The Love That Split the World(29)

“You know the Kincaids?” I say, confused.

“No,” he says after a pause. “My mom used to go out with a guy from the church. Real nice guy. They were gonna get married for sure, just as soon as he and his wife got divorced.”

“The Kincaids don’t even go to that church,” I say.

He just shrugs and pulls onto the road, cranking his window down to match mine. For a while we don’t talk, but it’s not awkward despite the obvious tension between us. At least I think it’s obvious. I only have experiences with Matt to compare things to, and this feels like something else entirely.

Matt. Thinking about him makes my stomach roil.

“I don’t want to go home,” I admit. If I go home, I’ll be sad and lonely, upset about Matt and endlessly fixated on Grandmother’s warning and the way the world keeps changing. Sitting with Beau, I don’t feel like those things can get at me as easily.

“Where do you wanna go, then, Natalie Cleary?” Beau says. “You want beer and cereal?”

His hazel eyes flash from the road to me, and I feel an instant flush of heat from my chest out through my shoulders and neck. He gives me that smile that makes his eyelids look heavy, and the wind whipping through his window blows a piece of his hair against his mouth.

As if to prove our thoughts are in sync, he moves his hand from the headrest and tucks a stray wisp of my own hair behind my ear, then sets his hand down behind my head and turns back to the road.

The thought of going to Beau’s house makes me feel like my veins are full of butterflies. But I turn cold as everything that happened tonight pushes to the forefront of my mind. I don’t think I could handle it if something real happened between me and Beau tonight. “I think I want to be outside for a little bit, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” He draws up to a stoplight, scans the abandoned intersection, and turns us back the way we came. When we pull onto the driveway to the high school, we pass the side of Matt’s property, and I can vaguely make out the sounds of the party in the distance. My stomach turns sour, and I close my eyes, focusing on the warm breeze rippling over me to stave off tears.

Beau pulls around the street behind the field house on the far side of the football stadium and turns the truck off.

“I knew it,” I say.

“Knew what?”

“Let me guess,” I say. “Fullback.”

“What makes you so sure I play?” He climbs out of the truck, and I follow him around to the back.

“Don’t you?” I ask.

He pulls aside a tarp in the truck bed, lifts up a six-pack of Miller High Life, and rests the cans on the tailgate.

“Come on. You’re such a football player.” I glance down, and sure enough there’s a battered, battle-weary football lying there in the bed. I hold it up.

He stares at me for a long moment, then finally says through a smile, “No idea how that got there.”

He reaches for the ball, and I pull it back, out of his reach. “I knew it!”

He turns and leads the way to the fence around the field, calling back to me, “Bring that with you, Cleary.” He climbs the chain link first, still holding the beer with his left hand, and I toss the ball over then follow. When I’m on the other side but still holding on to the fence, still a few feet off the ground, I jump, and he catches my waist as I land. He doesn’t let go even as I turn to face him.

“Halfback,” he says.

His fingers graze over me as I walk out of his grip, laughing as I reach to grab the football. “Okay, let’s see it,” I say. “Show me the money. Or whatever.”

He pulls a beer from the plastic rings and hands it to me, and I probably take it only so my hand can brush his. He cracks a can open for himself as he walks backward across the dark field. “Whenever you’re ready,” he calls.

I tuck the ball under my arm, open my beer, and take one bitter gulp before setting it down in the grass. I throw the football, which spirals up beautifully, then hits the ground ridiculously close to me. Beau tips his head in an almost reproachful gesture.

“Hey, that looked great,” I protest.

“I’ll give you that,” he says, going to retrieve the ball. “It looked real pretty for those two seconds it was in the air.”

He backs up again and throws the ball my way. It arcs high between us, and I turn and run as I watch the little blur of darkness streak over the starlight before plummeting down to the field. It falls into my open arms as I reach the end zone, and I slam it against the ground. Beau claps. “You’re fast, Cleary,” he calls, his voice reaching me only dimly.

“And you can throw.” I snatch the ball and cross back toward him as he bends to pick up his can. “Ready?”

He nods, takes another swig, and I toss the ball back his way. He runs forward, catching it neatly with his free hand. “That was better,” he says.

“You’re a liar,” I say.

“Yeah, it sucked.”

“But I’m fast,” I say. “In case you forgot.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “I didn’t.” He walks backward and throws the ball again, but this time as it soars overhead, he takes off running toward me, and I break into a full-out sprint toward the falling ball and end zone, feeling him gaining on me.