Going Long (Waiting on the Sidelines #2)(8)

I had to make Nolan get that. I know deep down she understood, and I hated that I was making my priorities bigger than hers. Selfish *. That’s how I felt. But whenever I tucked it to the back of my thoughts, it found a way back to the forefront with news about someone else’s career-ending injury or some sad story about a washed up athlete working as a real-estate agent. Or my own damned brother and his pathetic, plastic life that I didn’t want in the worst way.

But now it was time to clear my head. The walk from my dorm to the workout room was my favorite, especially on Saturdays. The campus was empty, so I slid by unnoticed. The truly dedicated academic sorts, filtering in and out of the main library on the weekends, couldn’t give a shit who I was, and it was glorious.

September in Tucson was hot. Hell, October was hot, too. But September was downright brutal. Frankly, it gave us an edge when the West Coast teams came to town. When you practiced every day in the searing 100-plus degrees, playing a few hours during an evening game was no sweat, literally. The visitors were usually less fortunate, heat exhaustion quick to settle in.

The sun was lighting up the nearby desert hills, and the sky was on the brink of turning the most awesome orange. There was a faint and familiar smell of rain and dust in the air from the faraway thunderclouds. Everything about the desert was home to me, but I mostly loved taking it in because it reminded me of Nolan. I can’t explain why, maybe it was all of the times I’d kissed her at sunset. But it did. And this walk…this time of the day? Well, it was just my favorite.

My phone rang as I opened the door to the workout room. I pulled it from my pocket, recognizing my dad’s ringtone right away. Dad thought it was hysterical that I gave him ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man. It was Nolan’s idea because of the crazy-ass suits my pops always wears.

I dropped my bags by a bench just inside, and swiped my phone to answer. “Hey dad, what’s up?” I said, sliding my feet from my shoes and getting my gear ready.

“Hey, Kid. You ready for tonight?” he asked, as excited as ever. No one would argue my pops was my number-one fan. He was my champion and rock, too.

“Hells yeah,” I laughed a little, sitting down to try to pull at the laces on my cleats with my spare hand.

“Good, good,” dad chuckled. “Noles is coming, yeah?”

“Of course! She doesn’t miss a game,” I smiled as I spoke.

“Good,” Dad paused for a bit, which made me a little nervous.

“Why? What’s up,” I was suspicious now and stopped what I was doing.

“Nothing, nothing at all. It’s just, well… Mom’s coming tonight, too. She’s got a lunch set up tomorrow for you to meet Dylan.”

“Oh, okay, that’s fine. Noles is okay with whatever, you know her,” I relaxed a little.

“Yeah, I know she is. I just don’t want Millie to get to her, that’s all,” Dad said, acknowledging the shitty attitude my mom always put out whenever Nolan was around. I didn’t want to admit it, but she had never warmed to Nolan. I finally talked to my dad about it one night after an especially Millie Johnson-Snyder type of evening that sent Nolan home in tears I was sure. He just told me it was part of my mom’s flawed personality and that I needed to write it off and tell Nolan to do the same. As much as I didn’t want to think badly about my mom, I had to agree with him.

“Alright, I’ll make sure I make Noles deliriously happy before she has to spend a second with Mom,” I laughed a little, though I wasn’t kidding, and I was already coming up with ways I could boost my girl’s confidence before my mother tore it down.

“Okay, Kid. You’re a good nut, you know?” Dad said.

“Yeah, yeah,” I laughed. “You on your way?”

“Sure am. I’m going to pick up Dylan for the game. If I get there early, we’ll stop by, sound good?” he said, I heard a honking sound in the distance over the phone.

“Yeah, that works. Hey, though, Pops? Why don’t you go focus on driving now, huh? I’m gonna let you go, okay?” I insisted. I had an irrational fear of car crashes; I knew this. But being careful wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“You got it; see you in a bit,” Dad said, hanging up almost mid word. He was so awkward with his phone as it was; the thought of him pushing buttons while he cruised along the highway in his big-ass truck, going well over the speed limit, was about all my mind could take. That stubborn ass had a death wish, I swear! But not on my watch.



I’d been massaged, whirl-pooled, stretched, taped and wrapped. This was the part before the game where I sat on the training table with my legs dangling, listening to my favorite playlist; it was a new one Nolan had made for me. She sent me a new one every few games, always with some funny song that she said was the key to defeating my opponent. Colorado State had a John Denver tune, which was about as rockin’ as on-hold music, but f*ckin’ funny nonetheless. The Cal game was a series of Beastie Boys songs—I kept that one around because it was just badass.

Lying back, I shut my eyes and readied myself for her latest masterpiece. The first one was some rancid song from the ’90s; I think it was that chick that was married to Kurt Cobain? I couldn’t even make it through the first verse without sending Nolan a text. I knew she was still in Coolidge.



Uh…grunge? What the hell?