Rush (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Priscilla

Whistling from the teakettle pierces my senses, triggering a flashback to the alley behind the Rathskeller. Preston’s Aunt Julia rises to tend to it, and he leans back from the table rubbing his jaw. Despite his polite contributions to the easy conversation I’ve been having with his family, I know something’s bothering him. I can see it in the distance behind his steely gray gaze—I think his mom sees it, too.

I’m still not sure why we’re here. I could guess and say that the traumatic day made him want to come home, but why bring me? I’ve been trying to be patient and not prod him, but my mind is swimming with questions—the biggest one being where do
we
stand? Now that he’s fulfilled his promise does he just want to be done with me? I wouldn’t blame him if he just wanted to concentrate on getting his football career back on track—now that I’ve derailed it. He was clear that he couldn’t offer me anything in the future, and I agreed to accept that. A pulse of sadness tugs at my heart, and I push it down. After all he’s done for me, I am not going to make him feel guilty about saying good-bye.

Preston’s aunt sets the steaming tea in front of me, turning the delicate cup a notch on the saucer to hide the small chip. “I’m serving Priscilla peppermint tea, and it’s hot, Kaja, so watch your elbow,” she explains. My left hand is spread on the table, and Kaja is leaning half of her body over my forearm, painting my fingernails, and the occasional cuticle, turquoise. The tip of her pink tongue is pressed in concentration against her upper lip.

“No, I’m fine,” Preston, says, waving off his aunt’s offer of tea, and when she sits he leans forward, drawing everyone’s attention except Kaja’s. “I need to tell you all about something I’ve done that I’m not proud of. It could affect my future—which in turn could affect all of our futures.” His lips fight against each other, and his stare is distant for a moment, then he returns to us.

I see his mom’s gaze widening with worry, and he reaches a big hand to cover hers. “When I was a freshman at SEU, I was approached by a booster who offered to sponsor me—that’s a nice way of saying he offered to put money in my bank account. I didn’t take money from that sponsor, but I did take it from a friend’s father, Carl Russell. At the time, I was dating Mr. Russell’s daughter Amelia,” he says, looking at me, “and I was fairly close with the family. I took the money as a loan.”

“Przem.” His mom says his name in a sorrowful tone. “It was the foreclosure money, no?”

“Yes, it was, Mom. Six thousand two hundred dollars.” She lowers her lids and rests them, moving her lips as if she’s saying a silent prayer.

“Mom and I had a house a few blocks over, but her prescriptions changed, and even with insurance we were paying over six hundred dollars a month. We had to choose between paying for her prescriptions and paying the mortgage. The house went into foreclosure, and I thought if I could get us caught up, we could keep the house. Long and short, it didn’t work. We got caught up for awhile, and then fell right back into debt.”

“Does he need the money back?” Aunt Julia asks.

“No. Mr. Russell has been very decent. I paid him back a thousand dollars last summer after my job ended and football season started. He tells me I can get the rest to him once I start working or playing, interest free.”

“Okay, other one,” Kaja’s sweet voice sings, reaching for my right hand. Ugh.

Preston lets out a long breath. “Now, here’s the problem. Taking that money was probably an NCAA violation because they have a rule that you can’t borrow money from a booster, and the definition of booster is really broad—basically it’s anyone that’s ever donated money to the college. I’m probably going to have a hearing that could cause problems with the NFL draft, and along with that, they’ll be news reports and rumors.”

I hold my turquoise tipped fingers to my mouth, inhaling the astringent scent. I’m shaking my head, feeling the sting of tears. God, I wish he had just told me. I look around the table at them all, and I just want to drop my head. When I think about what he’s given up for me…how can that be worth the risk to his family.

“Priscilla,” he says, seeing my distress.

“You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have saved me…”

“I didn’t save you, Peep. You saved me—and not just with your shepherd staff. You saved me from ending my college career in shame. I’ve confessed and made my peace. I’ve done the right thing, and no punishment the NCAA or anyone else can dole out would ever be worse than the mental battle I’ve been waging.”

He stops to explain to his mom and his aunt what happened at the Rathskeller, how we met, my suspension, and my hearing. Their heads shift between us, and in some moments, such as his description of my Little Bo Peep costume, or the hot dog I launched at his face, we smile at each other.

“That’s it,” he says. “The four of you are the people I care most about in this world, and I wanted you to hear it from me.” His words strike a chord, and a warm feeling hums through me. I really need to apologize to him. When I think about what he’s endured for his family and for me, I have to close my eyes to sort out the emotions flooding my brain. I’m in awe of his strength, commitment, and loyalty, and I know it comes from his heart.

His mom covers his hands with one of hers. “We’ll get by. We always have. You did the right thing, and the NCAA can kiss my ass.”

“I know what that means,” Kaja pipes up, swiping a wide line over my cuticle as she looks up. Beautiful. I don’t even like having my nails painted.

“Good. Next time you see your daddy, Kaj, you tell him that message from Aunt Lena,” Preston’s mom says.

“Your aunt is kidding you, Kaja. Do not tell your father that,” Preston’s aunt says, casting an exasperated glance at her sister. “Thank you for telling us, Przem, but in this house, those football people and their rules are the least of our worries. We know who you are, and we’ll always be proud of you.” She stands and kisses his cheek, and his ashy gaze settles thoughtfully on me.

We lapse into casual conversation for a few more minutes until Preston stands and holds out a hand to me. “I should probably get Priscilla back to campus. She’s got a big game coming up this weekend.”

We say our good-byes and head out, and as we walk to the car, I think about how he and I have had completely different experiences growing up—I was raised in a big, somewhat crazy, rich family. He was raised an only child, by a single mom with limited resources. Yet the most important thing is the same. Preston leaves his house knowing his family loves him as do I. The feeling of that love overflowing to me opens my heart.

“Thank you for sharing that with me.” He squeezes my hand and smiles tenderly, opening my car door for me.

We drive in silence back to campus, caught up in our own reflections on the day’s events, and I’m working out an apology in my mind and trying not to cry.

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to do with you,” he says.

“I thought that’s what Saturday was about.”

He laughs. “True. But there’s something else. Turn here,” he says, pointing to the football stadium.

“Seriously? You want to take me to the football stadium right now?”

“I’ve been playing on this field for four years, and I’ve always wanted to come here when the stadium is completely empty,” he says. He leads me to a side door, and our steps pad down the dim hallway. It’s after hours, but there are still a few office lights on.

The El Nino winter the experts are predicting is evident in the fifty-degree breeze puffing over us in the tunnel. The stadium is empty and quiet. It’s an oddly peaceful feeling. Preston takes two leaping steps toward the wall that separates the field and the stadium seats and pulls himself up to straddle it. He claps his hands and holds them out to me.

“C’mon, I’ll catch you. Just jump.”

I take three steps, pumping my arms hard and lunging for his legs. His body swoops low, and he catches me under my arms, pulling me up. I settle a leg over the wall and mirror his position, as a long breath eases out of me.

“I owe you an apology,” I say.

“Funny, I was just going to say the same to you,”

I gape. “For what?”

He pauses, narrowing his gaze. “For not trusting you.” He’s stealing my lines here. His hands hook under my knees, and he pulls me closer until my legs are resting on top of his. “I’m ashamed to admit this, but I think if I had trusted you, I would have just told you the whole truth from the beginning. I wanted to protect you, there was definitely that, but I was also ashamed to admit everything.”

I open my mouth to speak, but humility backs up the words up in my throat, and he continues. “We’ve got a group of guys on our team who haven’t been playing by the rules. I’ve been hesitant to turn them in because I’ve committed some of the same violations—albeit for different reasons. But those issues never go away. They could come out ten years from now, and our entire team could be stripped of the titles we’ve worked so hard for. I don’t want that hanging over my head. It’s much easier to deal with these things now. I vowed to save you, but somewhere along the way, I saved myself, too.”

“Did you really think what you did would change how I felt about you? You seriously underestimated me. I know you did it for your mom—for your family. Just because the NCAA has a rule that you can’t take a loan from someone who also donates money to the college, doesn’t mean that you did the wrong thing. If it had been me, I would have done the same thing ten times over. If anything, it makes me love you more.”

The disappointment on his face lifts instantly, and he leans to kiss me, but I stop him to say, “You can’t let me off that easy. You’ve said so much and I haven’t, yet. I have lot to apologize for, too.”

“You’ll have to tell me while I kiss you, because I can’t wait any longer, Peep.” His mouth lowers to mine.

“I should have trusted you,” I say, speaking against his mouth.

“True,” he says, his lips rising.

“I’m sorry I didn’t, and I’m sorry for being a bitch.”

“Which time?” he says, catching my bottom lip with his teeth.

“Sunday. I’m sorry, for Sunday,” I say, my words distorted by another kiss.

He nods, threading his hand through my hair, and slanting his mouth. “And…” he says leadingly.

“And that day at the gladiator games”—I lick his bottom lip—“when I launched that hot dog and it nailed you in the head.”

“Mm hmm,” he murmurs with a self-satisfied tone.

I raise my hands to his chest and push him back. “I’m really sorry I missed the second shot.”

His eyes spark, and he locks a hand around my wrist, holding it to his chest. “Are you saying you want a second chance?”

I nod my head slowly, staring into the depths of his smoky blue eyes. “I do—and a third and a fourth if I need that, too. But Preston, I promised you I’d be okay with what you could give me at the time, and if that time has passed, I understand.” My voice is a whisper, and the pain of saying the words flips my stomach. I can feel his heart beating steady under my palm as he nods.

“Our time is now. You’re the past, present, and future I want most, Priscilla, and I’d start a million days over for you.”

Epilogue

The National Anthem is playing. My hand rests over my thumping heart, and Jace and I are singing. We’re loud, proud, and slightly off key, but it’s one of our rituals to help to release our nerves, and mine are doing jumping jacks in my stomach.

The stadium is a huge oval above us, packed with fans ready to watch the championship Women’s College Cup soccer game.

“Big finish now girls,” Jace calls. Vibrations hum through my lungs as the last stanza crescendos, and my teammates’ voices stretch over the word “brave.” The music ends, and we fold the line.

“Whose house?” Jace chants.

“Our house!” We break and move to our positions.

Over the settling volume of the crowd, a voice is barely discernable. It’s my brother, Ben. He’s shouting, “Go, Slow, Go!” He’s here with Devi. They made the drive from New York and my mom and Cate and Chloe were coming, too. I’ll never find them in this crowd, but I raise a hand into the air acknowledging Ben’s cheer.

A faint whistle, a mellow, fluting pitch with three long peeps at the end penetrates my senses. It sounds like Preston’s starling call—the one he whistled to me at Marcus’s game, but I know it’s my imagination. The football team played the Big Ten Championship game last night in Indianapolis, which is nine hours from where we are today. He wasn’t able to play due to his suspension, but he still attended the game to support the team. There’s no way he could be here, but I know he’s watching the telecast. I’m determined to play well today so his sacrifices will have been worth it.

Jace smacks my ass, bringing me back to reality. “Kick butt, Slow!”

“Play big, Texas.”

Seconds later, I’m laser focused on the black and white. My palms are sweaty. It always happens to me when I’m on the field, staring down a soccer ball, waiting for the signal. The whistle blows. I spring toward the painted line, hitting my mark in two steps.
Whap.
God I love that sound.

Game on.

I’m speed and air, moving in a rush with my teammates. Sam lands my pass. She dribbles past one oncoming opponent and tangles with another before the ball spits out at the sideline. Feet planted, elbows back, she throws it in. I slide, picking it up, moving it down field.

My pass hits Syd—she’s got plenty of space on the right sideline, and she’s moving it down. Two defenders come at her hard, and she kicks high. It’s picked up by Allie, and I’m charging to goal while she angles in. She shoots. The keeper dives, deflecting it with the fingertips of her black gloves. I lunge for the rebound, supporting foot down, swinging hard with a locked ankle, and the ball pockets, shaking the net.

Score!

I turn and run with my arms spread, smiling into the sun. Wind rushes over my damp fingertips like ribbons trailing from my outstretched hands. I hug Allie, wrap an arm around Sam, and high-five Syd and Sophie.

“Priscilla Winslow, number eleven,” rings around us, distorted by the loud speaker over the roar of the crowd. I glance at the scoreboard. I’ve scored at fifty-seven seconds in. Fuck. Yes. I raise a “Hook ’Em Horns” sign to Jace and move back into position.

The game plays fast, and when the half approaches, we’re still in the lead, thanks in large part to Jace’s dives, rolls, and twists in front of the net. I’m charging hard, pushing my arms and stretching my legs inches past the defender running at my side. Gaining a shoulder, I block her out and break free. I wind up and kick a thirty-yard bomb with three seconds left in the half. It arcs fast, hits the rim, and bounces back, but Sam’s there. She catches the rebound with a sliding kick, blasting the net. In! I clench my fists and roar, diving at her.

The volume of the crowd’s cheering settles as we approach Coach Howell, and I hear the whistle again. I raise my head and scan. I hadn’t wanted to let myself believe it earlier, but I hear it again, clearer now—a fluting mellow pitch, peeping three times at the end and repeating. Either I’m seriously hallucinating, or he’s here. I raise two index fingers high in the air and spin once. This is the sign our student section used to hail Preston at his game—number eleven. The peep sound echoes again, and I smile.

Halftime ends. We’re midway into the second half, and Clemson just scored their second goal of the game on a penalty shot to tie it up. Sam recovered the ball centerfield. She launches a hard kick and I jump, angling my body for a head shot into the goal. I’m on it, brow raised in anticipation of the connect, and then,
BAM
!

Pain bursts into my head, and I pinball off the other player. My shoulder hits the ground with leg bouncing force. Shiiiit! I swallow and blink, feeling instantly nauseous.

The grass is cool under my cheek, and I’m slightly dizzy, but I think I’m okay. I’m still conscious, so I must be okay. Right? Warm liquid drools over the side of my face, seeping down from my temple. I raise a hand and feel around. What the…? Ohhhh, no, it’s blood. Whistles erupt, pausing the play.

Sam’s beside me with a hand on my back. “Medic’s coming,” Syd shouts. I watch feet gather in front of me, and blink away the remnants of dizziness. One medic drops on his knee, prodding at my head while the other asks me questions.

“Ready to sit up?” They’ve cleaned the wound and the bleeding has stopped. He grips my hand and holds my back, checking my vision.

“I’m okay,” I say, trying not to look at the bloodstained grass. The medics help me up, and I walk slowly to the sidelines. I am not done with this game.

“How ya doing, striker?” Coach Howell leans in, peering at me.

“I’m fine. I can play.”

“Sit for five.”

I’m tipping my head back, drinking water, when I hear the starling call again—and this time it’s close. I turn and see Preston. Holy Mother of God. He’s here. He has come down the aisle and is standing at the railing. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s smiling. His platinum eyes are just visible under the brim of the Sparks baseball cap he’s wearing. It feels like the earth just shifted under my feet—and I don’t think it’s from the head injury.

I cross to him and stand on the bench. He kneels, covering my hands with his as I grip the railing.

“You okay, babe?” he asks. “Let me see.” I tilt my head and feel his fingers moving in my hair, but all I can think about is the fact that he showed up.

“Is your coach going to let you back on the field?”

“He said five minutes.”

His eyes are moving slowly over my face. “I’m so proud of you, Priscilla. My girlfriend is three minutes away from being a national soccer champion.”

“Are you crushing on me, Rush?”

“Yes, I am. You are a-fucking-mazing, Priscilla Winslow.” He flicks a quick gaze down my body and smiles. “In more ways than one.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say, feeling the tears welling up. He raises the back of his fingers to the side of my face and skims a tender touch over my cheek as he speaks.

“You should know by now, Peep, nothing stands in my way when it comes to showing up for you.”

“You are my perfect man.”

He laughs, a low, husky sound that fills me with bliss. “Says the girl who just got knocked in the head. But I’ll take it.”

“I love you for being here.”

“I love you, too, Priscilla.” He bends through the bars and kisses me. “I’ll see you after the game. And go easy on those head shots.”

Hopping off the bench, I move to stand beside my coach. There are three minutes left, and the game is still tied. Another minute passes, and my palms are sweating in a high fever. The ball flies into our zone. Jace runs out, snaps it up and blasts it downfield.

“All right, Slow, you ready?” my coach asks. “One more goal brings home the championship. You’re in.” I head to my position and tap Kia out.

Sophie and Allie are working the ball out of our zone. Sophie’s tripped up, leaving two defenders on Allie. She loses one, and the ball springs to Kayla. She’s flying down the field. She slides and kicks. Syd jumps, advancing the ball off her knee, dancing around it, and then blasting it down field. I pick it up and burst past the defender and into the zone. The keeper steps out toward me. I touch around her and pass to Sam. She lunges, sliding into the kick. It hits the sidebar, bounces back, and I spring toward it, angling for a head shot—that’s going to hurt for sure. Blazing heat pierces my scalp, and I blink over the white light flashing in my eyes. The ball angles toward the net. Syd spins into a backward kick and scores. Yes!

Eight seconds left on the clock. I drop onto my knee, wobble, and push back up to a stand.

A feeling of euphoria surges inside of me. I’m running centerfield with Sam and Syd. Warm blood oozes over my temple, and I push it aside with my knuckle. Allie’s covering the ball as the clock ticks down, three…two…one.

The crowd roars, and we charge centerfield. I see Jace coming as the huddle starts to collapse into a mash of victory, and then I hear her laughter on top of the pile. My rib cage squeezes under the weight of bodies, but I’m smiling—staring at a patch of blue sky as the starling call echoes around me, and
this
is the best moment of my life.

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