Page 95 of The Cheerleader

Swallowing down that knowledge makes me nauseous. But it’s something I need to digest fully and remember.

Because I’ve been thinking more and more about his confession that he wants to sleep with me. It would mean a hell of a lot more to me than a casual fling.

Now I suspect it wouldn’t mean anything more than a fling to Bryan.

And it would mean tossing my friendship with Liz out the window for a one-sided night in the sack with a guy I want more from than he wants to give me.

That would be an idiotic choice to make.

So why do I keep thinking about it? About him? He’s not the boy of my youthful dreams. He’s real and he’s flawed. He’s.

But he’s also tragically brave and exciting as hell, a broken man-boy. And that’s why I can’t resist him, why I’m compelled to want him, to make him smile. No matter how challenging it may be.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Bryan

The horn blows, ending the game while I sit on the bench. We got ahead by twenty-one points, and Coach insisted I sit out most of the fourth quarter. No amount of arguing changed his mind, and now he’s fucking furious at me. I’m sure it’s temporary, but I wish I didn’t give a shit. Wish I didn’t need to give a shit since he controls my playing time, and by default, my future. There’s always a chance the rumors about a scout watching are true.

The guys come off the field, and I join them in a scrum, then lead the move to lift Eldy in the air when a couple of guys try to do the same for me.

“Hey. You’re all crazy,” Eldy shouts. He looks at me and shakes his head. “You fucker. You ran for almost two hundred yards and got three of the touchdowns with no help from me. You⁠—”

“Shut up and enjoy the ride,” I say as a few other guys and I carry him along. A few cheerleaders come over and shake their pom-poms. Susie isn’t one of them. Liz is there, smiling at me. I give her a nod, and we finally drop Eldy after the photographers have a chance to pop a few shots of us.

Coach has us take a knee around him and tells us how proud he is. The usual bullshit, except I know he means it, especially when he meets my eyes and holds on a couple of seconds. I know he’s over his anger. He never holds a grudge. Another reason I respect him.

When he’s finished, he claps his hands and we jump to our feet surrounding Eldy, and he leads us in the “one-two-three Go Huskies!” chant.

The huddle busts open and some guys head in the direction of the field house like usual, but most of us stick around to meet with our families who’ve come down to the field.

I knew Coach Hammer was bringing Mom and Wally, and he’s escorted them down to the field into the middle of the melee of players, coaches, and sports reporters. They reach me, and Coach puts out a hand to shake mine, but I don’t squelch my instinct to give him a hug because I know he’ll welcome it. I give Mom and Wally equally enthusiastic hugs, and Mom has tears in her eyes. I’m not sure if it’s nerves from all the people because I know she hates crowds, or if she’s happy to see me.

“I’m glad you came,” I say.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Coach Hammer says. “I’m going to talk to a friend of mine for a minute,” he says, and I nod as he leaves me with my family, or all the family that matters.

“You were so incredible,” Wally says, jumping up and down. I tousle his hair and grin at him.

“Of course.” I grin at him and then glance at my mother. She’s uncomfortable. When she called to let me know she was coming to the game, she told me she felt guilty coming without my old man, felt disloyal. I told her to stay home then, but she said she needed to bring Wally. I told her she could have let Wally come alone with Coach Hammer.

That’s when she finally confessed that she wanted to see me. I held it together, but I wanted to shout at her, to cry with relief that she recognized her son, the one who survived. My chest felt like it would burst. Like it does right now.

I haven’t been certain whose side she’d take if it came to a break between me and Dad. Now I know.

But I can see it’s hard for her. Before I can say something, not that I know what to say, a few reporters spot me and swarm, followed by a crowd of them including the girl from the Connecticut Daily Campus and Bainbridge from the Hartford Courant.

A reporter I don’t know confirms with me who Mom is. “And this must be your brother.”

I notice Mom visibly flinch and shrink back. Shit.

“Mrs. Granger, what do you think about your son being on the short list of a number of NFL recruiters?” He puts his microphone for a tape recorder up to her face, and Mom’s eyes are deer-in-headlights confused and stunned. He’s exaggerating my status for drama. Maybe I probably should have prepared her for it. But I honest-to-god didn’t figure the reporters would be in such a frenzy or interested enough to talk to my family.

I was wrong.

I intervene, talking off the cuff, coming up with something outrageous to distract the reporter.

“I think I’ll go in the second, third round, the latest. How does that sound?”