Page 30 of Strong Side

“No, Rocky. Look at the city and the date.”

“San Diego, and sometime next week?” Then it clicks. I feel the tears already, but I don’t want to say anything in case this is some kind of sick joke he’s playing on me.

“I talked to Coach Taylor this morning, and he said we could miss the one practice after we play San Diego as long as we win. I bought our tickets back.” He flips another piece of bacon before setting the fork down to look at me and grabs my face. “We’re going to see your parents, Baby.”

My nose is burning, and I know the dam of tears is about to open, but I don’t even care.

“Thank you, Clay. Seriously, you don’t know how much this means to me.” My voice cracks, and I hate showing this weakness, but my mom always yells at me for holding my emotions in. “And I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I have to stop with that shit.”

He drags his thumb over my cheek, collecting my tears. “Don’t apologize. I am a rich kid. AndDaddydoes pay for anything I’ve ever wanted. But we can use his money for good this time.” He shoots me a wink, and I chuckle. Thankful as always that he breaks up the heavy with some jokes.

I don’t know what the fuck Clay Aldrich has done to me, but I'm officially done fighting it.

1. If I Were a Boy - Beyoncé

19

Praise King

Rockwell

This last week has dragged on worse than ever, knowing what’s waiting for me this weekend… my family. I’m oddly excited for Clay to meet them, too.

We have about thirty minutes before our game against San Diego starts, and I’m getting warmed up, stretching, and getting my blood pumping when I hear the voice I know all too well scream out, “Filho!”

I’m running over to the stands before Coach can say anything. We landed, ate, and were dropped off here, not having any time to see my parents beforehand. I get to her, wrapping her in the biggest hug and whispering into her hair, “Momma, I’ve missed youall so much.”

I refuse to cry, but goddamn, it feels like it’s been a year since I’ve seen them. I pull away from my mom, wrap my dad in the same hug, and see tears streaming down my mom’s face.

Don’t cry, Rocky. Don’t cry.

“Okay, okay, give me a hug, Lil, so I can get back out there.”

If they don’t get kicked out from yelling at the refs then that’ll be the shock of the trip. I’m jogging back onto the sand, and Clay’s just smiling at me. “Fuck, Clay, stop looking at me like that, or I’ll really start crying.” He throws his hands up in defense, and I continue, “Come on, let’s kick some ass.”

1?Clay is at the net while the refs flip the coin for serve and side. He walks back over to our sideline and informs me, “We have serve, but we’re switching sides.”

“Good job getting serve.”

“It was just luck of the flip, nothing I did.”

We grab our stuff, switch to the other side, and go get set up. I always serve first if we win serve. I look at Clay’s hands behind his back for the zone. Four. Ref blows the whistle, and I start my serve routine. It’s not a long one, but I have to spin my ball in mytossing hand two times, then throw, approach, and jump. It’s the perfect serve with just the right amount of topspin on it. The ball lands right in the front right corner of the court.

Ace.

I do that four more times, taking Clay’s call before they actually get arms under my serve. My mom is screaming louder than I’ve ever heard the entire time. Finally, they side out on a block that neither of us was quick enough to get to.

We immediately get the ball back next point, though. I dig up the pass, Clay and his perfect hands set me up on the right side, and I’m slamming right down the line, a good foot clear of the block. Either they’ve gotten worse since last year or Clay and I are absolute monsters together.

I’m going with the latter.

Clay goes back to serve, and my mom goes berserk, screaming, “Let’s go, Clay!!! That assist was amazing!” I’m surprised she left the damn air horn at home.

I have my hands behind my back, giving him my call: zone six. He does his routine, throws, and approaches, and when I hear his hand hit the ball, I am glad I’m on this side of his serve. Honestly, the man is a freak of nature when it comes to volleyball. I’ve never seen anything like it.

The ball goes barreling across the net and lands at the top of zone six, right in the middle of them. I run up to Clay, grabbing his shoulders, screaming, “Fuck yeah, Clay! You’re doing so good today!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Let’s see if I can keep going.” He’s clearly not great at taking compliments, but that’s not going to stop me from handing them out whenever I see fit.

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