Forever My Girl (The Beaumont Series)

all so young in our football uniforms, holding up our index finger telling the world that we’re number one. We didn’t have a care in the world, we just wanted to win. One of our championship footballs sits on a stand. I want to touch it, feel the pigskin against my fingers, but I refrain. Those days are gone. I left them all behind when I packed up and left Texas for the bright lights of the big city.
    “Do you hear that crowd?” Mason yells at me before we leave the tunnel. This is our last game ever in high school and this year we’ve gone undefeated. We annihilated the competition. Mason is so close to breaking the state record for rushing yards and I broke the record for passing earlier this season. We both signed our letters of intent for the University of Texas this morning.
    And now we’re about to play for our fourth state title.
    “Yeah man, I hear it. Crazy, right?”
    “There has to be more people than last year.”
    Of course there is. We are the best.
    I slap my girl’s ass as she passes by with her white, gold and red cheerleading skirt flipping up as she runs. She turns around and saunters up to me with that look in her eye. I know what she’s expecting and I plan to deliver.
    “You know how sexy I think you are when you bite your lip? You have this look in your eyes, Liam. Do you have plans for us later?” she whispers into my ear. My focus is now solely on her instead of the game as her hand sneaks under my t-shirt. There is nothing better than her skin against mine.
    “Knock it off you two,” Mason says as he slaps me in the back of the head. “If you give him a stiffy during the game, some linebacker is going to break his pecker.”
    We all start laughing. She kisses me goodbye, telling me to kick ass. She never wishes me good luck, just to kick ass.
    I slip on my helmet and run out onto the field. We run through the cheerleaders and the student body. Music is blaring as we are announced onto the field. Parents and fans are on their feet in the stands, yelling loudly.
    Mason and I go off to the side and warm-up, always together. We have a routine and we aren’t about to break it now.
    When the whistle blows, I take center with Mason on my left. The play is for him. He needs only one hundred yards to break the state record for rushing and I’m going to make sure that happens tonight. Our first play is a hand-off to him; he breaks the first tackle for a thirty yard gain.
    We do this over and over until his dad holds up a sign showing 100 and I know. I hand Mason the ball and watch him jog it over to his dad. They hug and the fans go nuts. Mason Powell just set the state’s all-time leading rushing record with nine thousand five hundred and two.
    I remember that game as if it was yesterday and standing here makes it feel like it was. I can almost smell the concession stand cooking hotdogs and popcorn. I can hear the cheers and feel the vibration from stomping feet on the bleachers.
    I can still see Mr. Powell’s face when Mason broke that record. I wanted my dad to look at me like that.
    As I walk around I see us everywhere. The four state titles we won in football and two in baseball. Nick Ashford is staring back at me, his smug smile as he holds his most valuable player award. He wanted to be me. When he came to Beaumont he followed me around. He was always hanging out with us like he was our life-long friend, when all he wanted was my girl.
    Other than Mason, I don’t know what happened to any of my classmates. I didn’t keep in touch because I had nothing to say and didn’t want to hear what a failure I was for dropping out of college. I had to make the best choice for me and I did even though I know I hurt everyone that I loved, especially her .
    When a group of young kids come pouring in I duck into the bathroom. I’m not expecting them to know who I am, but their teachers might and I don’t want to sign autographs or pose for pictures. I just want to be me even if it’s short-lived.
    When I come out of the john there’s a young boy standing at the counter with his hands under the water. I look at him through the mirror. He’s crying even though he’s trying to wash away the tears by splashing water on his face.
    He’s sort of small and his hair is a bit longer than normal for boys his age. Maybe he’s being bullied and hiding in here. I hate bullies. Mason and I wouldn’t stand for any bullying when we were in school. We made sure of it.
    “You okay, bud?” I