Page 22 of Sneaking Around with the Player
“They’re already at the house?”
“Of course.” Dad’s mouth pulls into a broad smile.
The fifteen-minute drive to my parents’ house passes too quickly. Cars line the driveway and curb, and as soon as I step out of the car, I can hear voices and laughter in the backyard.
“Heads up,” someone yells.
I drop my bag in time to catch the football sailing toward the car.
“Touchdown!” Uncle Terry’s arms are raised over his head, and he wears that same broad smile my dad does.
“Hey, Uncle T.”
He closes the distance between us, hugs me, lifting me off the ground and shaking me. Uncle Terry is six foot five and as wide as a doorway. He still looks like the defensive tackle he once was.
“They feeding you in Colorado, boy?”
“Yeah.” I catch my breath as he sets me back down. “They’re definitely feeding me. Maybe you could miss a meal or two.” I poke at his stomach, which is hard and muscular, but it still eggs him on. Uncle Terry gives me the same shit my dad does, but it’s easier to take from him for some reason.
He takes the football still clutched to my side and extends it, using it to point at me. “You’ll wish you had a little more meat on your bones when I’m taking you to the ground.”
“Let him at least put his stuff away.” Mom takes the football from him. “Are the burgers and steaks done?”
“Working on it.” Uncle Terry flashes another smile. “About five more minutes.”
Mom nods and barks out orders like a drill sergeant. “Lunch, cleanup,thenfootball.”
“Yes, dear.” Dad kisses her on the cheek.
I get a few minutes to myself while I take my bags to my old bedroom. My gaze falls over the bookcase filled with paperbacks and football trophies. I grab the worn football from my desk and sit on the end of my bed, then fall back and stare up at the ceiling.
Letting out a long breath, I fight to suppress the feelings of resentment. My family is all here to welcome me home. They’re proud of me, I know that. But what I really want is a few weeks where I don’t have to think about football at all.
After lunch, where I’m peppered with questions about the season and when practices start again, followed by cleanup, and a game of football, everyone finally leaves. Dad falls asleep in the recliner and Mom heads out to grocery shop. I take my phone outside. Stella sent a couple of texts during the day. She and Holly were going to their family’s cabin for the weekend, and from the selfie she sent, snow in the background, I’d say they made it.
Me: Brrr. That looks cold.
Stella: I love the snow!
Me: Me too, but I’ve missed the sun and warm weather. Done any skiing yet?
Stella: No. Hopefully tomorrow. Are you going to Show Low?
Instead of texting again, I call.
“Hey,” she answers on the second ring. The background is noisy, and I can barely hear her next words. “One second. I’m moving somewhere quieter.”
“If you guys are out somewhere, you can call me later.”
“No,” she says, “we aren’t out. My brother and his teammates had the same idea that Holly and I did.”
“They’re at the cabin?”
“Yep.”
“I thought Felix was house-sitting.”
“So did I. I guess he went there first and is planning to go back in a few days to check on things.”
