wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sounds good to me.”
“It would. You don’t have the sense God gave a goat.” Lou jerked the fridge open and shoved the milk carton back on its shelf. She actually thought about grabbing a wooden spoon from kitchen tool canister and spanking Waylon’s butt for being such a turd. How dare he casually toss away the gift he’d been given? How dare he try to ruin everything they’d been working toward?
What gave him the freakin’ right to rip away all their dreams just because he felt a little pressure? The kid had no idea what pressure was.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped back, bumping up against the cabinets she and Lori had painted last summer. Okay, Lou. Stay calm. Don’t lose your temper. This is what parents everywhere do every day. Be the adult.
“You don’t need the sense God gave a goat to man the fries at the Pit Stop.” Waylon leaned against the fridge and gave her a long stare. She wished she could decipher his intent like she once could. Maybe he was being contrary, pressing her buttons for the hell of it. He crossed his arms, mimicking her, and she noted he’d grown nearly as big as the refrigerator he cleaned out daily, but his eyes looked scared.
“In all seriousness, Waylon, I understand. It’s spring, you’ll be seventeen next month and life hasn’t been easy for any of us since you starting getting all this attention.” She paused and tried to summon the calm demeanor her father had always maintained with her when she flipped out as a teenager. She needed to make Waylon feel she was on his side. “But you have to use that spongy matter between your ears when it comes to your future.”
“Things feel too heavy. I can’t handle all this shit, Lou.”
She started to correct his language, but the anguish in his voice had her figuratively biting her tongue. “You do have a say-so in your life, Way. If you don’t want to play football in college, fine. I can live with you never picking up a football again…but can you?”
His hazel eyes shifted away from her as the impact of her words crashed into him. “No, I love when I’m on the field, just me and the guy I gotta beat. But this whole recruiting thing has me feeling out of control already.”
She nodded. It had her feeling the same way, especially after the incident with Abram Dufrene and the realization the process was only going to get more intense. College recruiting was a science and her brother was on several programs’ radars. That meant soon there would not be just letters in the mailbox and invitations to specialty camps, but there would be visits, evaluations, weekly phone calls and immense emotional warfare waged on them all. Several years ago, the thought of Waylon being courted by the largest football programs in the nation sounded exciting. Now it felt like another layer, heavy on them, one more thing to yank their chains and deliver conflict in their lives. “I know. It’s going to be wonderful, and it’s going to be horrible, but that doesn’t take away the fact you are something special and have an opportunity to become something spectacular.”
He just looked at her. “That doesn’t really help.”
“Well, how about one night a week, we make a point to sit down and have dinner together? No phones, no friends, no last-minute activities. Lately we’ve all been going in different directions and need time to regroup. Mom and Dad used to make sure we sat down and talked at least once a week over dinner, so maybe we should start that tradition again.”
“Can we order pizza?” Lori asked.
“You don’t like my special spaghetti sauce?”
“No offense, Lou, but your talents don’t lie in the kitchen.” Waylon finally cracked a smile, revealing the boy he’d always been—a charming, easygoing prankster. Here was the brother she’d been looking for over the last few weeks.
Thank God, because Waylon was really starting to scare her. If he didn’t want to play football, he wouldn’t get a scholarship. Lou hadn’t thought of a contingency plan, but she’d be damned if she had to put off college for herself any longer than she had to. It was going to be bad enough being a twenty-nine-year-old freshman.
She banked her fear and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll spring for pizza once a week, starting tomorrow night.”
Waylon disappeared, and she heard Lori call out a good-night. Lou wiped crumbs off the counter and loaded the dishwasher, hoping her plan worked. Years ago, the complication of raising her siblings lay in last-minute runs to get posterboard or wanting a certain kind of cool shirt. Now her brother and sister were at the stage where their actions affected the rest of their lives.
Not easy being a pseudo parent when you hadn’t signed up for it in the first place.
As Lou flicked the fluorescent light off above the sink, it hit her that she hadn’t even addressed the broken window and drinking problem. Nor had she talked about Cy Holland and his less-than-savory influence.
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