard and bitter.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I figured out that I could just leave.”

“Which is what you did, right?”