To The Wire
Jordan
‘COME ON!!!’
Maybe I can’t agree with Rod on strategy, but both of us, from our respective sides of the field, are in the same position – literally. We’ve planted our hands on our knees, bent over to level with the kids, and we yell bloody murder, making sure they know that we are behind them come what may.
‘Get me some of that,’ I hear Benny chortle behind me, and when I turn to see what the troublemaker’s up to, I find him tending the grill alongside someone’s dad, in exchange for what looks like a plate full of hot dogs. More power to him. The smell of fresh food in the air, steak tips, chicken and corn-on-the-cob, isn’t helping me keep focused on this game. It adds an extra layer of difficulty to the situation I already have with Rod.Which isn’t to say I’m comparing him to corn-on-the-cob, but everything is kind of compounding right now.
And obviously, in the midst of all of it, a little shred of hope hangs out in my chest, pleading, praying that Rod will turn around and tell me he’s sorry, and that he didn’t mean it, and that he wants to make things work. Except I know that shred is just pissing on my back and telling me it’s raining, because nothing about the argument we just had screams ‘make things work’.
It was never going to, either. I shouldn’t have thrown myself into this situation, full surrender. No matter how hard I tried to guard my heart, he managed to find the chink in my armour, to convince me that this time, this is the one. Because I take after my momma. I’m a Gutierrez girl. We run towards poor relationship decisions at full speed, and then we run away. It’s what we do.
At the half, it’s not looking good. Playing attack, as I’d suspected, didn’t do us much good; the kids sit at 4–1 down against Boston. We break, and as much as ‘told you so’ yearns to leave my lips, I press it down, instead watching a tense exchange between Declan and Rod at the other goal. It doesn’t look positive. I notice Declan gesturing vaguely towards the Boston stands, and my eyes follow his hand to where Charlotte sits, front and centre. My head begins spinning as if on command. Great.
‘I’m going to take five,’ I tell Benny.
His forehead wrinkles, and he looks like he has questions for me, but I dart out of the way of a couple of tong-toting dads and around the bleachers, into the parking lot. It takes some stumbling through rows and rows of pickups and vans,but eventually, I find my little sedan, my safe space, and swing myself into the driver’s seat with a thud. The faint smell of chai latte that has lingered since May still permeates the car, but the relative silence has its intended effect. My breathing slows as I lean against the steering, my forearms digging into the faux leather. If these kids lose the game and Declan gets his way, it’ll have been all our fault. The tension is definitely getting to them. Just Wednesday, they were playing like that trophy was already theirs, and now, it’s a one-eighty.
‘Pull it together,’ I mutter, wiping the sheen of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Maybe I could pull it together, but I know, unfortunately, that what the kids need in this moment is a pep talk from Rod. The question is whether he’s in any state to give it.
I check my watch, and my five minutes passed, I clamber out of my car and back to the field. My shoulders don’t feel any lighter – if anything, it all feels heavier. I need an assist, and a big one.
I weave around families bringing treats and snacks back to the bleachers on my way over to Rod, who’s back with his nose in a stack of plays. He looks up well before I’m anywhere near him.
‘I think—’
‘You were right.’ Rod’s eyebrows draw together as he rifles through the sheets on his clipboard. ‘Now it cost us.’
There’s not a hint of smarminess in my body at the satisfaction of knowing I was right. Instead, I just feel deflated. This whole thing has made me feel deflated.
‘Did you talk to Declan?’ I say.
Rod shrugs, setting the plays aside on the chair behind him.‘The usual. He doesn’t seem to have any doubt he’s going to win.’
‘Win?’ Declan’s smooth voice suddenly sounds from my right, cutting into our conversation. Seriously? I could punt this guy back to Boston myself. Instead, I cut my eyes in his direction, to where he stands resplendent in his camp shirt and football shorts, all smug and coiffed-up on an eighty-five-degree day. ‘I don’t think you stand a chance, Whittaker.’
I’d fume, but I remember we need to pull this team back together. ‘Shut up, Declan.’ I tip my head towards the Boston stands. ‘Go on back and let us deal with this, please.’
‘Deal with what?’ His eyes flick back and forth between us for a beat, and his smile grows taunting, then plain mean. ‘The game, or the lovers’ quarrel?’
‘Go back!’ I point to the stands with far more insistence than I’d had before. ‘You are not in this conversation.’
‘I am, now.’ He crosses his arms. ‘Judging from what I heard from my sister. You were here for a lot more than lacrosse, weren’t you, Juliet?’
My blood chills. No one else knows I called Rod by that dumb nickname, no one except the both of us, and if someone else knows, I can scarcely believe it. I understand Charlotte’s frustration, I do, but in that moment, I see red. In fact, I think I’m going to burst a vein. I step forward, ready to unleash all hell on this idiot, but Rod, beside me, beats me to it. His shoulder just brushes mine, and I feel the muscles of his arms tense as his hands ball into fists. ‘I don’t care,’ he growls, ‘what you heard. Leave us alone, and best as hell leave Jordan alone.’
No way. The two of them are staring one another down with the kind of glances that don’t exactly look like they’re going tosit and talk it out. Declan sneers, and Rod doesn’t waver, just stands slightly in front of me, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable.
I’m a pace away from shoving them away from one another, but Declan balks. With a scoff, he turns away and saunters on his merry way back to his bleachers. I’m left to look at the ever-so-confusing man who stands before me, who I cannot seem to get the barest hint of a read on.
‘Thank you,’ I tell him.
He hums by way of reply. His hands unclench, his arms relaxing.Oh, Rod. What are you doing?
‘Really.’ I swallow hard. ‘Anyway, um – I wanted to ask if you’d talk to the kids.’
Rod’s right eyebrow quirks up. ‘After I made the judgement call that screwed us over in the first minute?’
