Page 6 of The Comeback
My phone rings and I pull it out to see a FaceTime call from my mom. She appears on the screen, looking at me over her reading glasses, which she takes off once I pick up. Dad sits next to her, his own reading glasses on, looking at something on his tablet.
“Hey,” I answer, and he looks up, removing his glasses as well and setting the tablet down.
“Oh,” Mom says, frowning at me. “I wanted to catch you before you got to the field.”
“It’s okay. I’m not at practice. It’s the charity game for the kids.” I offered to get them tickets, but both declined, saying they’d feel out of place.
“Right. Of course.” Mom nods. Her expression is set on concern, and it’s easy to guess why she’s calling. “Well, we can call you later. I know you have responsibilities at these things.”
I’d rather get this out of the way and assure my parents that everything is fine. “I have a few minutes.”
They share a look, and then Mom takes a deep breath to speak. I almost laugh that Dad hasn’t said anything since his opening greeting. “Jenna said Ava’s back in town … renting her beach house.”
“Was there a family meeting about it?” I ask dryly.
Dad laughs and Mom even cracks a smile.
“Jenna and Devin are coming for dinner tonight, and I called to plan a time with her. The subject might have come up.” Mom shrugs.
“Maybe it was the first thing to come up,” Dad adds, his commiserating expression tinted with some amusement.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I knew I’d run into her sooner or later. It was just a surprise.”
Mom nods. “Julie mentioned at church that Ava was coming into town for an event, but she didn’t say when, and I never thought she’d be at Jenna’s beach house. I would’ve said something?—”
“Mom. It’s really fine. Promise.” Maybe if I say it enough, even I’ll believe it.
Her expression tenses like she believes that as much as I do. “Okay. Do you want to come for dinner tonight? We’re eating at six.”
“If I’m done. I’ll try to make it.” With the charity game today, practice might run long to prep for Sunday’s game.
“Sounds good. Hopefully we see you.” Mom and Dad both wave and then hang up. Is it wrong of me to hope we’re on the field late today? I want more time to process last night’s events before I face down my whole family at dinner. I can say I’m fine as much as I want. They probably won’t buy it, and though they won’t force me to talk about it, I’ll see it in their pitying expressions. Sheesh, Jett. It’s been over seven years. Get over yourself.
Someone approaches where my camp chair is set up right at the fifty-yard line, but I hope if I ignore them and force them to make the first move in conversation, they’ll decide one of my other teammates is a better bet and move on. The feet stop right at my chair, and although I can see the white tennis shoes in my peripheral, I keep my gaze on the field.
The person next to me clears their throat, but I don’t take that bait. Claire’s going to be annoyed that I’m not making sure to get as many selfies as possible and posting them to Instagram. I’ll worry about her new campaign to make over my social media another day when I’ve had more than a few hours of sleep and more than a thin control on what might come out of my mouth.
“Mr. McCombs, can I get you anything?”
I have to drag my attention from the game now, and I turn to see one of the waiters standing next to me and instantly feel bad. Poor guy—just trying to do his job. “A bottle of water, thanks,” I respond. I’ll tip him well for having to put up with my grumpiness.
He nods and moves down the row. Most of the seats around me are empty since I’ve made zero effort. One of my teammates catches my eye around an attractive woman wearing a casual dress, sneakers, and a hat. He smiles, tilting his head back for me to come join them, but I give a small shake of my head and turn back to the game.
“Do you mind if I take this seat?” Another voice asks, making me turn to where the waiter was standing just moments before. A tall woman in denim shorts and a black tee with the words Black Team in blue letters stands over me. Her blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and before I can answer about her taking the chair next to me, she looks back at the field, clapping and whistling for the Black Team—a tackle that I missed, I think.
“No, I don’t mind,” I answer reluctantly. Part of me can’t help but like that she’s wearing the T-shirt. All the donors that bought tickets to this game got one, splitting them into Blue Team supporters and Black Team supporters, just like the Pumas players here, but she’s the only woman I’ve seen wearing it.
She drops down into the seat and takes her eyes from the game for a moment to put her hand out toward me. “Hayden Reid,” she says, introducing herself.
“Jett McCombs.” I shake her hand. She holds on to it, the tiniest lift of her lips saying that she knows exactly who I am.
She doesn’t point that out though. “Nice to meet you,” she says.
I nod, and she looks back at the game, so thankfully I do too. I’m wary of flirting with Hayden or leading her on. The fact that she’s here says that she’s got money to throw around, and her outfit, while one of the most casual ones I’ve seen, speaks to that too. Her sneakers are a rare pair of Nikes that were selling on online auctions for thousands of dollars last year, and they’re pristine. Her shorts are a designer denim brand even I recognize—and I realize with a start that it’s because of Ava. She was so excited about a pair she’d found on one of her favorite thrift apps for “insanely cheap,” in her words. It was right after she moved to Reno the beginning of my junior year, right after we got engaged. She wasn’t going to buy them, even though they were less than twenty dollars. She watched every single penny. So I did and gave them to her for Christmas. The grin on her face when she opened them had sent my heart racing with delight, and even now warmth surprises me as I think of how she jumped at me, throwing her arms around me and kissing me in front of my family to hoots and whistles.
I quickly shove the unwelcome memory away. It’s tainted by the fact that a few short weeks later she bailed on me. On us.
I pull out my phone, tilting it away from Hayden in what I hope is a subtle move, and search for her name. Google’s top result is an Instagram account, easily identifiable as belonging to the woman next to me. I scroll through a few pictures and inwardly cringe. She’s an influencer with a lot of followers. She glances up at me and smiles, and I quickly pocket my phone and turn my attention to the game.