My Big Fat Fake Wedding(78)

He’s quiet for a minute, letting my words sink in. I hope they help because I mean them. Once upon a time, I both hated and loved Ross in equal measure. He was the big shot on campus to my invisible nothingness, and I railed against him because I doubted myself. Plus, it was fun.

But we’re both different people now, not entirely, but enough has changed that there’s no hate in the equation any longer.

“Do you remember homecoming my senior year?” he says quietly.

I nod slowly, the memories coming back, though I’m not sure what they have to do with our current conversation. But if he needs to bob and weave to avoid the deep talk, I can follow. “Yeah, that was mine and Abi’s freshman year. We won because you got the game-winning touchdown.”

“Do you remember what I bought you and Abi that night?” he says, looking at me from the side of his eye.

“Chicken, of course,” I answer with an eyeroll. “I was pissed as hell because you came into the after-party, dragged Abi and me out, and took us to dinner, but it was adding insult to injury with the chicken legs dig. Our reputation never recovered from being the babies physically removed from that party, I’ll have you know.” I kick out at him, poking his hard bicep with a red-painted toe. “Asshole.” But there’s no venom in the word.

He grabs my foot and begins to massage it lightly. I can’t help but groan, my emotions going crazy. On one hand, the old memories of him ruining my life piss me off, but on the other hand, he’s doing amazing things to the arch of my foot, which is sore from those heels last night.

“Before that, at the game. It was raining, and you and Abi were sitting in the fresh meat section of the stands with all the other freshmen, looking like drowned kittens. And we were getting our asses kicked. Down three touchdowns before the rain stopped, half the stands empty because no one believed we could come back from that and they weren’t willing to sit in the downpour to find out. But as I jogged out for the second half, I heard something—”

I smile, repeating what I’d said on that night so long ago. “Hey, Ogre, you’d better get your butt in gear and win this game, or I’m gonna stick my Kentucky fried foot up your ass!” I laugh at the memory. “Oh, God, Abi dared me to insult you, said it would fire you up. I got in so much trouble from old Mrs. Henderson for cussing at the game. ‘That language does not befit a young lady, Miss Russo!’ she told me.”

“Well, Abi was right. It pissed me off and fired me up. It was ugly, and I hurt for three days after that game with all the hard hits I had to take, all the tackles I had to smash through, but we won. Although to be honest, that last two-point conversion shouldn’t have counted. I hit the turf at the one-yard line and slid into the endzone on my chest and facemask.”

I think back, laughing when the memory surfaces. “I remember. You were running around the outside and jumped, and then . . . sploosh!” I say, using my hands to imitate the huge spray that I remember seeing. “But when you got up . . . you were the winner.”

He smiles. “We were. And then I went to the after party. People were clapping me on the back and taking pictures with me. It was a riot. Until I overheard a couple of guys talking about you and Abi.” His jaw clenches and his eyes narrow as if it’s happening right now, not years ago. “The football team all knew you two were off-limits, but I guess word hadn’t spread all over yet. So I set those guys right, made sure the whole damn school knew not to mess with you, that only I could do that. And then I got both of you out of there. It was mostly luck that KFC was the closest place open that late.” He shrugs.

Something clicks into focus that I never knew was blurry. “You were looking out for us even then. You were taking care of me,” I say, choking. “I didn’t realize, just thought you were being your usual overbearing, chest-thumping, ‘little girls do what I say’, asshole self. It honestly never occurred to me that you were . . . nice back then. I thought I was just annoying and weak, an easy target.”

His face falls. “Oh, no, not at all, Vi. I think that’s why I gave you such a hard time, because you were the only one strong enough to give it back to me. Everyone else would just follow me around like a puppy, guys and girls both, but not you. Not Violet Antonia Carlotta Russo. You pushed me, challenged me, dared me at every opportunity, and I secretly loved it. You were never invisible to me. I just didn’t know what to do about it, any of it.” He closes his eyes like he’s remembering everything so differently now too. “That night, at homecoming, there was a scout there. How I played in that second quarter is what got me the university offer. Your threatening to kick my ass got me into the college of my dreams.”

Ho-lee shit. What?

I never knew that. I guess I just figured Ross was a sure-fire admission to the college of his choice based on his last name, and doesn’t that make the younger me a catty bitch for thinking that way? I know he got great grades and was a stellar football player, but I never dreamed he would’ve been nervous about being good enough to get that invitation to the next step.

“I had no idea, Ross. I’m just glad it all worked out, I guess,” I say, not having more words to describe how this feels.

“We’re going to have to be tough to get through this. Just like that homecoming game and high school. You, as Little Ms. Badass, fierce enough to stand up to even an asshole like me. And me, as a grown-up who handles the drama with grace and elegance. I’ll admit, I like your chances better than mine, so you’re going to have to help me here.”