Game nights across the state are interchangeable with one another, with the only distinction that matters is where you’re seated on the bleachers. Tonight we’re in Old Town’s territory, where the currently undefeated Halo’s are pitted against the Chiefs. Coach insisted it was to be an easy game.

Unfortunately, the star quarterback, Kenny Laurence was arrested for a DUI late last night, which I’m sure I’ll get the blame for come Monday gossip circles. Somehow, Brock saw it fitting to promote Kemper to the position. It wasn’t an idea I was keen on because he’s been so far untested on the field, and has only attended four practices, but Coach saw something in him.

Now, I see it too. He’s a star on the field, with the agility and dexterity of a budding pro. I should have known by the way he carried himself in bed. The Halo’s break from the line, and their quarterback launches the ball into a clustered field. The intended recipient is knocked to the ground, and Kemper dives toward the ball.

He intercepts it, and the crowd goes wild. I jump to my feet and howl as he rolls on the ground and picks himself up to run, jumping over the first Halo that attempts to knock him down.

He sprints toward the end zone and with nobody left within tackling range, and nobody on that field can run faster than him. It’s an inevitable touchdown as he crosses white line after white line and scores with a sexy dance in the end zone.

Across the way, in the home section of the bleachers, the crowd groans as they’re dreams of going to the State Championships are crushed. With fifty-four seconds left on the clock, and a thirteen-point deficit, it’s nigh impossible to pull out a win.

I look down on that field with patriotism and adoration in my eyes as the Chiefs swamp their new quarterback—the man I’ve entangled myself with. Ashley notices the sudden change in me since I’ve confided in her and shoots me a friendly smile. I smile back, and the happiness I feel in my bones comes easy and without hesitation or doubt.

I meet Brock in the parking lot after the game. He’s ushering boisterous players onto the bus after another winning performance. I stand to the side, waving at the students as they board the bus, but I don’t look at him. I don’t so much as glance at Kemper as his teammates cheer him on, and push him onto the bus with rowdy glee. Looks like he’s finally made some friends, but that’s only because he carried the team to a well-earned victory after all hope had been lost.

Kenny Laurence is one of the best players in the state. Coach was lucky to have him, but then he went and did something stupid, and the team was left deflated. Without Kemper leading the team tonight, any hopes of a State Championship could have been thrown out the window.

That’s my wonder-boy, always showing up when he’s needed the most. I need him right now. I’ve needed him since the last time I had him, and I’m aching for a night of freedom. I’m plotting and planning, calculating my next move, and tonight is the night my game plan is shifted into action.

“Good job, Coach.” I pat him on the back and his eyes shift to me, confused. “Brock, I mean.”

He ensures nobody is within hearing range, including the assistant coach who stands a few feet away, with his arms folded against each other and engaging in a post-game discussion with the coach from the losing team. “I’m surprised you showed up,” he says to me through gritted teeth that are too occupied wearing a fake smile.

“Can I congratulate you without this turning into a fight?”

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I just never know where I stand with you.”

The entire foundation of our marriage anymore is not knowing truths from falsehoods. “Right now, you’re standing right in front of me.”

“Is that some kind of metaphor?”

“We’re not fighting,” I whisper and wet my lips. “That’s something.”

“An empty something.”

Without warning, I lean in and plant a kiss against his lips. It’s supposed to be for show, and it is, but it’s loaded with a little something extra. Something spicy and a little sweet, seasoned with contempt and malice. If I’m going to continue this charade, I’m going to do it on my own accord.

He’s taken aback, and when I pull away his eyes twist sideways, trying to read my intentions, but it’s near impossible to read dead eyes beyond the obvious decay. He leans back in for another kiss, but I bow my head so he collides with the top of my head, where he plants a kiss anyway.

I lay a careful hand against his chest, steadying him where he stands. The guilt begins to creep in. It’s chaos. Absolute chaos, how I can go from wanting to inflict pain to wishing I could heal it all.

“I’m going to go home and get some rest,” I say softly and then meet him at his eyes. “I think I’m going to my mom’s tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you sure?” One brow arches. “It’s a long drive.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be home around two.”

“You could,” he begins but stops himself. “You could stay with me tonight.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” I reach for his hand and tangle my fingers with his. “Besides, you need to get some rest for that charity event tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I guess.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

His eyes glisten with the promise that maybe we can fix what’s broken.

“I’ll have dinner ready for you when you come home Sunday.” I look at him for a second more and stand on the tip of my toes to kiss him softly, and in the corner of my eye, I see Kemper glaring at me from the letterbox window of the school bus.