Page 97 of Game On
I nod, trying to picture it. “It sounds nice.”
“It was,” she agrees, her voice softening. “But it was also … stifling sometimes. My parents worked hard to afford to live there. But then, at the same time, they acted like I shouldn’t want to fit in. That I owed them for all their sacrifices. Like I had to live my life exactly the way they wanted, to pay them back.”
She kicks her legs out again, sending herself higher into the air. “That’s why I loved cheer. It was mine, you know? Something I chose for myself. It didn’t matter what my parents thought or what anyone else expected.”
I watch her, feeling a pang of sympathy. “I get that. Sometimes, you need something that’s just yours.”
“Exactly.”
We sit there for a while, swinging in gentle silence, lost in our own thoughts. The sky continues to darken, stars winking into existence above us. It’s peaceful, and I’m grateful that she’s here—in Texas, in my hometown—with me.
I steal one last glance at her, something warm and undeniable blooming in my chest. And I realize, with a sudden clarity, that I don’t want this feeling to end.
We share a nice warm meal with Mom and Carter after our run, and then I suggest we go dancing at The Rusty Spur. It’s an old haunt not far from home, a place that’s seen more of my late teens than I sometimes care to admit. To be fair, there’s not much else to do in this old town.
I’ve only been there a handful of times since I turned twenty-one last year—mostly during quick summer drop-ins. But as we push through the swinging doors, it’s like I never left. A few heads turn, recognition sparking in their eyes.
Oh, the joys (and pitfalls) of a small Southern town.
“Fox! You back for the holidays?” calls the bartender, a burly guy named Dan who’s known me since I was ordering sodas.
“Exactly that,” I say with a grin, guiding Ella to the bar. “Can I grab a whiskey sour and a water, Dan.”
His eyes flick to Ella with that familiar small-town scrutiny before he fills the glass. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
“This is Ella,” I say. “She’s with me.”
Ella offers a polite smile, leaning in as if to brace herself against the wave of country music that barrels from thespeakers. “Nice to meet you,” she manages over the din, her accent drawing a second, longer look from Dan.
“Lucky indeed,” he remarks, sliding over our drinks with a wink.
We snag a couple of stools, and I catch Ella scanning the room, her eyes wide. “So, this is what Redwater Springs has to offer, huh?”
“Wait till you see it in action,” I murmur.
Before long, the dance floor swells with couples, moving in that synchronized chaos unique to two-stepping. The music’s a lively mix of classic country and the sort of pop-infused tracks that make purists grumble.
Normally, someone leads a few line dances at the beginning of the night, but we’ve arrived late, and there are no leaders left. I’m not much of a dancer myself, but I knew Ella would love it here. A basic two-step isn’t too far out of my comfort zone. Besides, I’ve been craving that carefree smile of hers I got to witness earlier at the park.
After her second drink, I tug on her hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“Are you sure?” She laughs, but I’m already pulling her toward the throng of dancers. “You know, this doesn’t seem like your kind of thing. Dancing in an old bar with the locals.”
“Despite what Levi says, I don’t always have a stick up my ass.”
She laughs at me again, and it’s a sweet sound that vibrates through my chest. “Alright, show me what you’ve got, Texas.”
We step onto the dance floor, and the small crowd moves in unison, boots stomping and hips swaying.
“Just follow my lead,” I say, guiding one hand to my shoulder and taking the other in mine. “Step forward with your left foot, then your right foot follows. Step back with your right foot, then your left foot follows. It’s quick-quick, slow-slow.”
She watches my feet and mimics my steps. “Like this?”
“Exactly. Just keep repeating those steps. Add a little sway to it.” We glide across the floor, our movements in sync. “Now, I’m going to spin you.”
“This is kind of fun!” she shouts over the music, stumbling the tiniest bit.
When she rights herself, I gently guide her into a turn, our hands never losing contact. She twirls gracefully, coming back to me with a beaming smile. “You’re a natural,” I say.
