Touchdown (5 page)

He slowly exhaled and went to the fridge to grab a beer. Leigh's light pushed away the demons and the darkness that raged inside his heart and his head. When she wasn't with him, his dad's ugly drunken words constantly jarred through his head. That he was a moron. That Russ should've been the quarterback because he was better. That his mom left because of him, and who could ever love a screw-up like Clayton Harper? But when he was with Leigh, everything seemed all right, and life was worth living. He wondered if Leigh felt the same way about him, but quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. Leigh, as always, had gotten it straight: You don't mess with a good thing. They were best friends and that's how it would always have to be.

Clay stood in his bedroom and checked that he had all his gear in place before the game. He tried to ignore the tension he felt in his gut, knowing that there'd be agents and NFL scouts at the game in a stadium full of 55,000 people, all watching him and evaluating his performance.

“I'm the quarterback,” he told himself as he stared into his mirror. “I can do this.” He tried to focus his thoughts on victory—after all, he had a team to lead, a family to make proud, a tradition to honor, and a future to embrace. But in the pit of his stomach was a knot of doubt that he wasn't on the right path. He knew he had to quell that voice—and fast.

“Clayton? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” His stepmom knocked on his door, and brought him a plate full of chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk.

Clay looked at her. She stood about as tall as Leigh, dressed immaculately in a pressed blouse and tan slacks, her golden hair teased in a neat bob. Emily was nice enough—she'd really stepped up to plate and helped raise him and Russ when their mom left them and their dad behind to pursue her dreams of becoming an actress in New York. He even called Emily Mom. Though still he wondered what his own mom would've said if she was here. Would she have been proud? Likely she would've told him to let everyone down and follow his heart instead and become a chef. She was irresponsible like that.

His dad was right behind Emily. “We are so excited about this game, Clay. Coach said he knows the scouts will be looking at you! It's everything we've ever dreamed of,” he said, beaming.

“Sure.” Clay returned their smiles. He tried to quiet his self-doubts as he grabbed a cookie.

“Russell called for you earlier—he's so proud of you.”

Clay nodded. “How's he doing?”

His mom ran her fingers through her hair. “He's doing great, Clay. The physical therapist says his knee will be fine real soon and there's a good possibility he'll be able to play football again.”

Clay's dad sighed. “Such a waste of a talent. Your brother could've made the pros if it not for that injury.”

“Right,” Clay said, suddenly feeling like his room was closing in on him. He knew his older brother would give anything to be in Clay's position now, a shot at getting drafted to the NFL, a chance at greatness . . .

Clay's mom patted his arm and tried to be supportive. “We're here for you, son. We know you can do it.”

Clay knew he could do it, too. He just wasn't sure he wanted to—but that was a secret he would never dare express to his parents. He knew much was riding on this upcoming game. His father's business was struggling. Getting into the pros would change everything. He had to win.

• • •

Leigh rapped on the back door, which led to the kitchen. “Hey, y'all, I brought some boxes from my last shift at the restaurant—”

“Hey,” Clay said, and got up to greet her. He noticed that, even though she'd just finished a grueling shift, she smelled like fresh laundry and soap. He loved how clean she always smelled.

“Sweetie, so good to see you!” Clay's mom said. She took a foam box and opened it. “Beignets! Mmm, and they're still hot . . . delicious!” She clearly enjoyed nibbling on the fried dough covered with powdered sugar. “So nice of you, Leigh . . . perhaps Clay ought to bring a box to Carolyn? I'm sure she'd enjoy them.”

Leigh paled. “Uh, sure, Mrs. Harper.”

His mom continued. “Isn't it so sweet that Clayton is dating the coach's daughter? They are so beautiful together—it's like something out of a romance novel!”

“More like a horror novel,” Leigh grumbled under her breath, though the only one who heard her was Clay, who laughed.

His mom continued. “I mean, she's such a lady!”

“If you're family to Coach, that could only help your career,” Clay's father said.

“Okay, we've got to go.” Avoiding further conversation about his relationship with Carolyn, Clay stood up and grabbed his gear, then gently steered Leigh toward the door. Carolyn, like most of the girls he'd dated since high school was sweet, but he didn't love her and didn't know if he ever would. And the constant pressure from their parents sure wouldn't help them sort it all out. He turned to his parents. “See y'all later at the game?” he asked.

He didn't wait for their answer.

• • •

Clay shifted the gears of his twenty-year-old Jeep and picked up speed. Wind coursed through his hair as he sped along I-95, the humid Georgia air making his T-shirt stick to his skin.

“We're so late. Carolyn's going to be madder than a wet hen in a tote sack,” he said to Leigh.

Leigh shook her head. “She can't wait to get to the game. No way is she going to be mad at you tonight.”

Clay slowly exhaled. “Hope we win.”

Leigh threw back her head and laughed. “You think Carolyn's going to dump your sorry ass if you make a mess of tonight's game?”

Clay shrugged. “Coach said the first game is a big one. There are going to be scouts in the crowd.”

“I've told you a thousand times, you've got the talent, the experience, the moves . . . Only thing missing is here,” Leigh said, pointing to her own heart. “Minute you believe in yourself, you'll score a touchdown.”

“Coach said that's not enough. They want to see the ‘passion.'”

“Play in the game like you do with me back home, and everyone will see how good you are.”

“Yeah, but it's different when I'm with you . . . Being under pressure . . . It's so hard to focus—”

“And meet everybody's expectations? I know, it's tough.”

Clay slowly exhaled. “I mean, one fumble and my dad, my team, everybody will be let down.”

“I know you've got a lot riding on this, Clay, but if you put your heart in the game instead of thinking about how you need to please everybody else, you'll do great. You always do!”

“Carolyn would love that.”

Leigh rolled her eyes and reached into her jeans pocket for her cell phone. “Who cares what Carolyn thinks—it's what you'd like, Clay.”

Clay shrugged as he drove his car past slower vehicles. “What I'd like? To make it to the big leagues. I think.”

Leigh snorted and adjusted her oversized glasses. “You know that's not true.”

Clay looked at his rear view mirror and sped up.

“When are you going to make choices for yourself and quit trying to please your dad?”

Clay shrugged and grinned, half joking. “When he tells me to?”

“Ha,” Leigh said and fiddled with her phone. “Maybe you should lose. Then you can say to heck with all that and become a chef like you want to.”

Clay frowned. “You know how my dad is . . . ”

“Mmm-hmm,” Leigh said and mimicked the voice and accent of Clay's dad. “All the Harper men played for the Emmett University Bullfrogs since their first game in 1892. Clayton shall continue our traditions and win for our family.”

“Huh,” Clay snorted. “Only now it's not just about traditions and honor—they'll think I'm a failure if I don't make it to the pros.”

“Nothing shameful about that. It's just I can't believe you gave up your dreams of becoming a chef.”

“Right.” Clay shrugged. “So if you believe everybody has to follow their dreams like some fairy tale, why are you a grease monkey working in your uncle's shop and serving at two restaurants?”

Leigh shook her head. “I love fixing cars, Clayton. And if I don't work, Mom and I don't eat. Big difference between you and me.”

From the corner of his eye, Clay watched Leigh try to smooth her ripped T-shirt, which was billowing in the wind as he drove. He'd bought her that T-shirt when they'd gone to a Matisyahu concert the past summer and wondered why she continued to wear it. It had clearly seen better days.

Leigh folded her arms across her midriff, forcing her T-shirt to stay put. “You care so much about what everybody thinks, Clay, that you're a freaking puppet.”

“Ouch.” Clay laughed. “If you cared, even a bit, what people thought, they wouldn't hound you for being such a freak.”

Leigh punched Clay in his arm, hard.

“Hey!” he yelled, though he continued laughing, “I don't care that you're a freak.”

Leigh mimicked his words in a false, high-pitched tone. “You don't know how lucky you are to have me as your friend, Clayton Harper.”

Clay picked up speed. He glanced at his buddy sitting beside him. Bound up in a ponytail holder, her long red hair whipped across her face as they rode, making her look like she was getting smacked in the face by a horse's tail. Clay laughed.

Leigh stared at Clay. “What?”

“Nothing. Just your hair . . . ” Clay laughed again.

Leigh's eyes narrowed like a wolf's. “Oh. So I'm not a blonde nitwit like Miss Carolyn Dampeer, and that's funny?”

“Now don't go calling her names. She's all right.” Clay turned onto Carolyn's street in Buckhead, a wide vista of manicured green lawns, giant Georgia pine trees, and gated mansions.

“Carolyn is all right? She'd complain if Jesus Christ came down and handed her a five dollar bill.” Leigh sighed.

He laughed and shook his head. “She's got plenty of good attributes.”

“Yeah. Two large attributes. Both on her chest.”

Clay smiled at Leigh as he slowed his car to his girlfriend's house. “You jealous?”

Leigh shook her head. “Maybe I don't have her, um, attributes, but I thank God every day that He gave me a brain.”

“To tell you the truth, I'm thinking that maybe Carolyn and I aren't right for each other,” Clay said quietly. “Maybe tonight's the night to break it off.”

Leigh responded with silence.

Clay pulled up into Carolyn's driveway and jumped out of the Jeep. “Are you coming, Leigh?” he asked.

Dressed like all of her sorority sisters in a short pale yellow dress that accentuated her shapely tan legs, Carolyn ran over to Clay and jumped into his arms, her long, blonde curls bouncing as she kissed him. “I'm so excited about tonight's game, Clayton!” she squealed. “You are so going to score!”

Leigh came up to them, rolling her eyes again. “How is he supposed to win a game if you're attached to him?”

Carolyn continued smiling as she waved her hand toward Leigh. “Oh, you brought her along. How nice.”

Clay sighed. “C'mon, ladies, we've got a game to get to,” he said, grabbing Leigh by her elbow and easing her toward the Jeep.

Carolyn then grabbed Clay's hand. “Did you bring stuff for after the game?”

Clay shrugged. “For the party?”

Carolyn raised her hand. “Just a second.” She went inside and came back out with a shopping bag from Whole Foods.

Leigh turned her head. “Health food? That's what you prepared for an after-game party?”

Carolyn giggled. “Distracted by the packaging. I like it!” She showed Clay and Leigh the contents of her bag: a couple of bottles of hard liquor.

Leigh stepped back. “I don't know . . . Maybe that's not such a good idea . . . ”

Carolyn batted her long eyelashes at Clay. “Oh, c'mon, it'll be fun.”

Leigh stepped between Carolyn and her friend. “Clay. You can't. You know you can't hold that stuff. It could stop your heart. Remember what the doctor said last time—”

Carolyn grabbed her boyfriend's arm. “Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him.” She let go of Clay and put the bottles in the back seat. “Why don't you sit next to the bottles to guard them from Clay?”

Leigh stared at her friend, who nodded that she should sit in the back. Glaring at Carolyn, Leigh did as told. “You have no mind of your own, Clay,” she mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” Carolyn asked, as she adjusted her seatbelt across her chest.

“Nothing, Carolyn,” she said. “Nobody said anything.”

“Just checking that I'm marrying the right sister,” Avner said as he placed Goldie's veil over her tiara to cover her face.

“You get what you get,” Goldie said and smiled at her groom. A crowd of young men wearing fine Italian suits danced around Avner in the dimly lit ballroom, singing and clapping along to the sounds of the beat as they waited for him to step down from the podium where he'd met his bride.

They'd just completed the badeken ceremony—in which Avner had placed her veil over her face, having checked that Goldie was his bride, and not in fact, exchanged with her sister, as Jewish tradition exhorted since the Rachel and Leah switcheroo thousands of years back. Allen laid his hands on the top of his daughter's head and blessed her, and she tried not to think about how happy her mother, Judy, would have been if she could've been there, too. She sat on a podium and held her bouquet of flowers as she posed with Mindy for the photographer, careful not to smudge any lipstick on her gown. She'd been getting kissed by dozens of her female friends and relatives, and hoped she didn't look like a teenager trying on her first makeup at Macy's.

Klezmer musicians paraded through the wedding hall, weaving themselves through the crowds of well-wishers, while projecting their music through their clarinets, fiddle, and cymbals. All the guests followed the crowds of singers and musicians to the main hall where they'd await the bride and groom's march down the aisle to the chuppah wedding canopy.