Dylan comes out and grabs our bags, but I insist on taking my purse and bag of clay. He sets off quickly toward our room, talking to me in a whisper. “If it’s really bad, we can go stay at my parents’ house. I just thought this would be more private. If the neighbors see I’m home, they’ll go crazy coming around.”
He unlocks the door to room 123, and we step inside. Two full beds, a dresser with a TV, and not much else. Bare bones. I immediately feel at home.
“This is awesome.” I put my stuff down on one of the beds.
Dylan cocks an eyebrow at me.
“What?” I say. “It is. This is roughing it for you right? So it’s a whole new side of you I get to see.”
Dylan sighs and starts looking for the remote, which he finds in a drawer. He turns on the television, and that’s when we find out the V Motel has no cable.
“Well, that’s no big deal,” I say, bouncing on the bed as I sit on it. “It’s got an antenna. So we’ll just use that.”
Dylan glances at me as he moves the antenna around, and all he gets is static. “I don’t think this is working.”
“There was this old trick I used at my first apartment. If you prop the antenna against something…” I grab the Bible from the drawer and use it to hold the antenna in place. “Sometimes…” Suddenly we get reception. “It works!” I clap. “See? Awesome.”
Dylan smiles and kisses my head. “You’re amazing.”
“I’m handy. I can wire a house too. My first foster parent had a brother who’s an electrician, and he was over all the time. I followed him around, even went on a few jobs with him some Saturdays.” I was desperate for attention back then. Drew was willing to have an apprentice, and he taught me what he knew. It was pretty much all about wiring with him. When it came to emotional issues, he was useless, but if it had to do with electricity, he was a pro.
“You seriously can wire a house?” Dylan asks me.
“You’ve got secrets too you know. Remember—you’re the one who knows all about art and waiting tables. Nobody’s just a one-trick pony right?”
Dylan turns off the TV. “I hope not. Sometimes it feels that way.”
I put my hand in his. “Where to?”
“My cousins are already at the bar. But first, let’s stop by the high school. I’ll show you the football field at night. It’s going to be cold, so bring your gloves. I’ll text Bray we’ll meet them soon.”
* * *
The football stadium dominates the school grounds. It’s the only thing I see as we pull into a parking space and step out into the lighted lot.
We walk slowly toward the field, ignoring the biting wind in our faces. I’m mesmerized by images flashing through my mind of Dylan winning big games, being carried around on his teammates’ shoulders, and the whole town putting up banners on the streets to celebrate the team’s victory. It must have been quite a rush. When I mention this to Dylan, he smiles.
“Yeah, it was cool,” he says. “I wasn’t the starter all four years. Sophomore year I split time with a guy.”
“Where’d he end up?”
“He went to U. Montana,” Dylan says. “Majored in finance of some kind. He was a smart guy, and a good friend. Didn’t play pro.”
We take a seat on the chilly bleachers and I stare out at the goalposts. “I’ve never even caught a football. Isn’t that funny?”
Dylan’s eyes light up. “Let’s change that now.”
He takes my hand, and we walk down the steps together. Underneath the back bleacher, he shows me a few footballs lying around.
“Always here,” he says as he picks one up. “Been years, and they still hide them in the same place.”
He teaches me how to throw, and he catches all of them, even my horribly off-base attempts. He teaches me how to catch, and he throws perfect soft spirals directly to me over and over until I’ve caught a few in a row. It’s cold outside, but I get hot from the exertion.
“Two forms of real exercise in one day is a record,” I call to him as I catch one last pass.
He laughs and picks me up in his arms. “You’re good.”
I smile and kiss him. We’re at the fifty-yard line, making out with me in his arms, and I’m still holding the football when I hear, “Dylan Wild! With a lady no less.”
