Two years later

Joie

 

“Come on, Jo! The game’s about to start!”  

Butterflies swarmed my stomach. I had no idea what I had to be nervous about. I’d been watching the USC football games all season. In fact, I hadn’t missed any games since Freshman year.

Unless we were playing Notre Dame.

This year however, I was living off-campus in an apartment with my Freshman year roommate. Jemma and I had become the best of friends during the summer term before everyone else descended in the fall. We roomed together for two years straight before getting this apartment. Since we were both huge football fans, we’ve been hosting a party for every game with some of our friends. This was the last game of the regular season and when I tried to get out of it, Jemma had balked.

I’d never talked to her about Cole. Hadn’t said his name out loud in over two years, in fact. Not since the day I left South Bend, hours after graduation. Mrs. Parker emailed me sometimes. She’d even texted once or twice, inviting me to come stay with them for the holidays, reassuring me I was always welcome to visit. I’ve never taken her up on the offer.

Today would be the first time I’d seen him play football since middle school and I was almost debilitatingly emotional about it. Maybe I could fake a stomach bug?

“Jo! You’re going to miss kickoff!”

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I tried to convince myself this wasn’t a big deal.

Who was I trying to kid?

 

It was a party atmosphere when I walked into our living room. Fifteen or more co-eds crammed into the small space, sprawled over the one sofa and every inch of carpet. Jemma, my roommate and her boyfriend, Dallas, cuddled in the big recliner. Open cans of pop sat on the coffee table and the two end tables. Bowls filled with pretzels and a variety of chips sat on tables and in laps.

“I hope you stocked up on Mt. Dew, Joie!” Dallas called out, his eyes glued to the pre-game show. It was five minutes until kickoff. I struggled to sound normal, not wanting to get into a discussion about my issues, because my voice sounded as strangled as my heart felt.

“Blasphemy! You know I won’t buy anything that looks like neon pee.” I paused, pretending to consider. “Unless it goes in my car.”

This was a running joke between Dallas and I and drew a few chuckles from our friends.

“I’ll turn you to the dark side yet, Jo,” Dallas teased.

“I saved you a seat, Joie,” Malcolm called out gesturing to the scant inches between himself and the arm of the couch. “And got you a Dr. Pepper,” he added with a smirk at Dallas who made gagging noises.

“Yeah, Jo. Better snag that seat while you can,” Jemma said, grinning.

I shot her a look as I made my way over to the tiny bit of real estate on the couch. Jemma was always trying to set me up with different guys we knew. Malcolm was nice and super-hot, and I knew he was interested, but...I just couldn’t seem to talk myself into working up the energy to figure out if I liked him or not.

The thing was- I hadn’t dated anyone since leaving Indiana. It wasn’t like I was pining after Cole or anything. I wasn’t. I just hadn’t met anyone yet that made me want to trust. I’ve been talking to my therapist about it. She said it would come with time and congratulated me on the friendships I’d made at school. Jemma and Dallas and everyone else- well, we had become like a family. And for now, it was enough.

“Thanks, Malcolm,” I greeted as I squeezed into my spot on the couch and accepted the can of Dr. Pepper. There wasn’t much space on the couch, my body was pressed against Malcolm from shoulder to knee.

“Here. It’s crowded.” He grinned and shifted, putting his arm along the back of the couch. It did give me more room, but now I was snuggled under his shoulder. I sent Jemma a wide-eyed look.

“Malcolm brought some Peanut Butter M&M’s, too. Your favorite.” Jemma winked again.

“Here they come!” Dallas yelled almost unseating Jemma on his lap.

The room erupted in cheers as the USC Trojans came running out of the tunnel. We watched the coin toss. Notre Dame would have the ball first.

“Notre Dame,” Sam, one of our other friends sneered from his position on the floor. “I can’t stand Notre Dame.”

“Better be nice, Sam. Joie here is a South Bend native,” Jemma warned.

I felt more than a couple eyes turn to me like I was a turncoat or something. “Go Trojans!” I cheered, pumping my fist in the air, making everyone laugh.

“Are you really from South Bend,” Malcolm asked.

I just nodded, my eyes glued to the tv. Would Cole be playing? Of course, he would. According to the internet, he’d been the Irish’s starting quarterback since the middle of his freshman season when the starting senior got injured. He’d led his team to nine victories this season and if the Irish won today they would go to a Bowl game. The Trojans kicked off and the Irish ran the ball a few yards before being tackled. The offense ran out on the field. The commentator said Cole’s name and my body jerked like I’d been shocked with a defibrillator.

“Are you okay,” Malcolm asked, glancing at me with a concerned expression.     

“I’m fine,” I whispered, but I wasn’t.

There he was. Cole Parker, number eleven. The sunlight gleamed off his golden helmet as he made his way onto the field. On the screen, Cole lined up behind the center. And then- what was he doing? Stricken, I watched as the camera focused on Cole. He raised his fist and pounded it to his chest over his heart.

“What a poser,” Dallas jeered.

“Why do you say that,” Jemma asked.

Both were oblivious to the arrow that had just been aimed at my heart, piercing it with a direct hit.

“He does that thing every game before the first snap, he pounds his chest,” Sam answered, shaking his head with disgust.

“He does,” I asked, my voice not my own. I stared at the tv, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. What did it mean? Why would Cole do that?

Cole called out the play and caught the snap from the center.

“Yeah, they’ve asked him about it in interviews, but he never says what it’s all about. What a dipwad.” Dallas shook his head and took a swig of his Mt. Dew.

“He’s not a dipwad,” I said.

I felt Jemma’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the game.

Cole.

It was just too much.

I wouldn’t talk about him. No one would understand even if I did.

The game went by in a blur. My friends cheered and jeered depending on the plays and with five minutes to play in the fourth quarter the game was tied at twenty-four. All I could see was Cole.

The Trojans received the ball after an Irish touchdown.  And as much as I loved my school and had rooted for the Trojans all season, I wanted Cole to win. He’d had a fantastic game, throwing for over two hundred and fifty yards with two touchdowns. My body was almost in pain from all the tension rolling through it. Poor Malcolm had given up on talking to me and sat beside me with his arms crossed and a perplexed look on his face.

“OOOhhhhh!” Our living room erupted with dismay. The Trojans star running back had just taken a hard hit sending the ball tumbling from his arms.

“Notre Dame recovers the ball!” the commentator announced.

The Irish sideline was in a frenzy. The camera zeroed in on Cole, who was jumping up and down bouncing off the chests of his teammates. I couldn’t hold back my smile if I tried.

“Oh, my hell, Jo! Are you rooting for Notre Dame?” Dallas looked appalled. Jemma was no longer on his lap and he’d scooted to the edge of his seat in all the excitement.

I shook my head. “What? No.”

Lie.      

“I can’t believe you!”  Suddenly, I was public enemy number one.

“Guys!” I shouted over the noise. “Watch the game.”

Cole ran out on the field and I pushed thoughts of my friends and team rivalries to the back of my mind. Gosh, he just got better with time. More than once, the camera had stopped on Cole where he sat on the sidelines with his helmet off. He looked older, more mature than the last time I’d seen him. Broader. His chin and cheeks, darker with the promise of thick whiskers. His dark blonde hair looked almost brown as it fell in waves over his forehead.

He looked good. So, so, good. I missed him.

Cole caught the snap and pumped his arm back to throw, his gaze scanning the field in front of him. First and ten, Irish! They ran the next play, gaining three yards. Second and seven. Cole caught the snap. Trojans blitz.

“OOhhh,” the room around me erupted again.

“Cole!” The strangled scream ripped from my throat. Not caring what anyone thought, I climbed over the coffee table until I was right in front of the tv.

Cole lay unmoving at the bottom of the pile of USC defenders.