Free Justified by Varina Denman Page A

cheerleaders had quieted for the kick, and Coach Pickett stood as rigidly as ever, arms crossed. But just as the ball sailed through the upright posts, I thought he turned his head to look toward the fence. At me.
    I did a double take, but he had already started yelling directions to an assistant coach.
    â€œI was serious about taking you to your doctor’s appointment.” Tyler’s shoulder brushed mine. “It would mean a lot to me.”
    I pictured my doctor’s office and the other pregnant women with men by their sides—holding hands, fetching cups of water, giving support—and a missing link in the chain of my confidence snapped into place. “It would mean a lot to me, too.”
    Tyler released a long, slow breath. “I’d like to spend time with you away from the doctor’s office too. I miss you.”
    His words didn’t affect me as much as his body language. His posture cried out in desperation, and his eyes begged me not to abandon him. He looked exactly this way at his mother’s funeral back in junior high, and more recently, at his father’s. My parents weren’t dead, but they had all but abandoned me, and Tyler’s expression of helplessness instilled in me a sense of unity.
    â€œI miss you, too.” My resolve melted. I knew what I could expect from him, and even though it didn’t compare with the perfect life laid out in front of Ruthie, it might be close enough to perfect. At least my baby would have a father.
    Tyler’s sad eyes turned up at the corners, but not enough to transform into happiness. “Why do we do this to each other?”
    As the band played a drum roll for the kickoff, he gently slipped his arm around my back. “Old habits, I guess.”
    â€œFawn?” His voice broke. “I promise I won’t hurt you again.”
    I’d heard that before, but this time it sounded different. Either he meant it more or I wanted more desperately for it to be true. The baby kicked again, seeming to remind me, as though I could ever forget.
    My mind and body were weary from months of anxiety, but Tyler’s gentle promise felt good against my soul, ringing with the clear tone of good intentions.
    I believed him.
    But I had to draw the line in the sand. “This is the last time. If you get drunk again, if you make a scene, if you hurt me … it’s over for good.”
    â€œThat won’t happen.” When he kissed the top of my head, the junior high girls giggled, but I didn’t pay any attention. Who cares? I smiled, enjoying the familiar scent of his cologne, the secure feel of his muscular arm behind me, and the soft whisper of his breath against my hair.
    I could have stood like that at the fence all night, but after a few minutes, he pulled away and intertwined his fingers with mine.
    Just then, the opposing team’s fans cheered enthusiastically, drawing my attention back to the game as I wondered what could have happened so soon after our last touchdown.
    I scanned the field, and my mouth fell open.
    They had scored against us.
    The wire of the fence pressed my skin as I gripped it with my fingers. Since the Panthers were slated for state, the area papers had speculated we might go all year without being scored on. Yet here we were—our first game of the season—giving up six points already.
    The other team’s band, cheerleaders, and fans—good grief, their entire team— went berserk. The noise level rose obnoxiously while our fans watched in stunned silence. As the ball sailed through the goalposts for the extra point, every face in the stadium—whether from glee or from mourning—studied the opposite end zone.
    My heart hurt for our team, but I had the most compassion for JohnScott, who would undoubtedly be criticized by half the town. And they wouldn’t be kind about it. I scanned the sideline until I located him, but then a chill raced down my spine.
    He