Page 86 of Game On
I set up the coffee pot. As it starts to gurgle and spit, the familiar smell—cherry-infused, from the corner store—fills the small space, a signal to the world that the day is starting.
Mom wanders in just as I’m pouring the first mug. Her appearance always strikes me. Her light brown hair that seems to glow in the early-morning sun, a spattering of freckles on both cheeks. She’s a beautiful woman with an even kinder soul. It’s a shame that my father couldn’t appreciate that in the end.
But there are some things he couldn’t take away fromus. Her smile lines are more pronounced now, a testament to the years of laughter we’ve had since he left. Her hair is messy from a good night’s sleep, framing her face in soft waves, and seeing her like this—a little vulnerable, a little more human—stirs up all the good memories from my childhood.
She pulls me into a warm hug, and I breathe her in. I hand her the steaming mug, and her hands gently wraps around it.
We both settle in at the kitchen table, the old wooden chairs creaking under our weight. She looks at me, those knowing eyes crinkling at the edges as she smiles.
“So, you brought a girl home. That’s a first,” she teases, a chuckle escaping her.
“We’re not together,” I clarify, maybe a bit too quickly. “She’s a friend. And I’m … helping her with cheer.”
Mom takes a long, slow sip of her coffee. Surprise and then unmistakable joy flickers in her eyes. “Cheer, huh?”
“Yeah, her partner was injured,” I tell her with a shrug. “They needed someone else to step in.”
“And that’s the only reason?”
I hesitate, my spoon clinking against the mug as I stir. “Are you suggesting I have feelings for her? Or do you think I’ve missed cheer, and that’s why I’m doing this?”
“Both, I presume.”
Now it’s my turn to chuckle, shaking my head as I do so. “I honestly don’t know, Mom. I’m just … letting the cards fall.”
“How unlike you,” she says, teasing me again.
“Ella’s sweet, I’ll tell you that. Fun. Temperamental. A bit of an overthinker.”
“A perfect match, then,” Mom murmurs.
I snort, standing up. “I’m gonna go check on her. I’m sure she’s awake by now.”
She gestures toward the hallway with a warm smile. “By all means. You know I’m dying to meet her.”
I head to my old room. The door’s slightly ajar, a faint light spilling out by my feet. I knock gently and Ella opens the door, all cozy in her pajamas, her hair tousled from sleep. She’s gorgeous, breathtaking, even when she’s just woken up.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
“It’s your room, isn’t it?” she says with a laugh.
“Not for this weekend.”
“Well, then, come in.”
I step inside, gently brushing past her. She closes the door behind me, and I slowly scan the room. It’s exactly how I left it—football trophies line the shelves, plaques from high school games crowd the walls. My gaze lands on an old picture of me on our backyard trampoline, edges frayed and colors fading—a lone survivor from the fire.
“I like your room, by the way,” Ella says, studying me. “It’s nice.”
“Thanks.”
“Seems you’ve scrubbed cheer from your past, though,” she says. “Not a single photo. No trophies. I snooped as well as I could.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” I sit on the edge of my crumpledbed, the mattress still familiar under my weight. “They actually … burned. All the photos we used to have. Me and Carter growing up, baby and family photos with our parents. Cheer. Everything.”
She sits beside me, eyes wide at my admission. “Burned?”
“Yeah, our old house burned down when I was twelve. Just a few years after my dad walked out. It was … my fault, actually.”
