Chapter 22

The intercom crackles overheadas the feed goes live in eighth period. Ms. Kopek shakes her head as the voice of the assistant principal rings out, instructing all students who are attending the football trip to Paris to please report to Gym C. By the time she’s shouting out the homework assignment (which I am absolutely not going to be doing) I am already in the hall with my backpack slung over my shoulder.

Teammates filter out of classrooms on either side as I power walk down the hall, eager to get going. There’s a buzz in the air as kids chat and laugh, and as we cram into the small half court gymnasium it only increases. I find Cam, leaning against the wall of folded bleachers, and sidle up next to him with our shoulders just barely touching. It’s crowded enough to get away with it, when we’re all crammed in here together.

“Hey, you,” he smiles, bumping against me. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah!” I stretch my neck. “They never kept us overnight for JV. We’d have had to just get here at four AM tomorrow or something, this is way better.”

The rumble dies down as Coach Smith blows his whistle, standing on top of a bench for visibility.

“Good afternoon,” he flips a paper on his clipboard. “If you are in this room, you better be on this list to attend the out of town game tomorrow morning. Momentarily, you will be released to get any equipment you need. Go to the bathroom, and get on the buses in the same order we use for games. You’ll sign in on the clipboard on your bus, and list your roommate preference. If you don’t list anyone, we will assign you. Butts in seats in forty five minutes, I will leave you behind. What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

From anyone else the threat might seem empty, but I’ve learned that Coach Smith doesn’t exaggerate, so we book it out of the gym. Cam and I leave our backpacks in the truck and get our duffel bags, then stop by the vending machine for road snacks before checking in at the door to the front bus.

Cam places my name beside his for the room assignments, and we settle into our usual seat. I pull the blanket out of my bag before stowing it under our raised feet where they’re supported on the bar of the seat in front of us, cover our legs with the blanket and scoot a little closer to him to avoid the heat-sucking cold of the glass window, and we settle in for the long drive.

At the front of the bus, Coach Smith stands staring at the face of his watch. When his timer is up he confers with the driver who sends a message to the other buses with the handheld radio, then he takes a seat in the first bench and we are off. Hours pass as the scenery flashes by, highways lined with fields and farms shifting into the cityscape, congested traffic slowly clearing out until we’re passing through fields and the occasional warehouse once again.

It’s dark by the time the buses pull into a long shopping strip, parking in the back of the lot in front of a pizza buffet restaurant. They’re clearly expecting us, a man stands at the door holding it open and ticks off to count as we file in and take up our plates. Against all odds, everybody fits inside the dining room. I go back two times, piling my plate with every kind of pizza that sparks my interest, and I would think I was overdoing it if I didn’t watch in horror from across the room as Chris Jenson consumes three entire pizzas. I turn my back as he goes in for dessert.

“Too bad the girls aren’t coming up until tomorrow,” I shake my head. “This place is right up my sister’s alley.”

“Beth would love this,” Cam chuckles, stacking his third plate and folding his fingers together over his chest with a contented sigh.

The coaches call out a five minute warning, and we all begin to filter out of the restaurant and back to the buses. It takes a moment for everyone to settle, then we make the short final stretch up the highway to the hotel we”ll be staying at. The students wait on the bus while the coaches go inside and get everything sorted, returning to each bus with a stack of little white envelopes. They go down the list, calling one pair of players at a time, keeping one room card and writing the room number down next to their names on the sign in sheet before giving each pair the other card and sending them into the building.

When Cam and I are called, we heft our bags over one shoulder on our way down the steps. I flip the card over in my fingers, reading the number as I walk across the concrete walkway and through the glass sliding doors into the lobby of the hotel.

“Two ninety eight,” I read out loud, letting Camden lead us to the elevators.

I push the button for the second floor and lean my head back against the mirrored walls, closing my eyes for a moment as we wait for the doors to open. We hear a soft ding just before the doors slide open, and Cam steps off the lift and follows signs to the right to find the second set of room numbers.

“Here we are,” he stops in front of a door nearly to the end of the hall. “Two ninety eight.”

I slide our key card through the door handle, smiling victoriously when the light turns green and the handle clicks, and open it wide for my boyfriend.

“After you,” I wink.

“Oh my,” he grins and rolls his eyes as he passes me. “What a gentleman.”

“I do what I can.”

I can’t help but laugh as I shut the door behind us and engage the metal loop at the top of the door. In case of any real emergency I’m not sure it would do much, but it makes me feel better anyway. We deposit our bags on a dresser against the wall, probably the most useless piece of furniture in a hotel full of teenage boys, and I turn to take in the room.

There are two queen beds separated by a nightstand of sorts with two lamps and a tv remote. The standard black Gideon’s Bible is tucked into a cubby underneath, and the lamps provide the light of the main room. There’s a bathroom situated in the middle, door open and lights off, and next to the bathroom is a large tv. A wide window covers most of the back wall, with horizontal blinds and thick red curtains draped on either side. A floor air conditioning unit rumbles, making the room just a touch too cold for this fall evening. There’s a small round table in the corner next to the window, and I cross to read the pamphlets someone’s left sitting on top of it.

“We’re here, in Paris!” Cam spins, then lands on his back on top of the bed, sending air puffing through the comforter. “Isn’t it romantic?”

“Yeah,” I grin, taking in the scenic view of the asphalt parking lot over the rumbling white air conditioner in the window. “It’s beautiful. Did we pay extra for this view?”

“Shut up,” he laughs, throwing a pillow at my back.

I pull the heavy red curtains together then turn to watch him, leaning my butt against the small round table in the corner. The room is lit by two lamps in the middle of the two beds, casting soft shadows across Cam’s face as he lays in the center of the one closest to me. My eyes dart between the two beds, landing back on my boyfriend.

We… Didn’t really talk about this.

Cam smiles softly at the ceiling, looking confident and sexy and so comfortable in this situation we’ve found ourselves in. All of those things I am not feeling right now, as I question the decision to share a room with my boyfriend for the first time in a strange hotel in a strange city with no ground rules or discussion beforehand.

Is it too late to ask Jenson to switch with me? I’m sure his friends are lovely, we probably wouldn’t even have to-

“Come here,” he tilts his head, taking me in as I stand and breaking my train of thought.

I feel a flush rise up my neck and to my cheeks as I run my own eyes over his body as he lounges on the bed. I swallow hard, avoiding eye contact as long as I can. When we finally connect, I feel the words bubble up of their own accord.

“I, uh… I’m not sure.”

“Not… sure?” he looks confused.

“Yeah, like… I mean, I like you. And when I’m with you, everything feels right. It never felt like this, before.”

“Okay?” Cam sits up on his elbows. “Is everything alright, El?”

“Yeah, I just, I like you. A lot. Like, I like you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he sits all the way up, brows drawing inward, and a tone of concern tinges his voice.

“Right, so… But… I’m not… I still don’t think I’m ready. You know. For more.”

“More, like…?”

I look meaningfully at the bed, and I can see the moment it clicks. Cam’s brows shoot high on his forehead for a moment, and then his eyes soften. He holds a hand out to me, murmuring my name, and I can’t help but step closer and take it.

“El,” he draws me closer, pulling me between his legs, and I go willingly. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m not ready for all of that, either. I know some people our age move at light speed, but,” he shrugs. “That’s not us. I don’t want us to rush into any of… that.” Cam’s cheeks heat, and he pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I’m only excited because I’m here, with you. All night. Just the two of us. No pressure, okay?”

“Well.” I clear my throat. “That was very sweet.”

“Thanks,” he laughs, tugging me towards him.

He catches me off guard, and I fall onto him with a yelp. Cam laughs, rolling to his side, still holding my right hand in his left. They rest between us, interlocked, as we each lay on our other arm and smile at each other.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” I whisper back, then lean forward and press my lips against his.

The kiss is lazy, unhurried, and almost delicate. I lean further into my boyfriend, pulling our joined hands to my waist and pulling mine free to slide up to his shoulder. My fingers flex, pulling him closer, and he increases the pressure of his lips against mine. Cam’s hand squeezes my hips reflexively and I gasp, opening myself up to him as fire builds between us.

His fingers trail under my shirt, tentative, and I break our connection long enough to tug it up and over my head and throw it towards the bags where they lie against the wall. Cam pauses, eyes raking over my chest as if he’s never seen me shirtless before. I lean against one arm on the bed, a nervous heat rising up my chest and to my cheeks, but to my surprise lacking any of my usual discomfort as I wait for his eyes to meet mine. And when they do?

Oh God…

His blue eyes are molten diamonds, hypnotic waves that pull me under as he crashes over me, pinning me to the bed as his mouth consumes mine. I hold onto his shoulders for dear life, clenching one hand in the fabric of his t-shirt and winding the other through the hair at the nape of his neck to shape and fit his lips to mine. The ebb and flow of his lips on mine, my back arching up to meet him and the pressure of his body on mine pushing me back down, leaves me gasping for breath as he trails kisses down my jaw. Cam’s hands wander my chest and stomach, trailing fire, until he pauses and sits up on one arm.

“Is this okay?”

“Take off your shirt,” I say in place of an answer, sliding my hand under the edge and tracing the outline of each muscle with my thumb.

He complies with a grin, tossing it backwards. I flip us over, lying half on top of him, and in moments we’re a tangled mass of sliding hands and wet kisses.When I break the kiss, pulling back and catching my breath, there’s a part of me that worries he’ll react badly. I lay my head on his chest, reaching around him and holding close, trying to slow my breathing, and he lets out a slow release of air as he holds me back. I can hear the smile in his voice as he hums happily, keeping me to his side as his heartbeat slows, and I can feel an answering smile rising on my face.

“I love you,” he growls, voice gravelly.

“I love you too.” I turn my head, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Are you ready for bed? Busy day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I squeeze him in a sort of side-hug. “I am.”

We lie still a moment longer, just breathing together. Finally I sit up, stretching slightly, then slide off the side of the bed. I cross to my bag, step out of my jeans, and take my toothbrush and toothpaste into the bathroom. From the corner of my eye I see Camden sit up, his eyes going wide as he takes me in. I can’t help but smile a little as he scrambles up, occupying himself with his own bedtime routine. When he slips behind me to use the other half of the vanity I feel the warm brush of his bare knee against mine, and bend to spit into the sink, using the opportunity to rinse my face with the cold water.

He leans closer to the mirror, washing his hands before removing his contacts and placing them in a travel case. Blinking rapidly, he wipes his face with the towel hanging on the wall and brushes his own teeth as I go back into the room and slip into bed.

The bed where we’re going to sleep, together. Me and my boyfriend, all night long. My smile grows wider as I wiggle lower under the covers, getting comfortable against the pillows as I wait for Cam to finish and join me. A flutter starts in my stomach as he crosses the room, reaching over to turn off the lamp before he slides under the covers.

We both lie still for a moment, like neither of us wants to be the one to push it too far. I stretch out my hand, reaching for his under the covers, and he shifts closer to me. A happy sigh slips from between my lips as his legs bump against mine, and I roll onto my side so his chest fits up against my back. The tension instantly releases, his arm comes to rest over my waist and our intertwined hands lay on the bed in front of me.

My thumb traces his against the white cotton, and I burrow back as close as I can get to my boyfriend. It’s weird how… Perfect this feels. Like this is where I was always meant to be. We rest in easy silence, but just when I think he’s not awake he starts to speak.

“It all comes down to this,” Cam murmurs, his warm breath puffing against the back of my neck as his arms tighten around me. “If we win this game, we go to playoffs.”

“Right.” I swallow hard. “No pressure.”

My back shakes with his laughter as Cam rests his forehead against my shoulder, breathing slowly in and out until he’s relaxed. The red curtains blink out of view as my eyes drift closed, and the sounds of the night threaten to consume my senses. My boyfriend’s heavy arms keep me grounded, and I hear his breathing get deeper as we slip into sleep.

Poundinghands on the door jar me awake. One eye opens, taking in the sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, and I start to register Chris Jenson’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Hello!” he calls, hitting the door again. “Are you guys alive? You’re gonna miss breakfast!”

“Coming,” I shout, tilting my head so it isn’t muffled by the pillow, then let my face drop back into the soft white pouf and groan. “Cam,” I speak into the pillow this time, reaching an arm over to shake his shoulder. “Camden… Wake up…”

“I’m awake,” he sighs, his voice gravelly with sleep, and a smile creeps across my face. “Think he woke up the whole hall?”

“Prolly,” I yawn, my jaw cracking from spreading so wide, then turn and rub my forehead into his chest. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Cam kisses the top of my head, warm arms wrapping around me and squeezing for a moment before relaxing but staying in place. “How are you feeling? Hungry?”

“Nervous,” I admit, closing my eyes again. “Think they’d notice if we stayed here all day?”

“Yes,” he chuckles, kissing my head again.

Cam rolls away from me and out of bed, dodging my reaching hands and ignoring the whiny noise I make as I chase his back. I crack an eye to watch him dig through his bag, emerging with sweats and a team shirt with a cougar blazed over the front. He then turns to mine, getting my set out as well as my hoodie. I watch until my view is hindered by the blue cotton he unceremoniously throws over my face.

“Hey!” I groan, sitting up and letting the hoodie fall to my lap. “I’m up, I’m up…”

“Come on, gorgeous,” he winks, sending butterflies through my bare chest. “We’ve gotta go get breakfast.”

I slide off the side of the bed, stretch, and grin to myself at the way I catch Cam staring at the band of my boxers as I do. My arms come to rest back at my sides and he looks hurriedly away, flushing and shoving his legs into his sweatpants. It would make sense for me to be embarrassed, but I’m really not. I guess there’s something about knowing that there really is no pressure, that Camden wants to take things slow and not rush into anything we’re going to regret, that makes me comfortable in all of the little thrills along the way.

When we’re both dressed and I’ve tugged my hoodie on over my head, bags slung over our shoulders, I start for the door. Cam catches me with a hooked finger to the back of my pants. He stops me short, and when I turn to face him he takes each side of my hood in one hand and tugs me closer for one firm, toe-curling kiss that leaves a tightness in my stomach and has me catching my breath with a gasp. A Cheshire cat grin spreads across his face, and his blue eyes shine with glee at my reaction.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” I breathe, and he slips past me into the hall.

The rest of the team is downstairs, bags next to their chairs on the ground as they talk and eat from white plates covered in assorted goodies from the continental breakfast buffet. Hotel staff roam with silver trays, switching them out regularly to keep up with the demand of a lobby full of teenage boys. I smile at each one we pass on our way to the line, filling my plate with various fruits and proteins and two muffins from the plastic pastry case before making my way to a table with two empty chairs. Samson is finishing his plate, and the other two seniors next to him are already done.

After breakfast we all pile into the bus, and it takes us to the other side of town where the high school and stadium are. As soon as we get off Coach Baxter leads the entire team in some stretching before we break into groups to really get warmed up for today’s game. Today our trainer, Brock, is working with our group.

He leads us through high knee drills on the ladder, then brings us over to the side to work on jump cuts. I shake my shoulders loose as I wait for my turn, then sprint from my starting position to the cone at the end of the run. When I get there Brock yells ‘right’ or ‘left’ and I have to make a sideways jump to the cone positioned several feet away on whichever side he indicates. We do this over and over, stretching our hips and thighs until we’re ready to dominate in this game.

By the time they release us for lunch, I’m feeling the burn in my abs. It’s a relief to fill my bottle with an electrolyte drink and collect a familiar yellow box of chicken strips from the fold out table, smiling in gratitude at the booster club moms handing them out. I sit in the middle of the grassy area, leaning my back against a tree for support, and am soon joined by Jenson and Camden.

We chat and joke as we eat our food, but as soon as our trash goes in the garbage there’s a tangible shift in the air. My teammates begin to filter into the visitor’s locker room, sipping on water and changing into the base layers of our uniforms. Around the room people are stretching back out, ensuring they’re in the best shape possible before we go out there. Arms wheel through the air, and I duck around them as I make my way to an open place on the bench to get myself ready and in the zone.

After reading a good luck text from my parents, I tuck my phone into the pocket of my bag and chuck it into my assigned cubby for the day. This is it; today will either be the end of our real season, or the start of playoffs. It’s all riding on that final score. I swallow the thick knot that’s found its way into my throat, wondering if I maybe should have gone for something lighter at lunch.

A water bottle sits on the bench, but my stomach recoils at the thought of even that. I take a slow breath, hoping to calm these last minute nerves, and shake my limbs out as we wait for our signal that it’s time to head out to the field. There’s a brush against my hand, so light I might not have noticed if not for the spark of electricity that seems to arch between us as he pulls away. Cam. I look up to see him smiling at me, winking then reaching across his body to stretch out his shoulder.

“You’re gonna be great,” he says with confidence. “It’s just a game.”

“Right,” I huff out a laugh, rolling my neck. “Just a game. It’s a big game, though.”

“It could be,” he shrugs. “Or it could be a blip in the radar. But either way, all we can do is play our best and enjoy it, yeah?”

“Did Coach hire you to give the pregame speech?” I raise an eyebrow and he rolls his eyes, a slightly pink tinge coming to his cheeks. “It’s working.”

“Shut up,” he grins, bumping his shoulders against mine for a moment before we all stand straighter.

Mike Samson has just come back through the door, clapping his hands together and bouncing in place. There’s a smile on his face, but he looks far from relaxed as his feet shift on the floor, nodding and looking around the room.

“This is it, guys… Y’all ready?”

Shouts and cheers erupt all around me, unintelligible noise as the guys pump themselves and each other up. I feel a grin take over my face, my nerves melting completely away as I join in on the cacophony, which doesn’t stop as Samson turns and leads us out the door, slapping the top of the doorframe on his way out. Most of us follow suit, increasing our bouncing walk to a jog as we leave the building and start for the field.

Our band strikes up the fight song, and we break into a run as we enter and breach the tunnel. Beside us the cheerleaders dance, blue and silver tinsel shimmering through the air, and in front of us run members of the color guard with our school flag of a cougar leaping out of a C and over an F and banners with the school’s initials. The crowd cheers as we pour out of the inflatable helmet, slowing to a stop and waving up at our friends and family members. It’s hard to believe how many of them came all this way to watch the game, until I remember that this is the last away game ever for some of these guys.

Well… Let’s give them a show.

I lose myself to the game, letting the adrenaline flow through me as we line up and prepare for kickoff. And then we’re off.

My time is measured in downs, in snaps, in the crunch of pads against pads as the defensemen keep us from progressing. Sitting on the sidelines watching our defense at work, I wince as I see the home team’s quarterback push through the gap. He makes it past our line despite the fight our d-men put on, stepping firmly into the endzone as cries go up from the stands behind us.

Samson gets them back in the second quarter, putting up a score on the board with a beautiful touchdown gained by the skin of his teeth and a whole lot of luck. It’s what my dad would call a good game, back and forth with high tension and low scoring. We gain yards, they knock us back. We fight back, they slip up and earn a penalty.

We’re tied at halftime, and the tension in the locker room could be cut with a knife. We all know what’s at stake here, for many of us this could be our first year to go for a state championship… But for the seniors, Samson and the others, this is their last chance. I nod and clap with the others as Coach gives his speech, but I’m really only half listening. The only thing going through my mind is that we have to win this game, for their sake.

When he’s finished we stand and cheer, shaking our bodies out and stretching last minute before we follow Samson out of the locker room and head back to the field for the second half. It’s an aggressive push from the kickoff as we fight for every yard we can claim, but we find ourselves pushed back.

Gritting my teeth, I scan the field as we prepare for the start of the next play. Cam’s in position on the left side of the field, ready to guard Samson against the offensive linemen rolling their shoulders on the other side of the ball. When it’s snapped into play I pace myself just ahead of Mike, keeping an eye out for any window, and we spot it at the same time.

In unspoken agreement I put a little more power in my strides, closing the gap in seconds as Samson quick steps to the left. Cam gets into position, ready to hold firm against the hulking men lumbering towards him, and prevent them from tackling our quarterback. I turn, focusing instead on the place I know Samson needs me to be.

I force more power into each stride, covering the ground between me and that open pocket and only keeping turned enough to see the moment when Samson releases that perfect spiral, sending it flying towards me just as the massive lineman dives to stop him, but not in time. My next step digs hard into the turf, and I launch myself up as I raise my arms in a curved scoop, already reaching back for my chest just before I feel the pebbled leather beneath my fingertips.

I catch the ball. I tuck it close to me and to the side, and the stands erupt with cheers. Feet pound against the turf as the Paris defense reacts, my breath comes in short bursts and I follow through my planned route. My legs burn as I eat up the yards, seeing nothing but my path ahead as I cross into the endzone. The crowd is going wild, cheering and screaming and yelling for me to go all the way.

And then suddenly… They’re not.

Like a wave of shadow, a hush falls over the crowd. Some people rise to their feet, while others sit on the bench and press a hand to their mouths. The opposing team have frozen in place, turning to face the far end of the field. My steps taper off until I’ve slowed to a halt, and I rotate in place as I try to see what’s caused the shift in tone.

The world slows to a grinding halt when I realize I don’t see Camden. I whip my head to the right until I see the place he was standing the last time I saw him, just ahead of Samson who is standing still as a statue and staring at the ground. My gaze tracks his line of sight, until they stop on a very distinct pair of highlighter yellow cleats, both flat on their sides and facing away from me.

The breath catches in my throat as I watch the players around him lunge backward, coming to rest on one knee with their other firmly on the ground. Cam lies there like the hypocenter after an atomic bomb, curling around his right arm where it rests on the ground, our teammates and opponents around him in rings with stony horror etched into their faces. Without even thinking, my legs carry me closer to him, eating up the distance between me and the other side of the field with increasing speed. Trainers jog onto the field from both sides, while Coach Smith heads for his fallen player and Coach Baxter talks to someone on the sidelines. Coach Smith steps between me and Cam, throwing his arms wide as around us the last of the players drop to one knee.

“Graves,” he says warningly, voice low and firm. “You need to follow protocol, take a knee so the trainers can see what’s going on.”

“He needs me,” my voice cracks as I take another step forward.

“Son,” Coach’s hand extends and grasps my bicep. “I know he’s your friend, but right now you have to-”

“Let me go!” I scream, pulling away from him and bringing my arms in front of me to push my way through. “That’s my boyfriend!”