Page 48 of The Cheerleader

It was true. Football did help, but what good was strong character if you minded your business instead of helping someone in need?

“What big secret past are you hiding, Granger?” His voice is accusing, as if he should know everything about me. But I don’t owe him the story of my life no matter how much he shares with me. He likes to share. I don’t.

Which makes me wonder, and he probably wonders too, why I’m telling him about this now.

“Never mind. None of it matters.” I turn away, and he grabs my arm, tighter this time.

“No, you don’t, farm boy. You’re going to tell me the story—the whole story—about how you met Susie, because I can see it’s bothering you.” He stares me down with those blue eyes that he mostly uses to slay girls.

But tonight I see the brotherly concern in the blue intensity and realize this is why we’re friends in spite of our impressive catalog of differences.

“I’ll let you get away with the farm boy reference because you’re my QB⁠—”

“I thought you were proud to be a farmer?” He tries unsuccessfully to hold back his grin, too amused by the rarity of getting under my skin.

Blowing out a breath, I acknowledge my agitation and the fact that I need to unknot whatever sneaky tension has hold of me. Knowing it has everything to do with Susie, the eleven-year-old version who gave me a box of candy and literally the shirt off her back.

“Spill the story. What were you up to with little Susie Bennett? I’m surprised you met her at all. She doesn’t strike me as the type to wander onto a farm to say hello, and I know damn well you didn’t knock on her door.”

“She was on her way to visit Liz. I couldn’t talk her out of it.” I’m aware I’m making no sense, skipping over what got me in the position of lying in a shallow ditch alongside Mountain Road, bleeding and woozy. I never explained that to Susie either. That didn’t stop her from helping, or trying to.

Liz doesn’t even know. I should have told Susie to keep her secret from Liz because her involvement is the last thing I need. Liz is a big enough complication in my life. I don’t know why I slept with her because I always thought of her as a friend, someone I share a nasty bond with, and I knew sex with her would lead to no good.

She pushed for the physical relationship, sure, but I’m a big boy full of self-control. I didn’t have to go along. I could sleep with any girl on campus. When it came down to it, I’d wanted to sleep with Liz. Or I thought I did.

It was stupid to go there with her, someone I’ve known since grade school. Someone who I knew would never be more than a friend. We have too much that’s terrible in common, our bond based on us both having flawed fathers, the kind who were more bad than good, more tyrannical than kind. Getting intimate with Liz was like wallowing in the muck of the worst parts of my life. It was a big fucking mistake.

Now I don’t know how to undo the damage and get some distance—without losing her friendship, without deserting her. Because the messed-up fact is that I care about her in my own way, maybe like a twin sister. I’m learning the hard way that bonds are different than true friendships and trust is complicated.

Shame wells up and I turn away from Eldy. Reaching for the kitchen faucet, I duck my head and take a drink directly from the stream of water.

He mutters something about getting a glass and being influenced by farm animals, and I almost choke on my spontaneous laugh. I don’t remember the last time I was this out of control, flying by my instincts. The only place I allow that luxury is on the football field.

That’s where I let all the passion out, unchecked.

Swiping my hand across my mouth, I face Eldy, regaining my composure as my eyes meet his.

“I knew Liz since second grade. We went to the same church.” I don’t blame Eldy for laughing since I’m notorious for boycotting anything to do with church or religion, including Coach’s occasional team prayers.

He snickers. “Hard to imagine you in church.” He sobers up quickly as I clench my jaw. It’s probably a tell that my agitation isn’t going away, and maybe getting worse.

“Liz called me to come over. She was crying.” There’s no way I can tell the story without revealing part of Liz’s secret, so I have to decide if I trust Eldy.

“Shit—”

“You don’t even know. And you can’t breathe a fucking word to anyone or⁠—”

“Don’t worry. I’ve kept my mouth shut about⁠—”

“You’re right.” I heave a breath and make a silent promise to Liz that I won’t ever desert her. “It didn’t take me very many Sundays to figure out that her holier-than-thou, pious-as-shit father was a mean drunk who liked to bully his kids and slap around his wife.” I hadn’t known half of it at the time, but there’s no need to tell Eldy the gory details. And I don’t have to explain how I know all about how holier-than-thou bastard fathers can disguise overcontrolling bullies.

I feel slimy sharing this about Liz, but it’s my story now as much as hers ever since that day.

“Suffice it to say that I got into a fight with her dad. I held my own until he swung a bottle at me.”

“Ouch. Fuck.”

I don’t explain about the bloody mess, the shards of glass in my arm and around my hairline, how I kicked him in the nuts and ran until my adrenaline wore off somewhere down the street.