Words shouldn’t have the power to slay, but they do. They slice through all the protective barriers we put up. They destroy all the tentative feelings of hope that we weave for ourselves.
“Are you okay?” Aubry asks softly. My hand that is still clutching the phone is trembling and I feel cold, as though all the blood has fallen from my face.
“Yes,” I whisper, but it doesn’t sound convincing. Aubry doesn’t know me, though, and she doesn’t push against my denial.
“Look, there’s Gordon… he’s waving.”
I glance up, and there he is. I can’t see much of his face, just the dark smudges he’s painted under his eyes, but his hand is waving as though his life depends on it. Aubry’s waving, but I check behind me to make sure he’s not looking at someone else. No, just us. I wave back tentatively and then stop quickly because I don’t want Cathy to notice. I don’t want her to know anything about the boys.
Gordon’s arm drops, and I immediately feel terrible. My priority should be them, not some awful specter from my past. I see him jog into a huddle, and then more helmeted heads turn in my direction. Even without seeing their expressions, I know they’re worried. We’re too tuned into each other not to know when something’s wrong.
“I hope they’ve got their heads on straight,” Aubry says. Next to her, another girl shouts encouragement onto the field. That’s what I should be doing. The boys need to know I’m their biggest cheerleader, but instead, I feel trapped.
My eyes are drawn to the opposing team, drawn to Justin like magnets. He’s strutting. All the arrogance and confidence he exudes used to be a turn-on but not anymore. Now he looks more like a turkey than a desirable man. He’s so much lesser than my foster brothers that it’s laughable.
Cathy is fighting for this joke of a man who would punch a wall rather than deal with his responsibilities, and on this field, there are eleven men who would push him out of the way to take on his responsibilities. It’s shameful.
But these good men shouldn’t have to pick up the pieces. They shouldn’t be lumbered with someone like me.
Tears burn at my throat, so I pull a bottle from my purse and take a big drink of water. I’m sweating too, the prickle beneath my armpits so uncomfortable that I have to move my arms. Play starts, and my foster brothers are playing offense. With each play, they gain ground, and inside, I’m cheering for them. I’m praying for them. I will the universe to take note of how much they deserve to win and make it so.
Logan is playing quarterback, his strong, agile body swathed in the huge shoulder pads that go some way to protecting him against the huge defense of the opposing team. The skill he shows in his evasive movements and throws is mesmerizing. Hunter is further forward, his bigger frame combined with speed, making him the perfect tight end. They make the play seem easy, and for a while, I relax into watching them.
As they stretch further ahead on the scoreboard, Cathy’s messages start again.
Why are you here? Do you think Justin needs you to cheer for him?
He doesn’t need you. He doesn’t want you.
You’re not part of things anymore. You made your bed, now go and lie in it.
I try to fix my attention back on the game. It’s only the end of the first quarter, and my nerves are frazzled.
“They’re playing well,” Aubry says. “I think they have a good chance of winning this game.”
“Don’t speak too soon,” the girl next to her says. “You know how easily these games can switch.”
“True. Logan is doing good, but I wonder if Coach will bring Sean in later in the game.”
“Is that what usually happens?”
“Sometimes. I guess it depends on how Coach is feeling about the state of play. Sean’s so gorgeous. I just love watching him play. That ass in those tight pants. He could crush walnuts with those glutes.”
I nod in agreement, even as my heart drops into my stomach. Aubry doesn’t know what’s going on in our house. She has no idea that she’s talking about someone who I care about, someone who has been inside my body and held me in his arms. The violent surge of jealousy I feel isn’t fair to Aubry, but I can’t help it. My hand clenches so tightly that my fingernails cause painful crescents in my skin. I start thinking about all the other amazing women there are in the world that could make my foster brothers happier than me. They could have their own lives, their own women who’d give them their own families. They’re saying that they want a relationship with me, but what do they know? They’re so young. They don’t know me well enough. They feel sorry for me because of all the things that Cathy has rightly pointed out.