We exchange a knowing glance, and he does the corny slide of the glasses down his nose, a nod of his head, a teasing smirk. ‘Right on in. They’re waiting for you.’
‘Oh, Colt, you know well enough that they’re waiting forus.’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘Stick to the game plan.’
Side by side, we file inside towards the tunnel, down the halls through to the locker rooms. All the hubbub of the crowd fades out pretty quickly, and the girls trickle steadily into the room, already looking for their bags so they can get to locking in for the game.
Colt and I stop in the hall just before we reach the lockers. Technically he stops first, and then gives me that little glance of his that tells me to hang on. ‘I wanna make sure you’re okay.’
‘Okay?’ I feel my hackles rise immediately. ‘I thought we had the conversation about—’
‘No, I wanna make sure you’reokay.’ He jerks a thumb towards the field, where we can still hear the thrumming of the eager crowd through the walls. ‘That’s a massive crowd. And if I’m not wrong, there’s definitely at least one MLL coach out there somewhere. This is the biggest lacrosse match-up in the South. I’m sure you don’t need to be told twice.’
I definitely don’t. I’ve been thinking about it since we came into Chester to help pick up wreckage and fix the stands. The same stands a coach might sit in, this very weekend, to watch us play, hunt for prospects. It’s not even just the thought of a coach watching. Colt’s a step ahead of me. Obviously having him back home, and at every single lacrosse game front row, has had its perks for our programme, filling our stands for essentially the first time in Oklahoma women’s lacrosse history, but the pressure is mounting, too. I had already had to worry about keeping my performance this season consistent, holding onto my tuition, as well as getting us to the championship, and now I still had to decide if I was even going to declare for the draft.
It all floods my brain way too quickly, and Colt must see theterror in my eyes, because he curses under his breath. ‘Sorry. Do-over. That wasn’t what you needed to hear. May. Look at me.’
He steadies me by the shoulders, and as much as I feel like a confused little kid, I do look at him. His grey eyes bore into mine, and he opens his mouth to say something, closes it, takes a beat. It’s a moment before he finally gives me the decisive words. ‘Make sure they have hell to pay.’
A tense breath escapes my lungs, and I waggle my head in what I hope is a gesture of ‘yes’. What? What is going on?
Coach Dillon yells for him, and he shoots me one last encouraging smile before jogging off to take care of whatever might be going on, still in that damn suit of his, and suddenly, my brain is all thoughts of how well those pants fit him and how his stupid overgrown hair looks extra fun to run your fingers through all swept back like that, and the way ‘hell to pay’ might have been one of the hottest things a man could say in that situation.
‘Hell to pay,’ I mouth, even as I tug on my jersey and kilt and tape up my legs. His voice still echoes in my ears when we line up in the tunnel entrance, from where we can see that the stands are completely packed. It’s one of the biggest crowds this derelict stadium has ever seen, totally full of fans, the first few rows of the student section crammed with the usual game bib overalls and beers, and yet the only thing I hear, still, is, ‘Make sure they have hell to pay.’
The game opens with the hallmark Oklahoma City–San Antonio home game tradition, the Running of the Rider, a local rodeo champ on horseback storming the field with the university flagin hand, and from there, we take command of the grass the second the whistle blows. San Antonio, even one natural disaster less frazzled than us, falls behind at first, and by the end of the half, we’re pulling ahead.
It’s the third quarter when San Antonio really must have got a verbal thrashing in the locker room, because play starts to pick up. One of their attackers cuts right through our defence for just their second goal of the game. Two turns into three turns into four and, before we know it, the last quarter is on our heels. We run like the Rider is chasing us down the field, and it pays off.
‘OPEN!’ I yell, as Maddie rushes to the right, dodging a defender and shucking the ball overhead. It lands straight in the head of my stick. One of San Antonio’s midfielders tries to rush me, but I toss the ball back to Brianna, who keeps it safe until Jordan is open on attack. Seconds on the board, she swings the ball to Jor, and my best friend whips it straight into the goal so hard that if the goalie blocked it, it’d blow a hole through the head of her crosse. Top cheddar – the ball just slaps the top of the net, and just like that, the whistle blows, and the home fans are chanting, the bass turned up on ‘Riders in the Sky’ so the entire stadium thrums with roaring and cheering and whipping of orange towels.
Winning a game is a dream. Winning a Roper Rivalry is heaven. The pearly gates are open, and the Oklahoma City Riders are in the playoffs.
The student section is screaming, ecstatic after sitting on their hands all fourth quarter. They’ll cost the school a penalty greater than tornado damage if they storm the field, so the best we can do is leap the barriers ourselves, jumping into the studentsection to celebrate with the sea of orange and white. Beer spills every which way, sticky remains of shooters coating the benches, but the girls couldn’t care less.
‘MAY!’
‘COLT!’
The grin on his face is as broad as his extended arms. ‘MAY!’
I don’t know how we keep doing it, unchoreographed and unplanned. It’s probably adrenaline, I tell myself. All the thoughts fly right out my head, though, when I run straight for Colt, still in his button-down and trousers and that tie of his, and I jump right into his arms. He catches me effortlessly, and I try not to focus on the fact that our bodies are flush against one another right now, or that I’m hanging onto him for dear life, laughing as he spins me around before setting me down gently.
‘No kiss this time, New Haven?’
‘It’s not real, remember?’ He smirks, but something in that stupid smirk is absolutely real. Something is certainly simmering, and it’s not just the adrenaline.
‘As if.’ I return his smirk. ‘I’m sure you wish it was.’
MAY! What? May, shut up!
Colt raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re the one holding onto me like this.’
No way. He doesn’t get to turn it around on me. I move to drop my hands like I just touched a hot pot, but some strange force of nature keeps me from doing so. The CJ Bradley effect. Do I want to punch him? Do I want to kiss him? Why can’t I make a decision? ‘Don’t let it fool you.’
‘Hey, there’s nothing wrong with going the extra mile to sell it.’ Maybe Colt is playing nonchalant, but the flush of his cheeksbetrays him. When we put the game plan together those weeks ago, we’d laid the law down. This was all business.
In the pit of my stomach, I know we’ve been well beyond all business for a while now.
‘Oh, I know we need to sell it, trust me.’
