Sean

The professor drones on and on about Faust. Learning about some dead poet is not on my to-do list...ever. But yet, here I sit, listening to the most monotone lecture I've ever endured.

And I'm doing it sober.

Does football really mean this much to me? Do I really want to endure another four years of learning things I'll never use?

Fuck this shit.

Shoving my book in my bag, I get up and leave the classroom. The professor doesn't even look up, yet one more reason to leave. Why bother if he doesn't care?

I love football. I'm good at it, but I hate school. Always have. The only reason I'm here to begin with is because of someone else.

I'd gotten a full paid football scholarship to Penn State, shocking both me and my brother. He'd gone behind my back and started sending out highlight reels to top schools, never expecting to hear back from anyone, but when Penn State graduated their entire back field, they came calling.

And I'm getting to play. Most freshmen warmed the bench, but Coach put me in when the starting wide receiver got injured and I'd been playing since.

When Dobbs comes back, I fully expect to get parked on the bench again, though. Two of the assistants were talking about it and I'd over-heard them. Maybe that's part of why I'm so disgusted. I love the game and I'm going to get benched.

Fuck that shit.

I'm done.

"This fucking sucks. I should never have come. I hate this fucking place!"

I blink several times, seeing the girl sitting on the bench swearing worse than my brother. She's taller than most girls. I can tell by how long her legs are where they're sticking out, threatening to trip anyone who passes by her. Dark brown hair glints honey gold highlights where the sun hits it when she tugs on the ponytail. Her eyes are blue, but they're a dark blue and snapping fire as she dares someone to say anything to her.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?"

Her eyes snap to me and they narrow further.

"What the fuck isn't wrong?"

Despite my own need to escape, I find myself walking over and sitting down next to her. "It's not ninety degrees yet."

"Shit." Her head falls back onto the bench and she stares up at a perfectly cloudless blue sky. "Don't say that, you're going to jinx it and I have to sit through math in a room where the AC doesn't work."

"I'm Sean Riggins."

She shrugs and mutters something I can't hear.

"It's polite to introduce yourself."

"I don't want to be polite." She sits up and rolls her neck. "I need a drink."

"I'm right there with you, sweetheart. Want to go get drunk?"

"Can't."

"Skip class."

"No, it's not that. I don't care about math. I'm diabetic. I literally can't drink. All the sugar would send me into a diabetic coma."

"Fuck."

"Exactly."

"Want to come watch me get drunk?"

Her head rolls and those blue eyes narrow. "How would that help me?"

It's my turn to shrug. "Didn't say it would, but if you're in the bar with me, then you're not out here in the blazing heat, sweatin' your ass off."

"Good point." She sighs. "Are you skipping too?"

"Nope. Made up my mind to quit and go home."

"What?" She does sit up this time, looking alarmed. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"I hate school."

"But you're on the football team. You're good."

"You follow football?"

Her eyes shut down and become guarded, making me want to question her further. "That's a whole other story."

"It's good we're going to go watch me get drunk then. We'll have all day for you to tell me about it." I stand and hold out my hand. "What do you say?"

She stares from my eyes to my hand several seconds. "Screw it." She jumps up without taking my hand. "Let's go get you wasted and you can tell my why you want to give up on football."

I laugh, I can't help it. I don't think I've ever met anyone like this girl. Leading her back to my truck, I unlock it and toss my bookbag in the backseat of the cab. This truck was my brother's sixteenth birthday present to me. It's not new, but it's in good shape. Best thing he ever gave me and I make sure to keep it in working order.

"So what's your name?" I ask as I back the truck out of the parking lot.

"Hattie."

"Hattie?" I glance over at her, sure she's joking.

"It's an old family name. I hate it, but I'm stuck with it, so I own it."

"Cool."

It takes me barely five minutes to find the nearest bar. It's not one I'd been to before, which is probably a good thing. No one will know me here and report back to Coach.

Not that I care. I'm leaving. Quitting Penn State and the team. Something twists and rolls, settling like a lead in the pit of my stomach.

Fuck, I don't want to quit football, but I hate school. We're only a month into the semester and I'm behind in every single class. I'm gonna flunk out. Quitting before that happens is better. It becomes my choice instead of Coach telling me I'm out because I can't hack it.

"What're you drinking cutie?" The bartender slides to a stop in front of me and Hattie. She's cute, older, but still cute. I'd guess late thirties maybe? Not quite a cougar, but sure to be a hot MILF in a few more years.

"Don't be gross." Hattie shoots her a glare. "He could be your son."

Her eyebrows make a beeline for her forehead. "Just being sociable."

"Bring him a jack and coke and me a water with lime and then go be social elsewhere."

"How do you know I wanted a jack and coke?"

She shrugs. "It's what you're drinking now."

Laughing, I nod to the bartender to let her know its fine. "Bring us a pitcher of whatever you have on tap that's good."

I let this strange girl lead me to a booth in the back.

"Now why the fuck would you want to quit football?"

"You always cuss like this?"

"I didn't use to, but things change."

I get that. Hell, if they didn't, I wouldn't be here. "I'm flunking."

"We're only a month into the semester. You can't be flunking."

"Trust me, sweetheart, I'm behind. I've never been good with schoolwork."

"Let me guess, the school before let you slide or looked the other way when the cheerleaders did your homework?"

"Something like that."

She sighed. "It's still not a good excuse. The team has tutors available to you."

"I'm not even supposed to be here."

The waitress brings over our drinks and I thank her, unable to pull my gaze away from Hattie. She has the most expressive face I've ever seen. Her emotions are right there for anyone to see. This girl should never play poker.

"Explain that." She sips at her water.

"Haven't you ever done something for someone else?"

"Sure."

"I never wanted to leave Alabama."

"I'd never planned on going to school anywhere except for South Carolina either, but here I am too."

"Is that where you're from darlin'?"

"Born and raised. I grew up in Charleston."

"So what brought you North?"

"My ex-boyfriend. I wanted to be somewhere he wasn't."

"Bad breakup?"

"You could say that. Now, back to you. Why aren't you supposed to be here and what was this thing you did for someone else?"

He pours himself a glass of beer and takes several long drinks before he answers her. Normally, he wasn't chatty about his life, but there's just something about this chick that unglues his tongue.

"My girlfriend back home begged me to go to college. She wanted me to get out of our little small town and make something of myself or some shit."

"She didn't get into college?"

"She did." A smile ghosts across my face. "Carrie is as smart as a tack and she got into Stanford, but she didn't get the scholarship she needed to afford it. This school did give her a full paid scholarship, so we were supposed to come together. It's the only reason I agreed to college in the first place. I didn't want to disappoint her or maker her think I'm a screw up."

"Ah, you did it for the girl, but she's not here?"

I shake my head. "No. Stanford called a few days before we were supposed to start packing to head up here. The person who did get the scholarship dropped out, freeing it up for the next person in line, which was Carrie. As much as I wanted to tell her not to go, I smiled and sent her on her way. She worked too hard to get into Stanford. I'm an asshole, but I'm not that big of an asshole."

"And you promised her that even though she wasn't going to be here with you, you'd still come?"

"Yeah." I swallow more beer, finally starting to feel less stressed.

"So what changed your mind on your promise?"

I laugh, the sound as bitter as I feel. "This place sucks. Carrie's not here. I hate school. I miss home. Why should I stay?"

"Football."

She says it like it's the end all be all.

"Yeah, well, what happens when I get benched?"

"Why would you get benched. I saw you play on Saturday. You're really good."

"You saw me play?"

"I go to all the home games."

"Football fan?"

"I grew up on football. My uncle and my dad were both high school coaches. It's like a religion in my house."

"That's how it is back home."

"But why would you get benched?"

"Dobb's will be back soon. They're talking about benching me fwhen he's ready to resume playing."

"So that's what this shit is really about." She nods. "I get it now."

"You get what?"

"You think football is all you're good at, that it's the only thing worthwhile. You were probably one of the star players on your team back in high school. You got a taste of what it's like to play on a bigger field and now you want to run before it gets taken away from you."

Who the hell is this girl? And how did she hit the proverbial nail on the head so fast?

"I get it, but you're wrong if you think Coach will bench you."

"The assistant coaches were talking about it." I pour myself my third glass of beer. "You're right about one thing. Football is all I'm good at."

"Do you want to go pro?"

"That's the dream."

"So you think quitting is going to get you closer to that dream?"

I give her my best sarcastic glare.

"All I'm getting at is if you want to go pro, to do the one thing you say you're good at, quitting school is the stupidest move you could make. And you know I'm right."

"How am I going to get to the pros if I'm benched?"

"Is that what you're worried about?"

I shrug. It's been eating at me a lot.

"Dude, to get to be a first string player, you have to wise up. This..." She points to the almost empty pitcher of beer. "This is what's keeping you from going pro. You want to have fun? Sure, have fun after the game. Get your ass up, run, work out, go to practice, and play hard. Booze will be there for the party after the game. Sunday through Saturday day, you have to be one hundred percent focused on nothing but football. That's how you go pro faster. That's how you get put into the draft before your junior year, hell, maybe even your sophomore year if you do things right."

"What if I do all that shit and I still don't get to play when Dobb's comes back?"

Sighing dramatically, she stands up and tosses some bills down on the table. Then she grabs my arm and hauls me out of the booth.

"What the hell, Hattie?"

"Come on. We're going to take care of this shit right the fuck now."

I let her lead me outside and then shove me into the passenger side of my truck before climbing into the driver's seat and demanding the keys.

"You know how to drive a stick?"

"Please, my daddy had me driving a stick when I was ten."

Grudgingly I hand her my keys. Arguing with her I can drive is not worth it.

"Where are we going?"

She doesn't answer me. Instead, she puts the truck in gear and we head back toward campus.

"So you came here to get away from your ex? What he'd do to make you run so far?"

"Slept with my sister and when I confronted him, he hit me."

"He hit you?" I sit up and look at her. She's looking straight ahead, her face a mask of stone. All expression drained from it.

"He said he didn't know it was me when he hit me. He was drunk. It was right after a game and he got so drunk, I doubted he'd be able to stand up. I didn't want him driving so I was going to take his ass home. When I tried to get him to his truck, he swung and hit me."

"Don't do that, Hattie. Don't try to dismiss it and make it okay. Drunk off his ass or not, he had no right to hit you. No man does."

It's her turn to shrug. "That's why I'm here. Everyone wants me to forgive him, to forgive Leslie. She's my sister. I love her. I have to forgive her right?"

"Did she know what she was doing?"

"She says she was drunk."

"But you don't believe her?"

"I don't know."

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"I call him my beautiful mistake. Best and worst mistake of my entire life."

"I think Carrie falls into that category. She kept me from becoming a deadbeat in high school, but it feels like now that she went to Stanford, we've broken up. She hardly calls and takes forever to answer my texts."

She makes this humming noise. "Life is made up of mistakes or so my mama says. Some are beautiful, some are ugly. Some are forgivable and some will hurt you so much, you'll never get past them."

It's not until she turns into the football complex, I get concerned. "Why are we here?"

"Because I said we were going to put a stop to this shit and I meant it." She parks and gets out, pocketing my damn keys.

"Hattie..."

"Nope, get your ass out of the truck, Alabama. We got shit to do."