Page 77 of Shots on Net
“Thank you for waiting,” his mom says, as though we would drive off and leave her stranded here.
“Sure,” Carter says, eyes bouncing between the three of them and a scowl on his face.
“You’d better get out of here,” Coach Mackenzie says, eyes narrowed on Carter. “Make sure to ice and stretch tonight, okay? We’ll speak tomorrow.”
“But—."
“Tomorrow,” he repeats. Carter nods, biting back whatever else he wanted to say. “Thank you again, Mrs. Morgan. It was a pleasure speaking with you.”
“Likewise. Thank you for reaching out. And you, Mr. Lawson. I appreciate what you’ve both done for my son.”
Carter and I exchange a loaded glance, but say nothing. I can tell he’s dying to know what was said in that office, but too afraid to ask. Coach Mackenzie’s face is carefully blank, and next to him, Anthony Lawson is wearing a benign smile that gives even less clues. I squeeze Carter’s hip, out of sight of all the adults, and he looks down at me.
“Time to go home?” I ask, and he nods.
“Yeah. You ready to go, Mom? Or do you want to see if the concession stand is still open—maybe we can get you a corndog?”
Anthony Lawson and I both laugh, while Coach Mackenzie and Mrs. Morgan both look at Carter with identical quelling expressions. I have to turn my face away. It only makes me want to laugh harder. Corndogs notwithstanding, we say our goodbyes and head off toward the exit and Carter’s car. Neither he nor his mom speak, and I can tell from the tightness of his grip on my hand that he’s tense.
“You can sit in front,” I tell her, when we reach the car. She shakes her head, already adjusting the bag on her arm so she can reach for the rear door.
“No, that’s alright. You two sit together.”
Everyone is silent on the drive home. Carter looks up into the rearview mirror so often, it appears that he has a tic. I want to pull one of his hands away from the steering wheel and trace soothing circles on his palm. I want to say things with our skin that can’t be said out loud with his mom in the car. Instead, I reach across the console and put my hand on his leg.
“Dad didn’t say anything about me bringing a guy home?” Carter asks, suddenly, and at a volume totally inappropriate for the close confines. I jump. His tone matches the scowl on his face as he stares at his mom in the rearview, defiantly.
“No,” his mom responds, simply. Carter scoffs. “You can bring whomever you want home.”
Carter drums his fingers on the steering wheel, frowning out the windshield as he mulls this over. It’s clear he thought there would be more of a fight where his sexuality was concerned, and isn’t certain what to do now that there isn’t.
“Okay,” he says, finally, “thanks.”
We get home and the discomfort grows until the air feels heavy with it. Carter is jangling his keys in his hand as we walk inside, eyes darting to and from his mom rapidly.
“You’re not driving home tonight, are you Mrs. Morgan?” I ask, suddenly realizing how late it is and how far away she lives. Carter looks downright terrified at the realization that she might be expecting to stay here. I spend the majority of my nights in Carter’s room, so technically there is an extra bed available, but neither of us were expecting company in the form of his mom.
“Oh, no, I’ll head back tomorrow morning. I’ve got a hotel for the evening.” Carter visibly deflates and his mom’s lips twitch. “I’ll get out of your hair, shall I? Thank you for letting me spend time with you, Zeke. I hope I’ll be seeing more of you.”
“Of course,” I answer, quietly. “Anytime.”
She turns to Carter. “And I’m going to try and come to more of your games. Your father, too. Perhaps when you play teams closer to us we could go to those games? I’ll have a look at the schedule and let you know.”
She waves a hand and then sets about tying the belt of her coat. Carter is staring at her like she’s an alien life-form that just strolled into his kitchen.
“Okay,” he says, sounding unsure as to whether he means this as a question or not.
“Oh, and if you do get an offer through your agent, you should send it to your father to have the lawyers look over. It can’t hurt to have as many people look it over as possible, make sure you’re getting a fair deal.”
“What the fuck is happening here?” Carter says, succinctly, looking around as though hoping for somebody to pop out and explain the situation to him. His mom raises an eyebrow at his tone, but doesn’t scold him for the attitude. She’s probably used to it.
“I’ll speak to the registrar’s office on Monday, make sure that everything is squared away for next year.”
“Mom, seriously, what is—."
She interrupts him, voice firm and eyes hard. She looks more like Carter in this moment than she ever has. “I wasn’t under the impression that when you came to speak to your father and I, you were asking for permission. You were asking for support.”
“And money,” Carter says, honestly.