“You have to tell her,” he says.
“Nothing to tell,” I lie.
“Liar,” he says. Yeah, he knows me too well.
“Whatever,” I say.
“You talk to Mom about it?”
I blink, and keep my focus straight ahead. Fucking Nate, no I didn’t talk to my mommy about it. He knows it’s a sore spot for me, being the mama’s boy. But he doesn’t quite understand how much Mom was there for me when I was losing my way, when I was falling to depression. Mom pushed me into art, and that—and Kelly—saved me.
“Dude, it’s a good thing…falling in love? Cass is awesome. You should let yourself have this, that’s all I’m saying,” he says.
“Got it. Good. Okay, are you done now? I’d like to hear some of the commentary,” I say. I’m being a total asshole. It’s what I do when I’m uncomfortable, and he knows it.
“Yeah, I’m done. Here’s your Coke, dickhead,” he tosses it on my lap so that I have to wait to open it. I’m tempted to spray it on his bed sheets. But I don’t. Instead, I pull it into my hands and spend five minutes tapping on the top until it’s safe to open.
Goddamned love. It’s ruining football.
Chapter 22
Ty
This isn’t quite how my night was supposed to go. When Nate and Rowe left for the game, Cass and I were settled in for some time alone. Pizza, a six-pack of Pabst, and Chunky Monkey ice cream. We were celebrating her official membership on the McConnell team—because her parents weren’t celebrating.
I hate that for her. My parents wouldn’t miss a single moment of something big in Nate’s or my life. If I wanted to join a wheelchair knife-throwing league, my mom would ask if they had shirts for parents, and how she could get season tickets. Cass is doing her best to not act disappointed, but I can tell she is—she shows it in the quiet moments, when she’s thinking—her eyes off in the distance.
Tonight was going to be all about forgetting the assholes. That was my plan. But then my brother became an asshole, and I had to deal with it.
An hour after he and Rowe left, I saw Nate’s ex-girlfriend, Sadie, interviewed on television at the game. Sadie’s playing college ball over at OSU. She’s kind of big in the women’s basketball world, and the Thunder invited the OSU women’s team out for pre-game. Nate and Sadie’s breakup was swift, but ugly. She cheated, he caught her, and that’s the short of it. I knew things couldn’t be good when he texted me in the first quarter, asking me to guess who he ran into. Seems the introduction of his new girlfriend to his old girlfriend didn’t go well, especially for his new girlfriend. Needless to say, they came home early. Rowe needed Cass, and here I am, two beers in at Sally’s—Nate a beer ahead of me.
“Dude, you called her your friend? Rowe is just a friend?” Honestly, I’ve said a lot of dumb shit in front of girls—things that have earned me a slap to the face more than once, and harder than the time Cass set me right. But I’ve never really minced words, had a slip of the tongue, just plain botched my ability to speak English. Nate? He’s an idiot.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t think I can fix this.” Nate is wallowing. I have two choices: push him into a drunken stupor, or give him hope. His girl lives with my girl. I’m man enough to admit that plays into my decision.
“Of course you can fix this.” Here comes Captain Positive. I suck at this too, a symptom of my tell-it-like-it-is quality. But for Nate, I can spin hope. And I think it’s there. Rowe’s in love with my brother, and this won’t be more than a blip.
“Dude, I’m supposed to meet her parents this weekend. They’re coming to my tournament. She’s going to introduce me as her asshole-neighbor down the hall, who sold her out in front of his ex…because he’s too weenie to admit he’s in love with her,” he says, his own admission hitting him all at once.
And there you have it. The Preeter brothers—in love, and too big of pussies to do anything about it.
“While I agree that yes, she should introduce you that way, you know that’s not going to happen. You were an idiot, a colossal idiot. Like, bonehead idiot champion of the universe,” I say.
“Got it. Move on,” he says.
“That girl loves your ass anyway,” I say, and he sighs once, eyes staring into the half full glass of beer. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
“You won’t let this relationship-shit fuck up baseball.” He laughs, nods once, and tilts his glass back letting the rest of his draft slide down his throat. “I’m serious, man. You know I don’t like shit fuckin’ up baseball.”