Page 82 of Most Valuable Player
We win the game, obviously. I don’t remember most of it. All the guys sprint toward me, shrieking with excitement now that we’ve officially earned our spot in the playoffs. Somewhere in the chaos I get lifted up onto Darius’s and Ravi’s shoulders as if I just cinched the championship game for them.
I should probably be screaming and crying with excitement. I could’ve just earned my way into a Division I college with a single game. Like Beau Rainey. I’ve overcome so much to get to this point, and I know I should be proud that I’m following in my football idol’s footsteps.
Yet all I can think about is that damned can of soup in my backpack.
The crowd is on fire and lingers after everyone leaves the field. It’s satisfying to have so many guys clap my back and tell me I played well. Especially Barnett.
“Better keep those grades up,” he warns, but he ruffles my damp hair affectionately.
Darius invites me to a get-together at his place, but I decline. I have to regale Mason with all the thrilling details of the game, so as soon as I’m freshly washed and in my sweatpants and T-shirt, I’m out the door. I texted my parents to say I’d be going to Mason’s, so they don’t wait up for me. For now, I have one priority.
When I arrive at the Gray household, his father opens the door. His dark, tired eyes soften when he sees me. “Cameron,” he says in greeting. “Mason said I should turn you away so you don’t get sick.”
“I brought him soup,” I explain, flashing the broccoli and cheddar can.
I swear the ghost of a smile passes over his face as he steps back. “Come in if you’re prepared to get sick with a nasty head cold.”
I’m fully prepared. I jog down the hallway and push into his bedroom. The shades are drawn, the room swathed in darkness. There’s a shivering, sniffling bundle beneath the bedsheets—Mason is curled up, snuggled into the pillow.
“Cameron?” he whispers.
“Boyfriend,” I reply.
His lip quirks as his lashes flutter shut. His skin is a pallid gray, the bags beneath his eyes are violet, and his nose is dried red from tissue. “Not yet.”
I kick the door closed and prop myself on his bed, combing my fingers through his hair. The moment my skin comes into contact with his, I feel all of the lingering tension and adrenaline from earlier melt out of my body, and I slump completely on top of him, sprawling out on his bed.
“Cameron!” he snaps, thumping the top of my head. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Wanted to see you,” I mumble.
I feel his chest move with a heavy sigh beneath my head. Then he squirms one of his hands free from his blankets and rests it against my back, rubbing gently. “How’d the game go?” he whispers. “Or how much did we win by?”
“Thirty-four to twenty-one,” I say, popping my head up with a cheery grin.
“Wow…Maybe your ego is justifiable after all.”
“I’ve been saying that for weeks.”
He snorts and pinches my cheek. “I’m proud of how quickly you improved your grades.”
“I had a reliable tutor,” I admit.
“Mm. Lucky you.” He takes hold of my hand, then unfurls it against his cheek, nuzzling into it. Something about how willing he is to place my palm against his face, how fully he trusts it, causes butterflies to spring to life in my stomach. I trace the scoop beneath his eye with my thumb, wishing I could transplant heat into him so he wouldn’t always be cold.
“Want soup?” I ask. “You probably haven’t eaten, right?”
He nods guiltily. “Sorry for stealing your Friday night.”
“Is it stealing if I’m giving it to you freely?”
Mason offers the softest smile. It takes strength to leave his side, but he needs sustenance, so I rush to the kitchen to heat it up. After a few minutes, I return with a steaming bowl of broccoli cheddar soup. I help him muscle upright and set the bowl in his lap, then crawl onto the mattress. His fingers tremble around the edges.
“I can feed you,” I offer.
Mason’s cheeks flare red. “It’s a cold—I’m not dying.” He manages to draw the spoon to his mouth, though the liquid wobbles precariously.
I sigh, scooping the bowl from his hands before he can utter more than a scoff. “It’s okay to be weak sometimes,” I say, bringing another spoonful to his mouth. He glares at me, but reluctantly closes his lips around it. “You have me to lean on. So just…lean. You know?”
