All This Time(27)

“I get that, but you don’t have to leave to start thinking about what you want. Just because you can’t play anymore doesn’t mean you can’t do something football related,” she says, a few popcorn kernels disappearing into her mouth.

“Like what?”

She chews thoughtfully. “Coaching?”

I consider it for a minute, but the idea of being on the bench still feels kind of raw. “I don’t know about coaching. But… I mean, they did ask me to write a couple of football articles for my school paper since I was stuck going to the games anyway. I liked doing that, and I think they were pretty good. But I don’t think anyone actually read them.”

“You should try,” Marley says eagerly. “Be a writer. Or a journalist. Then we’ll both be storytellers.”

I smile, her enthusiasm infectious. I try to picture it. My name in print, in something more than just the Ambrose school paper. Giving teams the coverage they actually deserve instead of some shitty clickbait.

“They’re never really gone, you know,” she says unexpectedly, stopping dead in her tracks. I look back to see her face has grown serious again. “We keep them with us, just like you and football. They’re still part of our lives.”

Still part of our lives. That’s all I’ve wanted since the accident. To find a way to live without leaving Kim behind.

My fingers unexpectedly brush against Marley’s hand, and I pull back instantly, the feeling strange and familiar all at once.

I stuff my hands in my pockets, and we walk silently for a while, but not in the painfully awkward way where you’re desperately trying to think of something to fill the silence. This is actually nice. Comfortable.

“Thanks, Marley,” I say as we round a corner of the park, tall oak trees reaching for the sky.

“For what?”

I shrug, not knowing how to put my gratitude into words. For being easy to talk to? For understanding? “It hasn’t been easy for me to really talk to anyone… since…”

She nods, already knowing. Of course she does.

“You think you’ll be back here tomorrow?” Marley asks.

“Actually, um…” My voice trails off, my brain trying to pull itself together and form a coherent sentence. “I was thinking maybe we could get out of the park for a night? Dinner at my house on Friday? As a thank-you.” I give her a big smile as I try to butter up the experience. “I’ll cook.”

Marley shoots me a side-eye. “I didn’t know you cook.”

“Of course I cook,” I say, looking offended. “I’m a pizza rolls aficionado.”





14


“All right,” my mom says, grabbing a grocery cart, a look of determination on her face. “Divide and conquer. You get the rib eye and some turkey from the deli, I’ll get the veggies, and we’ll meet at the checkout counter in ten. Good?”

I nod, eyeing the cart. “You’re using a whole cart just for a small bag of potatoes?”

She glares at me. “I may grab a few other things. See where the wind takes me.”

“See where the wind takes me,” I repeat, laughing and shaking my head. Classic. “Maybe the wind will take me to the dessert aisle!” I call over my shoulder to her, her sarcastic laugh trailing behind me.

I move off in the direction of the meat counter and get two fresh-cut rib eyes. Marley and I decided on six o’clock for dinner tomorrow. I’m going to make my mom’s secret family rib eye recipe, which… could definitely go either way. It’ll be good to hang somewhere other than the park. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I don’t want to think this impromptu invitation from me was anything more than just a change of scenery.

I make my way to the deli counter, where I grab a number and wait behind an old lady getting four pounds of American cheese. She’s in for a night.

I take a Tylenol while I wait, warding off the return of the nagging headache I’ve had for most of the day. I’m getting better at figuring out how to manage the pain, but some days I still can’t get ahead of it.

“Sir?”

I look up, realizing the deli clerk has been talking to me. He wipes his hands on a towel and repeats his question. “What can I get for you?”

“Sorry,” I say, stepping closer to the display case. “Half a pound of turkey, please, thin cut.”

“You got it,” he says, snapping on a pair of fresh gloves. I watch him grab the hunk of turkey and drop it onto the slicer with a loud thump.

“Kyle?” a voice says from behind me.

I turn, but I see only an empty aisle of the grocery store. Light glints off plastic soda bottles and metal cans. Uh-oh. Not now. I will the Tylenol to kick in as I nervously turn back to the deli clerk. He reaches up to put his hands on the machine, his shadow moving on the wall behind him.

But…

They aren’t in sync. My eyes shift from the man to the shadow, his movements a second faster in silhouette.

He leans over the machine just after the shadow does, but now there’s long hair flowing over the silhouette’s shoulder.

I take a step closer, confused. The height and shape of the shadow is suddenly shockingly familiar to me. Too familiar.

Kimberly.

I see the electric blade spin, but the sound isn’t right. Instead of the whirring of metal, I hear an odd whooshing sound.