The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(4)

“Jesus,” I mutter, as I stand and then pace the living room. “What’s this trip supposed to prove? How is this supposed to help in any way?”

“He wants you to get lost, experience life, and find yourself on this trip because it’s where he found himself. It was important to him, and even though he couldn’t go on the trip with you, he will be there in spirit.”

“Think of it as a chance to reconnect with him. To have those few stolen moments you didn’t get.”

“How could I possibly steal moments with him? He’s gone,” I say. God, this whole thing is irritating.

Mom turns to Dad and says quietly, “It’s not the time, Porter. He’s not in a good place, and I don’t want to send him across the world like this.”

“He’s a man, Marley. You have to let go at some point.”

“If anything, dude, just get drunk in Germany.”

Dad shoots Hutton a look. “Not helping.”

“Yeah, I can see how that might not have been the best comment.” Motioning to me, Hutton says, “Strike that last suggestion from the record.”

“You know what? I need some fresh air.” Snagging my phone from the coffee table, I stuff it in the pocket of my shorts, slip on my sandals, and head out the back door.

Mom chases after me.

“Crew,” she calls again, her voice breaking.

From the steps that lead down to the beach, I stop and look back at her.

“Just know, I love you so much, and whatever you decide, we’ll be here for you.” And then she reaches for my hand and places a folded piece of paper in it. “From Pops.”





The waves crash into the wet sand, setting the soundtrack for my melancholy mood.

Usually, the sound of the ocean brings me peace, but for some reason, all it’s doing is heightening my anger, my irritation . . . my confusion.

And the note from Pops my mom just gave me? It’s burning a hole in my pocket, begging me to read it.

I can’t.

Legs propped up, I lean my arms on my knees and lower my chin, when my phone beeps with a text.

I glance at my phone that’s on a piece of driftwood and see that it’s a text from River in our friend group text.

River: Anyone else want to die from boredom, knowing we won’t be reporting back to practice soon?

Needing the reprieve from everything else going through my head, I type back.

Crew: Trying not to eat my feelings.

Hollis joins in on the conversation, pulling the smallest smile from me.

Hollis: I’m going to lose my abs over break, I can tell already.

River: As if you had a manly figure to begin with.

Hollis: Fuck off.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I find myself staring at the phone, contemplating whether I should tell them about Germany.

River: Crew, where are you? You’re normally coming in hot with a comment about owning the best body out of the three of us.

Hollis: Kind of worried now.

Crew: Sorry, just got a bunch of shit piled on me over here.

River: Hollywood got shit on? This I have to hear.

Crew: My Pops left me a trip to go on.

Hollis: Damn, really? To where?

Crew: Germany.

River: And you consider that being shit on? I know we grew up differently, but, dude, that isn’t being shit on.

Hollis: Hate to be insensitive, but he’s right. A free trip to Germany? What’s the problem?

What is the problem?

I lay back on the sand, not caring about it sprinkling in my hair or on my skin. At this point, I’ve worn the beach home so many times, it feels like a second skin.

Crew: It’s a trip planned by my Pops. It meant something to him, and he wants to send me on it.

River: So, you’re just going to sit on your ass all winter break and do nothing instead?

Hollis: Germany sounds more fun.

Just then, I hear footsteps behind me and catch Hutton with two Sprites and a bag of Funyuns in hand. I sit up and brush the sand out of my hair as he takes a seat next to me. He offers me the bag, and I take it and mindlessly stuff a Funyun in my mouth.

“You should go, man.”

I chuckle, but it lacks humor and fun. It’s almost a dry, sad laugh. “That’s what River and Hollis just said.”

“Did you read the note?”

How does he know about the note?

Hell, Hutton probably knows more about this trip than I do.

“Not yet. Do you want to?”

“Nah, man. You should do that. Maybe that will give you a form of closure, or something.”

Closure. I still don’t really know what that is. I don’t want something that makes the death of Pops so . . . final.

“I feel like I’m being forced to open a wound I’m not ready to rip open.”

“Will you ever be ready? I know how much you miss him.”

“No,” I say softly.

Hutton cracks open the drinks and hands me one. “I’ve never lost someone important in my life, so I can’t quite relate to what you’re going through. But what I do know, from seeing friends go through the same grief, is that you’re going to have to face the loss of a loved one at some point. Maybe this shit season you had was a blessing in disguise. Maybe it’s given you a moment to gather yourself before the combine. We both know your last season isn’t going to be held that heavily against you. That if you clear your mind and show up, you still have a great chance. But you have to clear your mind first, man.”