The Hard Count(25)

“Whatever…you are. But don’t be,” he says, pulling one leg under the other, his long fingers wrapped around his shin, holding it in place. He has a silver ring around his thumb, and somehow it’s the most masculine thing I’ve ever seen. If I were his girlfriend, I would touch it.

I look forward as the light turns green, my head snapping in place.

Girl freaked.

“It was last year, when we were practicing for the debate. I had a dream that you,” he stops, letting a genuine laugh play out, and I grip my steering wheel hard, preparing myself for some sort of insult. “You punched me.”

My eyes narrow, and I look him straight on this time.

“I…punched you?”

I’m kind of proud. Proud of this dream punch, that isn’t real, and actually only happened because Nico’s subconscious made up a version of me that did it, but I’m proud regardless.

I’m a girl-freaked, dream-puncher!

“You did,” he says, and I glance over to catch the dimple.

“You probably deserved it,” I say, looking back to the road quickly.

Nico shifts back the right way in his seat, chuckling. “I’m sure I did,” he says. “I don’t remember why, because I don’t remember a lot of my dreams. But I remember you hitting me. My nose bled like a son of a bitch, and when I woke up, I rushed to the bathroom just in case.”

A man speaks through my speakers selling insurance to veterans, followed by an ad for the weekend’s “big sale at Big Al’s Super Five Honda and Acura,” and Nico and I both get lost in the mundane sounds of the radio.

“So you never remember your dreams, huh?”

I don’t know why I speak when I do. I don’t know why this is the question I ask. But the moment I say it, something shifts in the air—something shifts inside Nico. Somehow, his large frame feels smaller, and his confidence feels lost, a certain energy instantly zapped from the air we both breathe. I look over at the last light before Charlie’s and catch a glimpse of his profile, his eyelashes moving with the tiny flickers of his eyes, his thumbnail lodged in his teeth while he thinks, his Adam’s apple moving slowly with a labored swallow.

“I have a lot of nightmares,” he says, his gaze seemingly caught on the bright Charlie’s sign out in the distance. “Not really the kind of things you want to hold onto.”

My instinct is to apologize, but the moment I open my mouth to do so, I can tell that’s not what Nico wants me to do at all. He shifts to sit taller, bends forward to tug his hat from the small duffle bag he kept at his feet, and slides it on his head, tilting his neck to the right and cracking it once.

As we pull into the lot for Charlie’s, Colton is sitting on the tailgate of his truck, waiting for us. I shift into park, and we both look out the front window as Colton hops down, holding a hand up to get Nico’s attention.

I scan the lot and recognize many of the cars, including my brother’s friend Travis’s Jeep. I’ve never been the girl who dates the football players. Maybe it was always just too close to home. Not that any of the players ever really had a thing for me. I was always Coach’s daughter—even when the boys were young and playing Pop Warner. Even so, for most of my life, I did harbor a sort of crush on Travis. It’s probably just because I knew him the longest, because we took him with us on family vacations when we were kids, and he lived next door. When I was little, I always thought he looked just like my Ken doll. Light brown hair and blue eyes, Travis is built more like Ken now, too. But as high school went on, Travis and my brother grew into boys who snuck out to house parties and didn’t come home in the morning, while I became the girl who begged her parents to sign her up for tech camp and take her to readings by her favorite authors.

That said, Travis and I are still close. And as much as my brother was an anchor for this team, Travis was his right hand. If he’s here, Nico needs to win his confidence. I don’t think walking in with Coach’s daughter is going to do him many favors.

“I don’t think I should go in there with you,” I say, my eyes still scanning the parking lot and patio of my school’s favorite hangout. One by one, I recognize more of the players here.

Colton is standing about a dozen feet in front of my car, paused with his phone in his hands, texting. Nico doesn’t shift to look at me when I speak, and we both keep our eyes on the only player other than Sasha he can really count on right now. I can tell he knows it, too.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says, pulling in a deep breath before pushing open the passenger door. “I’ll get home fine, really.”

“You understand…it’s not that I don’t want to be here with you, I just…” I lean forward, hoping to catch his eyes. He doesn’t look at me, but nods, and I can tell he knows why I’m backing out.

“Hey, man!” I hear him shout as my passenger door slams to a close, drowning out the sounds of traffic and the rest of his conversation with Colton.

They both slap hands and pull in for a half hug before walking toward the patio area, a few heads turn and watch them walk up. They’re all judging him—right now. Nico stops halfway, turning back to me, then holding up a finger to Colton and jogging over to my side of the car. I roll the window down as he leans down to speak.

“Can you just keep my things in your car? I don’t need any of it until tomorrow,” he says.