Our Playbooks

Chapter 10

Ellie

I look through the peephole, and the tension in my shoulders drops. I unlock the door and pull it open, and Landon bolts inside before I’ve even gotten it fully open, bringing a rush of warm night air with him. I shut the door and reset the alarm, the soft beeps filling the quiet hallway, before turning toward him.

He’s wearing all black — sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, and even through the fabric I can smell the night on him: grass, sweat, something earthy and sharp. His curly, dirty-blond hair peeks out from under the hood, plastered to his damp forehead. When he pulls the hood down, his hazel-green eyes find mine, and he flashes me that familiar grin, running a hand through his hair like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

With my own goofy smile, I say, “What’d you do now, Landon?”

“Nothing.” His smile widens as he wraps his arms around me.

My fingers have been counting against my thigh since I opened the door - one, two, three, four, five - but when Landon pulls me close, they still.

I wrap my arms around him and melt into it like I always do. Landon was my brother's best friend — the only one who stuck around when everyone else started treating Caleb like something fragile and broken. Caleb hated pity because it turned inward on him, made him pity himself, and he'd spiral somewhere dark because of it. But Landon never did that. He'd lost his own mother to breast cancer and hated being looked at that way just as much. I feel the tears before I even know I'm crying, and I wipe them away quickly with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, but he must notice because he pulls me closer without saying a word, and I stop fighting it and bury my face in his chest.

I hear what I think are Dayton’s footsteps on the stairs, his slightly heavier breathing confirming it. Landon doesn’t seem to notice — or doesn’t care — still holding tightly onto me. He’s about as tall as Dayton, maybe an inch taller at six-one, and I come up to the middle of both their chests.

“What’s wrong, Ellie-Bear?” Landon asks.

The nickname lands like a hand pressed flat against a bruise. Caleb used to call me that — my grandfather too — and for a second, the whole room feels smaller, like the air has been quietly let out of it. My breath catches, and my fingers start to count against Landon’s back — one, two, three — but I force them still, make myself just hold on instead.

I haven’t heard it from him in almost a year, and my whole chest aches with the weight of that. I tighten my hold on him.

“You’re not ready to be called that again, huh?” he asks gently.

I shake my head. My throat is too tight to form much, but I get the words out. “No. Not yet.”

“I understand.” He kisses the top of my head and squeezes me a little tighter.

“Wait.” I pull back just far enough to look up at him, keeping my hands on his arms. “We need to get back to talking about you. Why are you here? And why were you banging on my door like a wanted man?”

He laughs, and I feel it rumble through his chest before I hear it. “I may have broken into our rival high school and spread cow dung all over their locker room with a couple of friends. Turns out they’ve got a new alarm system, so the cops got called and we all split in different directions. I knew you were closer, so here I am.”

“Okay, wow.” I pull back from him. “That’s why you kind of stink.”

“Hey, no.” He pulls me back in. “I do not smell that bad.”

I laugh as he subtly tries to smell himself. “You do stink - more sweaty than like cow dung.”

He laughs, something warm and relieved in it. “So you’re saying I smell good. Aw, Ellie, you flatter me.”

I laugh even louder and muffle it against his chest again. He takes the opportunity to tighten his hold on me.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice dropping. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much this summer.”

“I know,” I say. “But you still called when you could. Summer’s always busy for you — it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I abandoned you like everyone else.” His grip tightens around me until I can feel the guilt in it — a physical thing, pressing the air from my lungs.

“You didn’t,” I say firmly. “You were at football camp, then summer training. I know it was hard to stay in contact, and it’s okay — I promise.” I pull back enough to look at him. “Now stop beating yourself up and tell me what you need. Because if I have to bail you out of jail tonight, I’m going to need to move some things around.” Something in his face shifts, the weight of it lifting just enough to let a reluctant smile through.

“No, I just needed a place to duck into.” He pauses, a flicker of something — curiosity, maybe suspicion — crossing his face. “And maybe your car. And also to know why Dayton is in your house.” He tilts his chin toward the stairs where Dayton disappeared.

“You are not taking my car,” I say. “And Dayton is a long story — but maybe he’ll give you a ride home and explain it himself.” As if on cue, footsteps land on the stairs: Dayton and Ryley heading down.

“Oh, perfect. Then all I need from you —” He pauses, his gaze drifting over my head for just a moment before it comes back to me, quieter now. “I need to know if you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I whisper back. “Thank you for caring, though.”

I drop my arms from around him and turn around. “It was nice to meet you, Ryley.”

Ryley walks all the way up to me and doesn’t stop until she has her arms around me. “It was nice meeting you, too, Ellie.”

I hug her back, and she leans in close. “Thank you for being so amazing to my brother,” she whispers. “I’ll look out for him and text you if anything changes.”

“Do you have my number?” I whisper back.

“I took it from his phone.” She steps back with a small smile.

“You sure, you’re okay with driving me home, buddy?” I hear Landon ask Dayton.

“Yeah, Lan, no problem,” Dayton says as he heads to the garage door.

“Wait — I need to grab something.” I take the stairs quickly and come back down with the lidocaine tube and a pair of gloves. “Here.” I hold them out to him. “Put this on if the swelling or pain gets worse. I’d use the gloves unless you want your hands to go numb, too.”

“Got it.” He nods, but doesn’t meet my eyes.

There it is — the slight withdrawal in his voice, the way he won’t meet my eyes. One moment open, the next already somewhere else. I’ve seen it before with him, and it still lands the same way every time. I don’t do well with people who run hot and cold, especially those I let get close.

Landon turns and pulls me into another hug. “Thank you for the shelter. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“See you then,” I hug him back, but he holds on for a second too long. “Are you okay?”

“That’s a long story too.” He lets out a long sigh.

I step closer and tighten my arms around him. He buries his head in the crook of my neck - not a good sign. “Can you both give us a minute? He’ll meet you in the garage.”

“Yeah, we can.” Ryley directs her brother toward the door, though he hesitates.

When I see the door close behind them, I ask, “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

“You know how my dad and step-mom were going through the adoption process this summer — after another lost pregnancy?” I nod, and he takes a slow breath before continuing. “They finally got through it all, and they adopted a baby girl. But she got sick, and at first they thought it was just ear infections. Turns out it’s a lot worse than that. They won’t know the full picture until she’s older, but she’s already showing signs of hearing loss.” He exhales through his nose. “They don’t mind her being deaf — that’s not the thing. They’re just crushed because they didn’t trust their instincts and get her seen sooner. So now they’re both blaming themselves, and my dad’s taking it out on my step-mom, and the whole house just feels like it’s holding its breath. My brother and I are basically the ones taking care of little Delilah.” Something softens in his face when he says her name. “You’d love her, Ellie. She’s really something. You should come over before the scrimmage — keep our yearly tradition going.”

A sick baby. Something contracts in my chest, small and sharp. My mind does what it always does — starts cataloging, sorting through possibilities, chronic ear infections pointing toward fluid buildup, immune issues, Eustachian tube problems — but I press it down and make myself look at Landon instead of the list forming in my head.

“I’m down for that, and I’m sorry. I’ll always be here if you want to escape it. You could bring her here, too.” I pull back to look him in the eyes.

“I’ll definitely do that.” He gives me one last hug. “I should get going, though. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

I watch him move toward the door and feel the familiar sting of it — the way he can close a door on something heavy and just keep walking.

“Okay.” The word comes out smaller than I mean it to, and I stand there holding it as I watch him go.

I turn off the alarm and head toward the garage door. When I open it, I catch Dayton’s look — tight jaw, eyes slightly averted, the particular kind of irritation that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with whatever is going on inside him. I want to say something, but the timing is wrong, so I just hit the button to open the garage. My phone rings before the door is halfway up. I don’t have to look to know it’s my mom — she can’t control the alarm remotely, but she gets a notification every time I turn it off or a sensor trips.

My mask falters when I look down and see that I was right. I hit accept and press the phone to my ear. I try to keep my face neutral, but both Dayton and Landon must catch something in it — Dayton stops backing out of the driveway, and Landon is already out of the car and moving toward me before I’ve said a word. I raise a hand when I see them coming, and they stop.

“Hi, Mom, is everything okay?” I ask.

“I got a notification that you turned off the alarm and opened the garage. I just wanted to know what you were up to, is all.” My mom sounds worried and out of breath.

My free hand finds my thigh without thinking, and I start counting — one, two, three, four, five — pressing each finger down like I’m holding something in place. I force my voice to stay level even as my breathing threatens to hitch.

It’s only about dinner time, so I scramble for a good reason. “I’m good, Mom, honest. I’m not going anywhere, just letting Cammy borrow my car. I don’t know if they told you, but Beth has her baby boy, and Cammy needed the car to take the boys out for dinner since they had nothing prepared at home.”

Landon starts moving toward me again, brows raised in concern. I must have really let my mask slip because Dayton is standing next to him now, worry etched across his face. I shake my head as my mom replies, “Oh, okay, that’s nice of you, love.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you or ask you first. I didn’t mean to worry you.” My voice wavers despite everything, and my eyes start to burn, so I look down at the driveway. My fingers have started twisting against my leg without my realizing it – and then two hands close over mine, stilling my left hand.

“All good, mi amor. You’re an amazing friend, and I know you didn’t mean to, love. It’s okay, but just let me know when you need to turn off the alarm, okay? I love you, mi amor.” She’s finally caught her breath.

“I will, Mom, I promise. I’m sorry for worrying you. I love you too.”

“Text me when you go to bed.”

“I will.”

I hang up and take a breath, clearing my throat quietly, blinking until my eyes stop burning. I steel my face the best I can before looking up at the two of them — still holding my hands, both watching me with the kind of steady attention that makes it harder, not easier, to hold it together.

“I’m okay, I promise,” I say as I look from Dayton to Landon. Neither of them looks convinced.

But Landon, knowing me best, pulls me into a hug, and I fight back the tears that want to come again as I hold on. With Dayton still gripping my hand and Landon’s arms around me, my breathing starts to find its way back to something close to normal.

She always worries when I do anything out of the ordinary — even from hundreds of miles away. It pulls me back every time, back to when it was the four of us, and then only three, and then just me here alone. Sports were mostly off the table growing up, and when they did let me try something, it had to be safe by their definition. I wanted to be a flyer when they finally agreed to cheer and dance — the first thing I was ever allowed to truly love — but I couldn’t, because it was too dangerous in their eyes. And when Caleb got really sick, even that went away. No competitions, no practice, because I couldn’t risk carrying anything home to him. It was always harder to breathe when he was sick, in more ways than one. I wasn’t allowed to see my friends or leave the house – fourteen years of that.

Now the only thing I have to brace for is the phone call. Texting her is easy — I can manage that, keep it contained. But hearing her voice like that, breathless and rushed, like she dropped everything the second the notification hit her phone — it reaches back through all of it and presses the air right out of me.

“You’re not, and that’s okay too. You know?” Landon pulls away.

I nod, not trusting my voice, and take a step back. I try not to dwell on the way they’re both still looking at me.

“You should go, you all need to get home,” I say, adding, “I’ll see you at school on Tuesday. Goodnight.”

I take another step back, releasing Dayton’s hand, until I’m in the doorway of the garage, but they both look at me like they’re not ready to leave. We stare at each other for a long moment before Ryley comes to the rescue.

She grabs both of their arms. “Come on, Dayton, you know we have curfew when he’s home. We really need to get going.”

I keep my face still, but something in me pulls tight for him. Dayton tenses — just a flicker, the set of his jaw — before he exhales. “Okay. Let’s go.” He looks at me. “Goodnight, Eleanor.”

I need to figure out how to solve their situation - it seems to be recurring more often than Dayton’s ‘not as often’ comment suggested. And I know a way, but I need to wait till I’m back at school. When Dayton starts to turn away, he leans in and whispers something into Landon’s ear.

I’m not sure what he said, but Landon closes the distance and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll text you. Goodnight, Ellie.”

“Goodnight, Lan.” The words come out softer than I intend as he steps away.

Then Dayton walks toward me while Landon gets into the back of the Jeep. Dayton moves me until we’re back inside the house and closes the door behind us.

“I’m not letting you build that mask back up.” He reaches up and pushes my hair behind my ear, his touch slow and careful, like he’s handling something that might break.

“What do you mean?” I don’t bother hiding the frustration this time. “You run so hot and cold — I genuinely can’t keep up with you.”

“I’ll call you, and we can talk about it then — but please just answer when I do. We’re not ending this conversation like this.”

“There was never a conversation. You’re being very confusing right now.” I cross my arms over my chest.

I’m completely lost. “Goodnight,” he says, and then he kisses my forehead — warm, unhurried — before stepping back through the door he’s already opened.

What the hell. I stand there for a second, watching their taillights disappear down the street, then roll my eyes and close the garage. I lock the front door, walk to the back, and flash the porch light once before heading upstairs.

I set my phone to do not disturb and leave it on the nightstand, then head back downstairs and out toward the side gate that opens into Cammy’s backyard. The night air is still warm, and I stand there in the quiet, waiting for her to let me in.