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“It’s not team building,” he retorted. “It’s a fundraiser.”
And while I absolutely could’ve thrown the ball to dunk Rhodes, I knew Jude needed it more. Whatever little dark cloud was following him around seemed to lift a little when he got to dunk his big brother in the name of school spirit. How could I deny my best friend that?
“You know,” I said as I handed off the ball to Jude. “I think I’ll have Jude throw it for me. He’s got a better arm than I do.”
Rhodes’ eyes widened, and I was definitely paying for that later. It was still worth it.
“Theo—” Rhodes’ protest was lost when Jude snapped the ball and sent him splashing right back into the water with a yelp. He came back up, sputtering, and shoved his dripping hair out of his face. Even soaked and disgruntled, the man was hot in an unfair way—not that I was complaining, when the whole situation was an opportunity to stare without anyone noticing. “Whoever thought cold water was a good idea was a fucking idiot.”
He dragged himself up on the platform and shook his head, sending water flying everywhere. The coordinator gave him a chance to get settled before handing another football to Mrs. Kennedy.
“Your turn, sweetheart,” she said and gave it to Wyatt. He glanced at me. The silent exchange was nothing short of a miracle, because ours were either always spot-on or so wildly inaccurate that our friendship became questionable.
“Theo’s got a point,” Wyatt replied. “My arm’s nothing compared to Jude’s.”
“I swear to fuck, I’m making you shitheads run laps,” Rhodes threatened, his words meaning nothing because we knew he wouldn’t.
“Hey, it’s all in the name of team spirit, Brother Coach,” Jude teased. “Call it practice. Every throw that hits the target makes me a better quarterback.”
“That’s bullshit, and you—” His words were cut off as he dropped into the water.
That was how it went for the better part of an hour as Mrs. Kennedy hung out with most of the starting team. She paid for us to play, and we handed every ball off to Jude, who hit the target every single time. Every splash earned another round of laughter from the crowd, another sarcastic comment from Rhodes, and another celebration from Jude. By the end, Rhodes had spent more time underwater than on the platform, and I hadn’t seen Jude smile that much in days.
CHAPTER 33
Theo
HORNY DEVIL: When I get my hands on you.
Please get your hands on me.
HORNY DEVIL: You won’t like it, little wolf.
I bet I will.
HORNY DEVIL: Brat.
She’s stopping treatments,” Jude whispered.
Those three words stopped the jokes and laughter between Wyatt and me. We sat at a picnic table near the dance lawn, where Mrs. Kennedy took turns dragging Jude and Rhodes onto the dance floor. A live band played covers, and she found a reason to dance to every single one of them. More than once, she dragged Wyatt and me out with her too, insisting that nobody was allowed to spend the entire evening sitting down. We laughed, made complete idiots of ourselves, and let her tease us for our antics.
In a heartbeat, all the warmth and goodness of the night faded away.
I swiveled on my bench until I faced Jude. He’d folded over the picnic table, his chin resting on his crossed arms. His gaze never left his mom as she slow danced with Rhodes to some cheesy country song. The weight of the world was written all over Jude’s face as the facade finally cracked, and suddenly, everything made sense. All the forced smiles and horrible moods made sense.
I opened and closed my mouth more than a few times as I struggled to find the right words. What could I say? It seemed impossible to pick the right words. Was I trying to comfort him? Console him? Be sad with him? I didn’t know.
“I’m sorry, man,” Wyatt said.
“How come?” I asked quietly. “If it’s okay to ask.”
“Um…” He blew out a long breath. His lashes fluttered as he blinked back tears we both pretended not to notice. “I guess the treatments weren’t working, and she’s done so many at this point that she’s not… she’s not living, and she just wants to… she just wants to enjoy her last few months.”
“A few months?” I repeated without meaning to. Maybe that was a question I shouldn’t have asked. Maybe that was too much.
“Yeah,” Jude answered tightly. “Realistically, six months is pushing it.”
He sounded so small as he said it, the words barely getting out. Next to him, Wyatt clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a strong squeeze. I reached across the table and grasped his forearm for support.
