Rally (Treasure State Wildcats Book 3)

Gloria rifled through her backpack, taking out a piece of paper that had been shoved to the bottom of the bag. “I need you to sign my permission slip.”

“Why is this wrinkled and folded?” Faye frowned as she took it from her sister, smoothing out the page as she splayed it on the table. “Put it in your binder. Take care of your stuff.”

“Who cares? It’s just a field trip form. And I was in a hurry when they handed it out.”

Faye sighed, holding out a hand. “Pen.”

Gloria produced a hot-pink pen from her backpack, smacking it into her sister’s palm.

The permission slip needed the basic information. Name. Address. Phone number. Faye filled in every line without hesitation, like she’d done it a thousand times. She even completed the insurance information from memory. And for the emergency contact, she added herself.

Faye didn’t act like Gloria’s sibling. No, she acted like her mother.

Was she Gloria’s legal guardian? How had I not known about Faye’s sister yet? I’d been coming to the diner for weeks. Not once had Faye mentioned Gloria. Up until last night, I hadn’t known she even existed.

I’d wanted to ask yesterday, but there hadn’t been a chance. Gloria had stayed at the diner until the end of Faye’s shift. So had I. After she’d clocked out, I’d walked them both outside to Faye’s car.

When I’d come in tonight, ready for pancakes and a chance to actually talk to Faye, there’d been a bike chained up outside and Gloria had already been in my booth, a new algebra worksheet ready for me to review.

She’d had three of the twenty questions wrong. They were now correct and the worksheet stowed neatly—Faye’s doing—in the binder.

“I’m going home.” Gloria zipped up her bag.

“But you’re not done with your homework. What about that English essay?”

“It’s almost done. I’ll finish it tomorrow morning on the bus.”

Faye was on the inside of the booth’s bench seat tonight so there was no stopping Gloria as she hopped to her feet and blew her sister a kiss.

“Text me when you get home,” Faye said.

“Don’t I always?” Gloria started to leave but stopped herself, taking a backward step until she was at the edge of my seat.

Faye seemed to get all of Gloria’s sass. I’d mostly gotten glares tonight. Why? Not a damn clue. Either she didn’t like that I was finding her math mistakes or she didn’t like that I’d gotten Faye pregnant.

If she knew. Had Faye told her?

“Is Rush your real name?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She looked me up and down. “You’re hot.”

“Thanks?” Okay, really didn’t need Faye’s little sister telling me I was hot.

“Most hot guys are dicks. Her ex is a dick. Though he’s not as hot as you.”

Faye didn’t chime in to argue either point. Good to know I was better looking than the ex.

“Don’t be a dick to my sister.” Gloria pointed a finger at my nose.

I glanced at Faye. Her cheeks were flushed, her chin tucked. A lock of that silky hair covered part of her face.

“I’ll do my best,” I said. To them both.

Did that mean the ex had been a dick? Or maybe Faye had told Gloria about the incident weeks ago when I’d asked for that paternity test. Except Gloria didn’t seem to know about the baby. Faye hadn’t mentioned it, so I’d just keep my mouth shut.

Without another word, Gloria swept out of the diner. It wasn’t until after the chime had faded that Faye finally looked up. Her gaze met mine only briefly before she turned to the glass.

“Thanks for helping with her math homework again.”

“No problem.”

She blew out a long breath, slumping into the seat. “Are you hungry? I can go tell Dusty to start our pancakes.”

“Not yet.”

Her eyes shifted to the table’s surface. She spotted a fleck of pepper and raised a hand from her lap, brushing the black speck to the floor. “Gloria has a lot of attitude, but she’s a good kid.”

“Does she live with your mom?”

“No. She lives with her dad.”

“Not your dad?”

She glanced up and gave me a sad smile. “I haven’t seen my father since I was five.”

So she’d been stuck with a piece-of-shit mother. That actually made me hate her father just as much for leaving her behind. Though maybe he was even worse.

“Gloria’s dad is a good guy,” Faye said. “She’s lived with him full-time since I moved out of my mother’s house.”

When Faye had no longer been a buffer. Or a babysitter. Considering all I knew about Faye’s mother was that she hadn’t wanted her own kids, and the fact that Faye acted like Gloria’s mother, it wasn’t a stretch to assume she’d played the parent role. Probably for a long, long time.

“So if she lives with her dad, why are you filling out field trip permission slips?” I asked.

“Her dad is a truck driver, so he’s on the road a lot of the time. He never went back to court to get full custody of Gloria. It was kind of this unspoken agreement that Mom didn’t want kids in her house any longer, so when Gloria stopped going over to Mom’s for weeks, Mom didn’t say anything. But she still needs a parent when her dad is gone. I do my best to fill the gap.”

“Where does she stay when he’s traveling? Not alone?”

“No. Her grandmother lives with them. Their house isn’t far from here, so she can ride her bike to the diner, and I’ll help her with homework.”

“I’ve been coming here for weeks. Did I just miss Gloria before?”

“She doesn’t come when her dad is in town. They’re close. When he’s in town, they’re together. He took some time off work to be around while she started the new school year.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “Makes sense. It’s good of you to help.”

She shrugged. “She’s my sister.”

Faye would be a good mom, wouldn’t she? I’d had a good mom. Our child would have a good mom too.

“I’m getting hungry,” she said, sliding out of the booth. Then she slipped away to the kitchen, returning with a backpack slung over a shoulder.

The reason I’d come tonight was to talk, not to study. But as she returned to her seat and opened her bag, I fished mine out from beneath the table and hauled out our playbook.

Faye glanced at it, then did a double take. “Football?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to review a few play changes before we take off for our game tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving?”

I nodded. “Away game. In Washington. Bus leaves tomorrow. Be back Sunday. Hopefully after a win.”

“Are you winning?” There was hesitation in her question, like she wasn’t sure if she was asking correctly.

“So far. It’s been a good season. And I like Coach Ellis. This is his first year, and he’s a good guy. A great coach.”

Her eyebrows came together, like she was thinking hard about whatever it was on the tip of her tongue. “That argument on campus with Halsey. She said something about the NFL. I don’t know much about football, but is that a possibility for you? To play professionally?”

“Maybe. Depends on how this season and the next go.”

“But if you did that draft thing, you’d go?”

It should have been an easy answer. Play in the NFL? Hell yes. If all the stars aligned, and I was chosen, it should be an easy yes. Except it wasn’t easy, not anymore.

The NFL would require me to move, potentially numerous times. If Faye was in Montana with our child, could I really leave Mission?

“The NFL was always the hope. It’s what I’ve been working toward. At least a shot at going pro. But I’m having a hard time thinking much past the current minute.”

“Same.” She huffed a laugh, and it was nice to know that I wasn’t the only one lost here. “I want to be a speech pathologist, except that seems impossible right now.”

I didn’t want her dreams to be impossible. Not when we were in this together. “We’ll figure it out, right? We just have to rally.”

“Rally.” She arched her eyebrows. “You say that a lot.”

“Do I? Well, I guess because it’s true. We can rally. Figure this out, right?”

“I hope so,” she murmured, returning her attention to her studies. Except I didn’t want to lose her. I didn’t want her to shut off the conversation, not yet.

“Why speech pathology? I’ve never heard anyone say that’s what they wanted to do.”

Her finger drew a circle on the table, then a swirl. Aimless wanderings and for a moment, I was blasted into the past. To a dark, drunken night when I’d been her canvas. When her finger had traced circles on my chest before we’d both passed out.

It was strange how moments from our night together seemed to come back in flashes. I hadn’t forgotten anything, but I hadn’t exactly remembered it all either.

Was it a blessing? Or a curse?

“When I was a kid, I had a lisp.” Faye’s voice ripped me out of the memory and back into the present. Into the booth where she kept tracing patterns onto a lucky table. “I struggled with my ls and rs or ss. In first grade, there was a boy who made fun of me. Marty Levens.”

“The little shit,” I said.

She scrunched up her nose in that subtle way I’d seen her do before. The Faye scrunch. “Pretty much. I sort of withdrew that year. I talked less and less. Didn’t answer questions unless my teacher called on me. People just assumed I was quiet. I mean, I am quiet. But my third-grade teacher was the person who finally asked me why I never spoke up when I always had the right answer. I liked her and told her I didn’t like how I talked. So she got me into speech therapy.”

A teacher. Not her own mother. A teacher.

Really, really not looking forward to the day I met her mother. Keeping my mouth shut might not be easy. “And Marty Levens?”

“Moved away in fifth grade.”

“Good riddance.”

She laughed, a sound so soft and sweet it took me off guard. I’d heard her laugh before. Camping. The bachelorette party. This was different. It felt . . . intimate. Like maybe I was finally earning back some trust.

“Did you have a nemesis as a kid?” she asked.

“Candi Michaels.” I chuckled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve said that name.”

“Why? Was she better at math than you?”

“She wishes,” I teased. “I had the biggest crush on her my freshman year. The school held this spring dance every year, and I spent weeks mustering up the courage to ask her as my date. She was nice about turning me down. Told me she was just going to go with some of her friends. But then I overheard her talking at her locker about how my noodle arms creeped her out.”

Faye pointed to my bicep. “Noodle arms? I’m not sure I believe that.”

“I had a scrawny phase.” I brought my arms forward, flexing the muscles of my forearms and triceps. “I was chubby as a little kid, then in middle school I shot straight up. I was strong but lanky until I started filling out again. Worked hard in the gym for football and basketball. Helped my dad on the ranch in the summers. By my junior year, the noodle arms were gone, but I never forgot hearing that from Candi.”

To this day, I doubted she knew I’d overheard. I never really talked to her again. And that crush of mine died the moment I heart her laughing about me with her friends.

“Girls are mean,” Faye said, giving me a kind smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I waved it off. “I haven’t thought about that in ages. It sounds more melodramatic than it was. I grew up on a ranch about two hours from here outside of a small town. Small town means a small school. I graduated with seventy-two people, and in a school that size, you don’t really get to have enemies. Candi wasn’t my nemesis. She was just my least favorite classmate.”

“Ah.” Faye nodded.

“Can we talk about⁠—”

The swish of the swinging door stopped my question.

Dusty emerged with two white plates, each heaped with pancakes and scrambled eggs. Mine had two sausage patties. A glass jar of maple syrup was dangled on a finger.

“Thanks,” I said as she slid the plates onto the table.

Dusty smoothed her hands over her apron. “What else can I get you?”

“I can get it,” Faye said. “Thank you.”

“Welcome, babycakes.” Dusty winked at her, then retreated to the kitchen.

Faye picked up her roll of silverware and fished out a fork, then she tore into the pancakes.

“No syrup?” I asked as I covered my own pancakes until it dripped off the edges of the stack.

She shook her head. “I don’t like sauce.”

“Syrup is sauce?”

“Yeah.” She cut into her pancakes. “I don’t really like condiments or gravy either.”

“What about spaghetti?”

“I’ll eat the noodles with some parmesan.”

“Huh.” I stared at her for a long moment. “Ranch? Salsa?”

“Meh. Not a fan of either.”

“Mayo?”

That got me the nose scrunch.

I chuckled. “No sauce. Got it.”

We ate in silence for a few moments, mostly because I was too busy shoveling food in my mouth to talk. The pancakes were the best I’d ever had, light and fluffy and sweet, like Dusty added vanilla to the batter.

“These are good,” I told Faye.

“Best ever. These have been my favorite food since I started working here.”

“When was that?”

“When I turned sixteen. I rode my bike out here after school on my birthday to fill out an application. I started work the next day.”

“I’m surprised more people don’t know about it.”

Faye sighed. “Yeah. It’s been slower than usual lately. I’ve put some flyers up around campus, just to see if I can spark some interest.”

Maybe that was something I could help with. If the guys on the team knew about these pancakes or the cheeseburgers, they’d drive out in droves for a decent meal that didn’t cost a fortune.

I’d be happy to give a plug for Dolly’s later this year. Just not quite yet. I didn’t want to step on her toes. And for now, Dolly’s was mine. Ours. This was the only place where it seemed like we could escape the world.

My world.

The world of football and teammates and judgment and ex-girlfriends.

“About what you heard with Halsey,” I said.

“You don’t have to explain.”

“Yeah, I do.” I set my fork down, waiting until she did the same. “I didn’t cheat.”

It wasn’t my reputation I was worried about. It was Faye’s. I didn’t want people to think that about her.

“I never thought you did, Rush.”

“Thanks.” It was faith I probably didn’t deserve, but I’d take it. “On another topic, my parents are coming to the next home game. I’d like to tell them about . . . this.”

Her shoulders curled in on themselves, but she nodded. “All right.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I need to tell Gloria, but I’m not quite sure how yet. If you don’t mind giving me some time to figure that out, I’d appreciate it.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Maybe once the people in our lives knew about the pregnancy, it would be easier to handle. Easier to contemplate. But I wasn’t going to rush her into that conversation with her sister.

When we finished our meals, Faye slid out of the booth to clear the dishes, and when she returned, she collected her things and stowed them in her backpack.

“Done studying?” I asked.

A yawn tugged at her pretty lips. “I think so. I’ve just been really tired lately.”

“But everything is okay, right?” Was being tired normal? Was there something wrong? Maybe she was working too much on top of school.

I stood from my seat, and before she could stop me, I snagged her backpack from the opposite bench and looped it over my shoulder.

“I can carry my backpack.” She stood and reached to steal it back, but I shifted so the strap was out of reach.

“I’ve got it.”

Faye’s lips pursed in a line when she realized I wasn’t going to budge on this. “I need to say goodbye to Dusty.”

“I’ll wait.”

She didn’t roll her eyes. I couldn’t think of a time when I’d seen her roll her eyes. But the look on her face was the equivalent as she walked away.

I stowed the playbook in my bag, knowing I’d catch hell if I forgot it anywhere. Coaches didn’t really like us taking them out of the fieldhouse, but I’d asked Coach Ellis for an exception. With a backpack on each shoulder, I walked to the door, waiting until Faye emerged with a white takeout container.

“More pancakes?” I asked.

Her lip curled. “Lasagna.”

Which was made with marinara sauce.

“It’s Dusty’s favorite. She makes it once a month as a special.” She lowered her voice, checking over her shoulder to make sure we were alone. “I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t like it.”

“But she knows you don’t like sauce, right?”

She lifted a shoulder.

Meaning no.

Faye would take home this lasagna, and probably choke it down if I had to guess, simply because Dusty loved it and had given it to her as a gift.

“I love lasagna.” I pushed the door open for her to walk outside and round the diner for her Explorer parked out back. “I also eat at least five times a day. Just sayin’.”

She gave me a shy smile, and when I moved to take the takeout container from her hand, she didn’t haul it back. “Thanks.”

“Tell me something you like besides pancakes.”

“Chicken strips. Mashed potatoes.”

“No gravy.”

“Definitely not.”

“Butter?”

“I like butter.”

“Jam?”

“Not raspberry. The seeds get stuck in my teeth.”

I grinned, reaching my free hand past her to open the door to her car. Then I stretched past her to drop her backpack into the passenger seat. “No raspberry. Noted.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, exposing her cheek to the fading evening light.

Nightfall would be soon, but the sun was still peeking over the mountain horizon, casting the parking lot in rays of gold. The light brought out the copper strands in her hair, making them shimmer.

God, she was beautiful. It was impossible not to stare. My gaze roamed her face, from the blush of her cheeks to the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

I moved on instinct, before my brain realized what I was doing enough to stop me. My lips brushed the smooth skin of her cheek, just an inch away from the corner of her mouth.

Her inhale was sharp, the sound one of surprise, not horror. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. And I wasn’t sorry.

She shook her head as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Her gaze dropped to my shirt, staring blankly at the gray cotton.

I was standing close. Too close. She was a magnet and I was metal, but before I kissed her again, this time on her mouth, I forced my feet back a step. “I plan everything.”

Her caramel gaze was like liquid gold when she glanced up.

“Or I used to plan everything. I didn’t plan that.” I’d wanted to kiss her cheek, so I’d kissed her cheek. “Night, Faye.”

I turned and retraced our steps, toward the corner of the building that would take me to the front lot.

“Rush?” she called before I could disappear.

“Yeah?”

Her fingers fluttered in a tiny wave. “Good luck at your game this weekend.”

Something twisted in my chest. My heart, I guess. I’d never felt it twist like that before. Not a pinch. Not a spasm. It twisted like it was two sizes too big and was turning upside down in an attempt to find more space.

Well, fuck. Given all that we had happening, I probably shouldn’t have a crush on Faye Gannon.