The Golden Boys: Chapter 29

Just a few days ago, it was too cold for Lexi and me to eat underneath what we’ve dubbed ‘our tree’, but today I wish we were inside, enjoying the AC. Late-October heatwave, I guess. We’re stuck out here, though. All because he-who-shall-remain-nameless is sitting in the lunchroom with his crew.

The second I lose the battle to keep my eyes away from the window and sneak in a glance, he laughs, and I’m disturbed by how much I like his face.

Stupid face.

Stupid hot body.

A flashback from Homecoming rushes to mind and I zone out for a sec. Doesn’t matter much that it was a few weeks ago, I haven’t forgotten. When his hands graze me by accident during our forced swim lessons, we’re both quick to back off and regroup. He hasn’t been as forward—as open—as he was that evening, and I thank God for that every night.

Because I’m, admittedly, kind of weak for him.

Just as I start to turn, he finds my eyes and it’s over for me. Right away, my lips feel warmer than the rest of my face, like he’s touching them, and I’m completely immersed in the memory now. His voice lingers in my ears, like he’s whispering something to me at this very moment.

‘Come on, Southside.’

Every second since he asked and I refused to follow him into that classroom, I’ve regretted it.

“Ok, I give. What the heck is it with you and him? I’ve played along, pretending not to notice the whole … love-hate thing going on between you and Golden, but seriously. What gives?” Lexi pops a grape into her mouth after asking, and I don’t miss the suspicious grin on her face, either.

I swallow the last of my leftovers from Uncle Dusty before speaking. “The short version? He hates me for reasons undisclosed, and I hate him because he’s a dick. Mystery solved.”

She’s already shaking her head, disagreeing. “You two need to just bone and get it over with.”

Water sprays from my mouth and Lexi screams, trying to dodge it.

“What the hell, dude?” she asks, laughing as she reaches for a napkin to clean off her arm.

“I’m sorry, but that was all your fault.”

“It’s true!” she insists.

“Nope. No way. West is a definite no-go for me. For starters, dude’s mean as hell, which is generally a turn off.”

“Maybe it’s like the mean boy in kindergarten,” she muses. “You know, the one who’s got it bad for a girl, but the only way he knows how to express himself is to pull Little Susie’s hair and make her cry.”

I lean back to rest on the heels of my palms. “Well, unfortunately for West, that tactic stops being cute once we all learn how to add two plus two.”

Lexi shrugs. “Whatever it is, it’s weird as hell from the outside looking in.”

I imagine that’s true. Seeing as how it’s also weird as hell from the inside looking out. If that’s a thing …

“Let’s not talk about him, then,” I suggest.

She’s thoughtful, then her eyes light up. “We could always talk about costume shopping.”

Confused, I pop a brow at her, unsure why she’s grinning so profusely. “Come again?”

“Halloween’s a week away,” she reminds me. Not that I need a reminder. Between my neighborhood and school, the over-the-top decorations make it impossible to forget.

“You telling me you still trick-or-treat, Rodriguez?”

She rolls her eyes. “I wish. One neighbor straight up slammed the door in my face the last time I tried. Granted, this was just last year, but still. Super rude.”

Another laugh slips out and, lucky for her, I don’t have water in my mouth this time.

“What I mean is, Monster Bash is coming up,” she explains. “It’s always the weekend before Halloween.

I’m still just as confused. “Um … Monster Bash?”

“Yeah, it’s a massive Halloween party this kid Marcus throws every year. Never in the same place, but it’s always someplace creepy and secret. Costumes are required. I don’t usually do the social thing, but Halloween’s kind of my jam, so I make the exception.”

Her face is all lit up with excitement, which makes turning down her invitation that much harder.

“Gonna have to pass. Not only do I not have cash to shop, I also just really don’t want to,” I admit with an apologetic grin. “Plus, I’m guessing the Golden boys will be there?”

So much for not talking about them anymore.

“They show up to all the parties,” she answers, which isn’t surprising. “But you won’t have to worry about them. You’ll be with me and I’ll make sure you don’t even notice them. Should be a ton of guys there. So, who knows? You might just find someone to sweep West right out of your head.”

I’m thoughtful for a second and the amount of time it takes me to think things over doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Please, please, please!” she begs. “I’ll even buy your costume if you say yes.”

Rolling my eyes, I cave. Partially, anyway.

“But there’s no time. I have to take pics at tonight’s game, and I work tomorrow morning.”

“We’ll make it work,” she insists. “We can hit a few costume shops right when school lets out, and the party isn’t until late tomorrow, so it won’t mess up your work schedule.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Parker and crew slow-walk it past Lexi and me. I hadn’t even seen them come out to the courtyard, but here they are, staring down on us before exploding with laughter the second there’s a little distance between us.

I hate each and every one of those robots.

“Ignore them,” Lexi insists, clearly holding out hope she’ll convince me to go. “Just say you’ll come with me,” she begs.

I’m firm on my ‘no’ for about thirty seconds, and then give in.

“Fine.”

She squeals. “You won’t regret this.”

“Mm hm. I bet!”

Her response to the sarcasm is to give me the finger before she goes back to eating. Me? I’m filled with dread as I stare at the back of Parker’s head. West’s entire legion of demons will likely be there, but I kind of owe Lexi. She did help me steal all those pants.

Translation: I’m screwed and there’s no way out of it.

Glancing down at my phone, I hop to my feet. “Gotta run. Dr. Pryor wants to see me before fourth hour. I’ll see you in gym.”

Lexi nods. “For sure. And if your boyfriend comes looking for you, I’ll tell him where to find you,” she teases.

I roll my eyes playfully. “Yeah, okay. You do that.”

There are still a few minutes left of lunch as I approach Dr. Pryor’s door. She waves me inside and her expression’s blank, giving nothing away.

“Have a seat, Ms. Riley.”

I do as I’m told, nervously clasping my hands in my lap. She sifts through a stack of papers until finding what she needs. After scanning one sheet for a moment, she slides it across her desk.

“A permission slip,” she announces.

“For what?” I ask while looking over the paper, confused.

“You’ve been invited to join the football team on a little excursion.” She says that with a smile. One I don’t even come close to matching.

“I don’t understand.”

Pinching the bridge of her glasses, she removes them and looks me in the eyes.

“I’m sure you’re aware of our boys’ record this season,” she says. “So, it’s not unusual for the athletic department to plan ahead when the odds are high we’ll make it to regionals. We’ve already secured transportation and booked a block of rooms.”

During the brief pause that follows, I can’t help but wonder what this has to do with me and the permission slip in my hand.

“Listen, I’m going to level with you,” she continues with a sigh. “In a perfect world, I’d ask how you felt about this, ask if you were up to it, but … the school will need photos and you need to do everything you can to stand out in Journalism Club. So, that means this assignment is all yours.”

I say nothing, because nothing I say will change this decision she’s made. A decision that will stick me with West and his crew for an entire weekend.

“Figured I’d tell you sooner rather than later,” she adds, “so you can make the necessary arrangements.”

When she lowers her head, closing the discussion with that final statement, it’s like a nail hammered into my coffin. On my way out of her office, I reach for my phone to text Jules. If the boys make it to regionals, I’ll need her and Uncle Dusty to look after Scar sometime next month.

Here I am, backed into the corner again.

Nice.

West

“Your ma tells me you boys are undefeated. Keep that up and they’ll draft you straight to the NFL on graduation day.”

My grandfather—the legendary Boone Landry III himself—is the only one who’s drawn a smile out of me today.

“Thanks, Grandpa, but I’ll settle for making QB-1 at NCU. For now, anyway.”

“They’d be fools not to want you,” he insists, his thick, southern drawl ringing familiar in my ears.

Based on skill alone I’d agree with that. Only, there are other factors that could blow that chance out of the water and they’re never far from my thoughts.

“Guess we’ll see next year,” I say vaguely, making light of how much I have riding on going undefeated this season. Knowing that it still might not be enough if certain truths come to light.

“I also heard on the wind that you had an interesting game a few weeks ago. Something about some choice words painted on your uniform?”

Hearing him ask, I laugh a little as noise picks up in the locker room. “Yeah, ‘interesting’ is one way of putting it. And, technically, it was just one choice word.”

I envision Southside’s handiwork and then my thoughts immediately shift to the incident in the hallway during the dance. The one where I’m turned the fuck on, and Southside turns me the fuck down.

Damn tease.

Since then, I’ve maintained the distance between us, for obvious reasons. It’s been weeks since I, personally, brought any hell Southside’s way, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t enjoyed watching Parker and crew put her through the wringer. Once my head is clear, once the lines between us aren’t so blurred, I’ll be back on my game.

“All right, level with me,” Grandpa huffs. “Tell the old man what you did to piss off whoever this poor girl is.”

“Not sure what you mean,” I lie, smiling because there’s no way he believes that. “You know me. Mr. Innocent.”

“Mr. Full-of-shit is more like it,” he corrects, bringing another laugh out of me. “This girl clearly wanted to send you a message, and that little stunt has ‘woman scorned’ written all over it.”

I don’t answer right away and, in the silence, I fuckin’ hate who’s in my head again.

“It’s … a long story,” I sigh.

“Well, if I were you, I’d shorten it up. And quick. Preferably, before she ruins all your clothes.” He pauses to let out a gruff laugh. “Take it from me, women don’t forget a damn thing, so just apologize, admit you’re a dog, and do whatever it takes to clean things up between you.”

I take his words to heart, because he always shares little nuggets of wisdom, but in this situation, it’ll never apply. I’ll never apologize when an apology isn’t owed.

“I hear you,” is all I say back, but decide to move on to a new topic. “How are the boys? Still raising hell?”

The exhausted sigh that leaves his mouth sheds light on where this is headed.

“Let’s just say moving on to high school hasn’t changed your cousins in the least. In fact, I’m convinced the more hair they get on their nuts, the worse they behave!”

“They can’t be that bad,” I insist with a laugh.

“Hmph. The little shits have all of Dupont Bayou shuttering their windows just at the mention of their names. Hell, probably the entire Parish!” he adds.

I hold back from laughing again, hearing the stress in his voice.

“It ain’t really Beau and Keaton causing trouble, but those other three? Whoo-wee! Those hellraisers pull everyone right into the mud with ‘em. Every damn time,” he complains. “I cannot tell you how many good dreams I’ve been yanked out of by phone calls from angry fathers, informing me they found one of my foolish grandsons sneaking around with their teenage daughters in the middle of the night. At this rate, I’ll be a great-grandfather or bailing them out of jail before I can even get these bastards to college!”

The statement has me wondering how my own missteps would be judged if he ever caught wind of them.

“If you need me to fly down and put the fear of God in them, just say the word,” I offer, pushing my own internal B.S. aside.

“Might have to take you up on that. Just keep that slick-ass father of yours away from my property and I’ll be all right. I’ve had a bullet with that son of a bitch’s name on it since the day I handed your ma off at the altar.”

Note to self: Let Dad know Grandpa’s asking him to stop in for a visit. Should go great.

Hearing my grandfather talk, you’d think he’s raising the boys all on his own, but he’s just always been involved with us—all his grandsons—which makes it seem that way. In truth, all five of the cousins he’s complaining about live with their parents. However, my grandfather being the man down in Saint Delphine Parish, everyone sees us as his boys. Not the sons of his five daughters.

The twins—River and Stoney—are notorious troublemakers, and Linden’s anger issues made it easy for him to fall right in step. Then, like Grandpa said, the other two just seem to get pulled into whatever trouble these three are involved in.

“I blame my daughters’ godawful choices in men,” he cuts in again. “Poor girls couldn’t spot a good one if he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Not even my little Rosalie, God rest her soul.”

I couldn’t argue with him on that point.

“Anyway, enough about all this. The real reason I’m calling is to wish you a good game, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

I did. “Thanks, Grandpa. I’ll call you after we win.”

He laughs in my ear. “That’s what I like to hear. Now give the phone to one of your brothers, would ya?”

“Sure thing. One sec.”

Dane’s already reaching for my cell. As the patriarch on my mother’s side of the family, the man’s kept this same pre-game phone call routine since our dad put us on the pee-wee league as kids.

Lacing up my cleats, I get my head in the game, knowing Grandpa will be expecting that call from me in a couple hours. Only a few games left in the season, then I can breathe a little easier.

Dane wraps things up, then passes the phone to Sterling. By the time I get it back, it’s nearly game time.

“You got a text,” Sterling lets me know.

Clutching my helmet, I glance at the message.

‘Overheard Lexi and that bitch talking about plans to hit up Marcus’s party tomorrow,’ Parker wrote. ‘Mind if I get creative?’

She loves this more than she should, and that isn’t lost on me. Sometimes, I wonder if she sees it, the weird chemistry between Southside and me. It makes me question whether it’s the reason she volunteers for evil shit like this.

Probably.

I shoot her back a message then follow the rest of the team out onto the field.

‘Have fun. Just don’t almost kill her this time.’