Page 32 of The Late Hit
Grace looks past me, taking in the handsome man towering behind me.
“Pardon me,” she says, looking between Quinton and me. “Who do we have here?”
Smiling, I introduce the two. “Grace, this is my friend, Quinton Boyd. Q, this is Grace Nelson, Asher’s mom.”
And it’s at this moment, I realize that I’ve made a huge mistake. I’ve nevernevermentioned Asher to Quinton.
Shit.
“Hello, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you,” Quinton says, reaching out to shake Grace’s hand.
He looks over Grace’s shoulder, his eyes finding mine. Oh, I can read the questions written in his eyes, but Quinton plays along, not voicing anything.
A throat clears behind me, sending chills down my body. Goose bumps spread across my skin and my bones instantly chill. I would be able to recognize that throat clearing in the middle of a concert. Spinning on my heels, I turn and face the woman who birthed me. She looks older than the last time I saw her. Small bags puff below the same blue eyes that mirror my own. Wrinkles are prevalent, which shocks me as she’s always kept regular Botox appointments.
“Brinley, nice of you to finally show up,” Carolyn says in her fake, overly polite voice, but I can pick out the distaste in her voice. The sound makes me cringe.
“Carolyn,” I mutter.
“Be nice,” Grace whispers under her breath.
Before we have a chance to continue our conversation, an assistant to the athletic director approaches us, announcing the ceremony is starting and we are needed on the field. Daniel and Grace Nelson follow the assistant with my parents right behind them, but I can’t bring myself to follow. I can’t get my feet to work. I’m frozen. Quinton steps into my view, placing his hands on each side of my face, forcing my glazed gaze up to him.
“Quinton, I can’t do it.”
“Wilder, you can get through this. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re one of the strongest girls I know,” he says with a wink. “And because I’ll be waiting for you on the other side of the fence.”
My hands reach up, and I grip his jacket, pulling him into me as I wrap my arms around his middle. Without hesitating, he embraces me in his big, comforting hugs. He leads me down the stairs, catching up to the others. Before I follow everyone onto the field, Q spins me around, pulls me in for one more hug, and kisses the top of my head. My body warms at the affection. Not even the crisp, fall air can cool me down.
“Good evening, everyone, and thank you for coming out to support our Lincoln High Riders,” the Athletic Director announces into the microphone. “Before we kick off, tonight we are going to be paying tribute to two amazing souls who lost their lives all too soon. Five years ago, we lost Bryce Wilder and Asher Nelson, two incredible young men both on and off the field.”
I zone out for a few seconds, seeking out Quinton, letting the athletic director’s voice fade away. When I find him in the crowd, he’s staring back at me. Our eyes meet, and he mouths, “You’ve got this.”
“Looks like you’ve found yourself a good one,” Grace whispers in my ear.
I look up to find her watching the two of us. Guilt instantly swims in my stomach.
“It’s not like that, Grace. Quinton is just a really good friend.”
She lightly squeezes my forearm and gives me a motherly look that tells me she doesn’t believe what I’m saying. And after everything today, I’m starting to doubt myself too.
“Tonight we unveil a new victory bell with the quote ‘Set your heart on victory.’The new bell will be featured at the top of the hill next to the entrance, where, underneath, we will have a plaque with Asher’s and Bryce’s names and jersey numbers. They may be gone, but we will never forget their spirits and the lives these boys touched,” the athletic director states. “And with that, I’d like to introduce Asher’s parents Daniel and Grace Nelson, along with Bryce’s parents Philip and Carolyn Cabot-Wilder, and Bryce’s sister and Asher’s girlfriend Brinley Wilder.”
The crowd gives a standing ovation, and a tear slips down my cheek at the sight in front of me.
After our introduction, we are handed the plaque that will rest underneath the victory bell. Flashing lights swarm my vision, blinding me momentarily. The photographers click away on their cameras at the broken families in front of them.
“Excuse me,” I announce to no one.
My feet start moving of their own will. They’re leading me to him, and Quinton is waiting. With outstretched arms, he wraps me in close. Another flash from a camera catches my attention, and I hope that Q’s hat keeps his cover discreet.
Not bothering to look toward the field, or at the people staring at us, I allow Quinton to wrap his arm around my shoulder and lead us back to our waiting car. Tonight, I’m hoping Quinton lets everything he’s learned over the last hour go. Just for tonight. I need to get a handle on everything before I tell him. Tomorrow I’ll tell him all of my secrets. He’ll learn my whole story and finally see the damaged Brinley Carolyn Wilder.
Maybe he’ll finally understand why I’m so fucked up.
