All the Little Lights
Page 28

“Why?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I already told you. You look scared, and I know you’re not telling me everything.”
I leaned to the side, scratched my chin with my shoulder, and then looked away. “You know, maybe not everything is your business.”
“I didn’t say it was, but I can still worry about you.”
“I didn’t ask you to worry about me.” I closed my eyes. “I don’t want you to worry about me. You can’t help anyway. Your life is messed up enough for both of us.”
“Stop.”
I turned to face him, surprised at the lack of hurt on his face. “Stop what?”
“Trying to piss me off. It’s not going to work.”
I opened my mouth to speak but hesitated. He was right. Pushing people away was what I had done since Dad died, but now that Elliott was back, the thought of him leaving again made my chest ache. “I’m . . . sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.”
I pointed behind me. “I should probably head home. I have something in the oven.”
“Just . . . let me have a few more minutes. Please?”
I glanced down the street toward the Juniper.
“Catherine . . .”
“I’m really okay. Some days are just harder than others.”
Elliott reached for my hand, sliding his fingers between mine. “I have bad days, too, Catherine. But I don’t run out of my house because I’m afraid of what’s inside.”
I didn’t have an answer, so I let go of his hand and left him alone in the park.
Chapter Ten
Elliott
Knock that shit off, Youngblood!” Coach Peckham said, pulling me up from the grass.
I stood, nodding.
He grabbed my face mask. “I know you’re famous for sneaks, but I don’t need you injured by your own team before the first damn game.”
“Sorry, Coach,” I said.
It was my second head-on collision of the day. I was already in trouble for being late to practice. Coach ran me half to death in the heat, but it was exactly what I needed to burn off the anger boiling inside of me. It was easier to run the ball than try to remember plays when Catherine was dominating my thoughts, so I just took the ball and ran straight for the end zone.
We stood around listening to the coaches before we were released from practice. The managers ran onto the field, handing out bottles of water. When they released us, it didn’t take long for my teammates to gather around me, slapping my ass, shoulders, and the back of my head. They were whooping and hollering as we entered the locker room, excited for the upcoming season now that they had a 5A quarterback on the team.
“Not that we’re not happy about it, but why did you say you moved here your senior year?” Connor Daniels asked. He was a fellow senior, loved to talk about what girl he was banging and how much he’d drunk the weekend before. He reminded me of a lot of the guys I played with in Yukon, as if sex and drinking were the only things to do or worth talking about. Or maybe he was trying to overcompensate for something. Either way, he annoyed me.
“Are you military or something?” Scotty Neal asked. I’d beat him out of the quarterback spot, and even though he tried to pretend to be pissed off, I could tell he was relieved.
“For a girl,” I said, proud.
My teammates laughed.
“Shut the hell up, Youngblood, you’re full of shit,” Connor said. When I didn’t waver, his eyes grew wide. “Wait. You’re serious? Which one?”
“Catherine Calhoun,” I said.
Scotty wrinkled his nose. “Catherine? What the fuck, dude?”
“She is kinda hot,” Connor said. I glowered at him, and he backed away. “It was a compliment.”
“We live in the same neighborhood. I’ve been visiting here in the summers since I was a kid.”
“Damn,” Scotty said. “You know she’s crazy, right?”
“She’s not crazy,” I said, my tone final. “She’s just . . . been through a lot.”
“Someone should warn you,” Scotty said. “Their whole family is bad news. I mean, generations of bad. They poisoned the whole town, then they went bankrupt. The dad died, and the mom is a freakin’ weirdo. Catherine . . . you could get a scholarship, maybe even go pro. You should steer clear of her.”
“Say that again,” I said, taking a step toward him.
Scotty leaned back. “Okay, man. I’m just trying to warn ya.”
The rest of the team followed him and Connor to the showers, and I grabbed my bag, threw the strap over my head, and headed out of the locker room, still steaming.
Someone grabbed my arm as I rounded the corner, and I yanked my arm away.
“Hey, whoa,” Coach Peckham said. “Good practice today, Elliott.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“I heard what Scotty said in there. He’s not wrong. That family . . . you just need to be careful, okay?”
I frowned at him. We were the same height, making it easy to meet his gaze, letting him know no one was going to change my mind about Catherine. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“You said you’re neighbors?”
I realized my shoulders were tense, and I let them relax. Because of my size, I had to pay more attention to my body language. I’d gotten in too many fights the past two years because it looked like I was threatening someone, and the last thing I needed was for my coach to think I was trying to intimidate him. “She lives down the street from me.”
He nodded, thinking about that for a moment.
“Hi,” a woman’s voice said from the shadows. Mrs. Mason stepped out, looking embarrassed. “You’re not going to believe this. I locked my keys and my phone in my car.”
Coach Peckham smiled, his demeanor instantly changing. “Actually, I can.”
She giggled like a cheerleader with a crush, and I readjusted the strap of my duffel bag.
“Elliott?” Mrs. Mason said, touching my arm with a gentle grip. “Were you talking about Catherine?”
I nodded.
Mrs. Mason smiled. “She’s a kind person. I’m glad you see that.”
“Becca,” Coach scolded.
Mrs. Mason frowned up at him. “She’s finally found a friend, and you’re worried about your team?”
“I’ve always been her friend,” I said. Mrs. Mason looked at me, confused. “I’ve been visiting my aunt in the summers. We’ve been friends for a while.”
“Oh,” she said, her eyes bright. “That’s so great. Small towns like ours . . . people get put in a box, and it’s hard to get out. But don’t listen to anyone. I’ve gotten to know her better after her father’s death. I think Catherine’s lovely.”
I offered a small smile before heading to my car. “She is.”
“Youngblood,” Coach Peckham called after me. “Don’t be late again, or I’ll run you until you puke.”
“Yessir,” I yelled back.
Just as I reached the Chrysler, my cell phone rang a warning. That was my dad’s ringtone, so I let it go until I was settled in my seat.
“Hello?”
“Hey. How’s things? Is the football team there worth a damn?”
“It will be.”
“I need you to do something for me,” he said, emotionless.
I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn’t see me.