It didn’t take long for Carter to pick out which was first string: his assuredness with the ball, the easy, athletic way he stood. He turned something as simple as warm-up drills into a show.
His long ball, though, when they shifted on the field, needed a little work. He wasn’tbad. He was plenty accurate enough to handle most of the high schools around here. But if he was trying to play college ball – which he surely must be, given his grace, his musculature, the ready way he offered advice and guidance to his backup, friendly, not threatened by the other boy, but with an authority that commanded respect – he needed to be more precise about being a deep ball right in his receiver’s hands.
A pass was set up: over fifty yards. The wide receiver swung right past the bleachers where Carter was sitting, stiff-armed the defensive back trying – gently, it was only practice – to bring him down, turned, and put a gloved hand up for the ball. The quarterback threw; a beautiful, arcing spiral that caught the now-orange gleam of the setting sun.
And Carter stood up and caught the ball on the third row.
Downfield, he saw the quarterback drop his arms and kick his head back in disappointment.
The wide receiver trotted to a halt and burst into laughter. “Hey, man!” he called to his QB, hands on his hips as he caught his breath.
The quarterback made anI know, I knowgesture and turned to listen to what his coach was saying, too far away for Carter to hear.
When the WR turned, Carter tossed him the ball. Not a true pass, not enough to tweak his bad rotator cuff. But far enough for the old thrill to light up his gut.
“Hey, that’s pretty good, biker man,” the wide receiver said.
Carter twitched him a grin and nodded before he jogged back up the field. “Used to be,” he murmured to himself.
~*~
When Jazz emerged from the school, he was surprised to see that she wasn’t alone. She was walking with two other women: one lanky, young girl with a shy face, and a middle-aged woman with curly red hair who he was pretty sure worked at Smokey’s. He swore he’d seen her waiting tables there. They made an incongruous picture, the three of them, as they headed down the sidewalk three-abreast. The matron, the school girl, and the biker chick. Even if Jazz was dressed a little more conservatively these days – at least for class – there was no dampening her general sex appeal. But they were all talking animatedly. The shy-looking girl said something, and Jazz’s laughter floated along on the evening breeze.
She hadn’t been expecting him to show up, if the surprise on her face was anything to go by when she finally spotted him. “Well, hey – Carter!” His name sounded funny on her lips, and he realized it was because she hardly ever used it. He was always “baby boy,” just like Tango had been. She had a type, obviously.
He offered a little wave, very aware of the stares of the other two. “Hi. I thought I’d come make sure you got home alright.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” But she bit her lip and did something she never did: she hesitated. Her gaze shifted left and right toward her classmates – her friends, he realized. They were friends. “But actually, honey, I wasn’t gonna head home just yet. The girls and I were gonna go grab something to eat. Bev gets an employee discount at Smokey’s.” She gave the older woman a friendly nudge with her elbow. “And it’s hot wing night.”
The woman – Bev – chuckled. “Every night’s hot wing night. Tonight they’re just bottomless.”
“I could eat all of them. I’m starving,” Jazz vowed. “But you could come with us,” she offered to Carter, smiling – it wasn’t a hopeful smile, like she wanted him to come. Maybe she didn’t. This felt like charity. “We’re gonna be studying, so we’ll be real boring, but you’ll give us something cute to look at.” She gave an exaggerated wink and the other women laughed. The shy one covered her mouth with one hand and blushed.
He considered it a moment. Pictured all three of them spread out at one of the ugly orange booths at Smokey’s, picking at hot wings and turning textbook pages with sauce-stained fingertips. Cokes, and girl talk, and all three of them so different, but working toward the same goal. Trying to better their lives. It was a picture that, when he shoved himself in, looked more like awkward chit-chat. Looked like being on the outside of this experience.
Jazz deserved a study evening with her friends, and he wouldn’t intrude on it.
He shook his head. “No, thanks. Y’all go have fun. Ghost needs me to do some stuff anyway.”
Jazz tilted her head, her gaze searching, worried. “Are you sure?”
He scraped up a smile. “Positive. We’ll catch up later.”
She nodded, reluctant, even more worried. But stepped in to kiss his cheek. “You can come by tonight,” she whispered, as she pulled back, and then gave him a real wink, private and just for him, full of promise.
“Sure,” he said, already envisioning his dorm, his bed, and a drink.
As they walked off toward the parking lot, he heard Bev whisper, “You’re just a regular cougar, aren’t you?”
“Oh my God, you can’t say that,” the shy girl said, and then all three of them laughed.
Carter sat back down on the bleachers, and…just sort of stayed there.
A part of him knew that watching young, healthy guys play football, all of them only just now getting a feel for the dreams that lay ahead, wasn’t good for his psyche. Being reminded of what he’d lost – even if it was a career, a sport, a too-big dream and not a flesh-and-blood person – would only make him feel worse. About everything. But he’d missed this: the smell of the dewy turf, the calls back and forth; the smack of pads colliding and the war whoops of triumph. Football was the sort of thing that got in your blood, and stuck around forever; flaring up in moments of intense fondness, great swells of emotion too nebulous to categorize.
He supposed Aidan had grown up feeling that way about the club. About one-percenter life.
But no matter where that life took Carter, football would always be his first love.