The Way We Touch: or Wrangling the Wide Receiver (The Bradford Boys)

“Stand in first position, and we’ll start with a gentle warm-up.” Classical piano music comes from the record player, and I’m standing in front of the class in a black leotard and pale pink tights with a ballet skirt, leading them through the movements. First position, plié, toes out, slide…

My class of high school dancers is bigger than I expected, twelve girls and Austin and Josh from the football team. Jack said he would give them extra credit for “helping me out.”

The girls are at all skill levels, which I’m used to from my days at the dance academy. Their PE uniforms are pink leotards, pink tights, and basic, pink ballet shoes.

The boys are in black nylon joggers and black undershirts, and they have no idea what they’re doing. Still, they’re interested, and I can work with that.

Their main job is to hold the girls steady, and if they’re fast learners and strong enough, we might attempt a few lifts.

Craig has been texting me nonstop since I got here.

Craig

Let me know if you need me to be there.

I need you to be at the restaurant making sure everything runs smoothly.

Craig

This place could run itself during the day. Can Allie walk over?

She has to run the library. I’m fine. Stop worrying, Mother Hen.

Craig

It’s a media center, and that’s Uncle Hen to you. I know this is a big step.

I love you, and I’ve got this.

The truth is, I’ve been taking a lot of big steps in the past few weeks.

I dug my ballet skills out of the locked chest I put them in years ago, and I have a date with the gang to watch Monday Night Football tonight at the restaurant.

I’m not going to lie, my heart beats frantically at the thought, but I promised Logan I’d be watching, wearing my Number 12 jersey with his name on the back.

As soon as it arrived in the mail, I called to give him the fashion show. It’s navy and red and enormous, and the shine in his eyes when I spun around in my room for him to see unleashed a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach.

Naturally, it was the only thing I was wearing.

“That looks really damn good, Dylan.” He laughed, low and naughty as he wiped the sweat off his brow. “Too bad I’m at practice or I’d let you model taking it off for me.”

I replied with a sassy, “Call me when you’re done.”

And that’s just what he did.

My ears are hot as I guide my students through the basic barre warmup. “First position and demi plié, straight. Demi, straight. Now grande plié, straight, bend forward, all the way up.” I lean down and touch my toes, then I arch back before moving to second position. “Let me see you do it.”

I leave the bar and count as I walk through the line of barres arranged in the center of the small studio. Watching the young dancers concentrate and move shifts something in my heart.

The days when I was in their place, a student, are over, and now I’m on the other side, a teacher, sharing a gift with them I hope will bring them the joy it used to bring me. It’s an unexpected, but welcome response to my first day back at the barre.

“That’s very good, Mia.” I stop beside a slim young woman with excellent form. “Remember to keep your chin parallel to the floor.”

Her cheeks lift with a smile, and she holds her head straighter. Returning to the front of the room, I look down the lines of straight posture, pointed toes, curved arms. I see so much beauty and so much potential here.

The music continues, and I go to where the boys are doing their best. Neither of them has a very good turnout, but Josh is able to get some real height in his sautés. Austin’s posture is good, and his arms are strong from football training, which is a promising sign for lifts.

We have a way to go, but I expect they’ll be able to perform some basic Nutcracker choreography by Christmas. Anticipation of the show, something I haven’t done in so long, forms a lump in my throat—of happiness. I’m so surprised, my eyes tingle.

“Very good, Class.” Real joy is in my voice as they finish their combinations. “Please move the barres to the side, and line up in the corner of the room.”

I lead them through a very simple walking routine with a grand jeté jump at the end. I’m able to do the small move, and when I finish, their eyes are all round.

“It’s just a basic move.” I exhale a laugh. “You’ll get it.”

Mia is the best going through the line, and I give them all lots of encouragement before moving through another simple move, the pas des chat, or step of the cat.

The ninety-minute class passes so fast, and by the time I dismiss them to change into their school clothes, I’m lighter than I’ve been in years. They’re hard workers, and they’re very invested in learning.

Picking up my phone, I tap out a quick text to Craig.

I actually really loved being back in the studio. It was so… good.

The word doesn’t convey how I’m feeling, but it’s the best I have at the moment. I’m still trying to get over how healing it was to be here sharing what I know, not allowing all those years to be lost.

Craig

I should’ve been there.

I needed to do this on my own, and I wonder why I didn’t do it sooner.

Craig

You know why, but I’m glad you feel this way.

I’m too old to be Gelsey Kirkland anymore.

Craig

It’s true, and you’re much better fed now.

My nose wrinkles, and I lean forward with a laugh.

Are you calling me fat?

Craig

Never! I’m saying Logan can take over lifting you. Now get back here so I can see your face.

He wants to verify I’m not crying, more like it. I only shake my head.

I’ll be there soon.

My next text is to Logan, even though I know he won’t see it right away, especially on game day. It’s basically the same thing with a little extra thanks for encouraging me.

I did it, and you were right. It was so good to be back in the studio. Thank you.

Smiling, I try to think of what it would’ve been like if we’d been in high school together. I would’ve had the biggest crush on him, but I’m not sure he’d have noticed me. I was not a cheerleader, and I pretty much avoided the entire football scene. It was too fresh after losing our dad.

My brothers, by contrast, were completely enmeshed.

“How did it go?” Allie meets me at the door to the media center on my way out. “Was Austin a complete disaster?”

I’m still in my ballet uniform, but I’ve swapped out my ballet shoes for flip-flops. I’ll bike back to the house and change before heading to the restaurant for the dinner shift and game viewing.

“He did his very best. I could tell he was concentrating on the steps. They both were.”

“How are you feeling about tonight?” Worry is in her eyes, and my chest squeezes.

“At least I’ll have all of you with me.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

Inhaling slowly, I think about losing our dad, the day I swore off football forever, even though it was practically inescapable in my life. “I guess we’ll see. I hope it will be like returning to the studio—worse in my mind than in reality.”

She reaches out and catches my hand. “We’ll all be there with you.”

I force a smile. “I know.”

“Mrs. Patience has a baby boy named Jack, just like my daddy!” Kimmie has been talking nonstop since her first day of kindergarten, and it’s clear she’s very impressed by her teacher.

“She said his name is really John, but they call him Jack.” Her little brow furrows. “Why don’t they just call him John?”

She’s sitting on a stool at the large silver work table. A small bowl of shredded cheese is beside her, and she’s putting it between two bite-sized flour tortillas.

“I’ll be honest, Peanut, I have never understood the whole Jack-John situation.”

“Is Daddy’s real name John, too?”

“Nope.” I point to her little plate. “All done?”

She nods, and I carry it over to Thomas to give a quick grill. Stopping at the fridge, I take out a ramekin of mild salsa made with no peppers and carry it to her.

“Take this out to the table, and I’ll bring your quesadillas when they’re ready.”

It’s a regular Monday night at Cooters & Shooters, which means it’s pretty slow. All the young and single football watchers are at the sports bar in town, and now that school is back in session, our family customers are home for the start of the week.

Only a few older people and a couple of tourists are dotted around the large dining room, and Salina runs around taking care of them.

Craig is off work after covering the day shift, but he’s here along with Jack, Zane, Allie, and Austin for the big night. My first viewing of Logan.

Thomas hands me a platter with four hamburgers and Kimmie’s dinner. I decided to wait until after the game to eat. My stomach is in knots.

Logan

About to head out on the field. Glad your first day went well. Wish I’d been there.

I reread Logan’s text several times, and every time I do, my heart does a little skippy beat.

I wish you were here too, but for different reasons.

He replies with a devil emoji, and I exhale a laugh. Then he sends me one last message.

Logan

If they show me on the field, this means I’m thinking of you.

He sends a hand emoji with the thumb and index finger crossed. I’m not sure what this means, but I send back a selfie of me in his jersey doing a thumbs up.

Have a great game!

Logan

Man, I wish you were here.

His reply sends heat through my stomach, and I shove the phone in my pocket before heading out with everyone’s dinner.

All four flatscreen televisions over the bar are tuned to the game, and the aggressive music makes my heart beat faster. The announcers are all animated, talking to each other about the stats of the major players. As they go through each one, a large photograph of the player being discussed appears on the screen.

“Uncle Gary!” Kimmie yells when they show Garrett’s face along with his height, weight, experience, and age.

The team of brother-sportscasters talks about what makes a good offensive lineman and how hard it is to quantify. They’re going on about my brother’s ability to open a path when the screen changes, and Logan’s image appears. My heart jumps to my throat.

“Lightning McQueen!” Kimmie yells, holding up both of her hands.

He’s not smiling, and he’s incredibly hot in his shoulder pads and jersey. On a line under the screen they list yards, touchdowns, and first downs in addition to height, weight, and the rest.

“Look at those numbers.” Zane’s voice is low as he pours ketchup on his fries. “No receiver’s that fast. When the ball is coming, he’s there, and Garrett’s going to clear a path every time.”

A warm sense of pride moves from my stomach up to my neck, and I’m standing behind my brother’s chair gazing at the screen.

“We’ll get a feel for what they can do tonight.” Jack leans back, crossing his arms like a coach evaluating the situation. “The Allstars are a tough team, and I’m sure they’ve done their homework.”

Austin sits behind them, quietly watching, until Kimmie hops down and climbs into his lap. “Will you be on TV, too?”

Allie’s son pats her back. “Maybe,” is his quiet reply.

His eyes never leave the screen, and I know that look. He already sees himself there, which means it’s only a matter of time. Logan said he’s going to go far.

The cameras cut to the sidelines, where the guys stand around, helmets in hand, waiting to take the field. My hands are clasped, and I watch as Garrett goofs off, getting in a fellow lineman’s face, smiling broadly.

They do a little friendly rough-housing, revving each other up, and beside him, Logan stands calmly watching the field. His fingers are hooked in the neck of his shoulder pads, and he’s so focused.

“How are you doing?” Craig is at my side with two beers.

He hands one to me, and I take a sip before answering quietly, “This is worse than ballet.”

The Allstars have the ball first, so I take the opportunity to check on Salina and make sure Thomas has everything he needs. Salina reports the three tables are almost done, while Thomas sits alone on a stool in the back of the kitchen. He’s watching the game on a small, black-and-white television with an antenna.

“I don’t think we’ll have any more orders tonight if you want to watch with us on the big screens.” I call to him.

He only waves me away. “I always watch in here on this TV. It’s good luck.”

I hold up both hands. “Okay!”

I know not to mess with sports superstitions.

Clapping and cheering echoes in the dining room as I return to where everyone’s watching. “That was quick,” Zane laughs.

It’s time for our guys to hit the field, and a knot is in my throat. My stomach is queasy, and I thread my fingers, putting both hands on top of my head. Why did I say I would do this?

They all line up, and the music is driving my heartbeat faster. I’m having trouble breathing, then the snap happens. They all break into play, and as the cameras zoom out, my eyes stay on Garrett and Logan.

I can’t inhale deeply as my massive brother drives forward like a bull, meeting an equally huge guy head-on. A soft Oh! jumps through my lips, and I step behind one of the posts in the center of the dining room to peek out at the screens, as if I’m watching a horror film.

All eyes are on the quarterback, and the minute the ball leaves his hand, cameras flash to Logan, Number 12, at the ten-yard line. Sure enough, he’s wide open, but a big guy is barreling down the field right at him.

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” I clasp my fist, holding it over my nose to partially block my view.

Logan slows down to make the catch. The defensive lineman is looking at the ball, but it’s clear he’s making a drive for Logan. Every muscle in my body braces for the hit.

“He’s going to take the penalty.” Zane’s voice is tense.

My throat knots, and my hands flatten on my forehead above my eyes. Right when it looks like the guy will grab him, Garrett’s there to take him out.

The room erupts into shouts as the pass is complete and Logan easily runs it in for the score. A red banner flashes across the bottom of the screen with the word Touchdown in all caps. The stadium is going crazy, and I’m trying to catch my breath. My hands are shaking, and my muscles are weak from the rush of adrenaline.

Allie runs to where I’m leaning my forehead against my hiding-post. “You okay? That play was amazing.”

“That’s how they make history.” Jack and Zane are on their feet, and while my oldest brother is pacing, Zane only takes a beat before returning to his chair.

The rest of the game is pretty much the same. I nearly have a panic attack every time Logan is approached by a defensive lineman. I have to look away every time Garrett slams into another player as big as he is.

A few times, I have to go into the kitchen and watch with Thomas. His little television is much less “in your face,” and I wonder if that’s why he prefers it. He’s known us all our lives, and maybe he doesn’t like to see my big brother getting beat up either.

The Pirates win easily in the second half, and navy and red confetti rains down on the players. People flood onto the field, and we watch as the reporters mix with the players to get sound bites.

The guys are all in front of the camera. Garrett lifts their quarterback off his feet, and when the camera pans to Logan, he grins, holding up one hand with his index finger and thumb crossed just like the emoji he sent me.

My heart jumps to my throat, and a breath hiccups in my lungs. Nobody knows it’s for me, but my ears are hot anyway. Automatically, I twist my fingers at my side, even though he can’t see me.

They talk to the coach and the quarterback before sticking a mic in Logan’s face and asking if he’s going to make history this season.

“That’s the plan.” He grins, and his voice squeezes my stomach.

His eyes glitter, and he’s so sexy. I can tell he’s riding the high of their win, and I think for the first time, it would be so good to be there with him.

“Everybody get together for a photo!” Craig calls, and we bunch up with the screen behind us as he takes a selfie. “I’ll send it to the group chat.”

“We’ve got to get home. School tomorrow.” Allie gives me a hug. “See you there.”

“Thank goodness for afternoon classes.” I’m only half-joking.

The way my heart beats out of my chest, I don’t know how long it’ll be before I’m calm enough to sleep, and I have a phone date with Logan.

“One down, sixteen to go.” Craig wraps an arm around my shoulders. “And that’s not counting the playoffs or the big game.”

“Sixteen…” My chin drops, and he rolls me into his chest. I can’t help it. I start to laugh. “I’m going to need medication.”

“You okay?” Jack’s deep voice is optimistic, and he puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Why do I feel like I just played football for four hours?” I laugh, and he grins, giving me a squeeze.

Kimmie is asleep on her daddy’s shoulder. “Danielle was always on edge during the games.”

“That’s because everyone hated her,” Craig quips, and I elbow him in the side.

My brother is unfazed. “Try not to let it get to you. We live for these games. It’s a high you don’t find anywhere else.”

“You did it right, though.” I put my hand over his.

I don’t elaborate how my brother retired before any serious injuries out of consideration for Zane. He’s not quite “in the light” yet, although working for Miss Gina seems to have improved his spirits. He still disappears at times.

“I had more important things to consider.” Jack puts a large hand on his daughter’s back, and I know what he means.

My oldest brother has always prioritized taking care of his family.

“You’re a good daddy.” I grin, giving him a hug and rubbing my niece’s little back.

“Glad you finally came around and joined us.” Zane limps up to where we’re standing, a welcome grin on his handsome face. “We’ll get you through the season, don’t worry.”

“You’d better.” I tease, sliding my hand in the crook of his arm. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

They all head out, and I fall back to close up the restaurant. Then I have a FaceTime date with my man.