The Beautiful Truth

// 118

"Heyyyyy...there's our girl!" Chase cheered the familiar greeting as soon as I walked in the door.

Walking into their house was like a breath of fresh air at times like these, which were the usual these days. No tension, no awkwardness, and no elephant-in-the-room-yet-to-be-released album hanging out on my bedside table. I shut the door behind me and smiled gratefully.

"Dinner's on the table, eat up," Travis ordered.

I wrinkled my forehead. I doubted I'd ever get used to the two of them treating me almost as if I were their kid at times. "Yes, dads."

I slipped around to my seat while Chase opened a beer for me at the sink. He pushed an Anchor Steam toward me when he joined me at the table.

By now, they knew the score—I missed Barton, but didn't want to see him; I missed Talyn, but didn't know what to say to him. They knew the album would be out in a matter of days, and that the band was leaving town, so Micki was a little preoccupied for the time being. And, they knew, now, how much I loved football—mostly because of Talyn—and because they knew all this, and understood why I was so...sad...they'd invited me over to watch the ESPN Thursday night game, because coincidentally, USC was playing at Notre Dame.

Of course they'd played it off as the only time they'd be able to sit and watch a whole game with me...what with playing themselves every Saturday, but I knew better. I was grateful, though, that they continued to play dumb.

We ate. As habit dictated, I cleared the table when we were done. Travis found the game in the living room at the front of the house, and Chase played bartender for me.

"More beer, or are you on to booze, princess?"

I smiled at nothing as I cleared the last of the dishes from the oversized table. "Well, I guess it depends. What are we doing after this?"

"Oh! My God, Travis, she's in it for the long haul!" Chase exclaimed.

I grinned, rolling my eyes. "I mean, it is Thursday."

"GGT's for you," Chase decided. "I've never seen anybody down those like you."

I shrugged. "I drink slow when there's a...game on."

An SC game.

"There he is...King of the Colise-ee-um..." Travis sang like the old Miss America theme.

I walked casually into the other room to catch Talyn tossing those perfect, long spirals as he warmed up on the field in Indiana. My posture said I was mildly interested, but as always, I was rapt.

So far this year, I'd noticed two things—first of all, despite being the captain of a generally mediocre Trojan team, Talyn had never been more adored. Everything I watched or read, no one had a bad thing to say about him. I was impressed and proud; after having been so full of doubt last spring, he'd continued at USC and was the optimistic, enthusiastic leader the program so desperately needed. Despite having a .500 record and playing with no chance at a bowl game for two years, his team was...excited. And Jesus God, the media loved Talyn. He was making for a very interesting story, leading this half-team.

Well, that, and he was incredibly articulate for a nineteen year-old student-athlete. This kid would never need those media classes the NCAA and NFL provided for their rising stars—he more often than not left reporters laughing or swooning.

The second thing I noticed? He still kept my initials on the insides of his wrists.

It was an incredible game. Talyn and his team of misfits squeaked out a ridiculous win—the SC defensive line, which had to this point in the season been less 'hit' than 'miss,' stopped a Notre Dame drive six yards from the goal...and then forced the next three downs (including one for a loss) to end the game and collect the 'W' 28-24.

Even Chase and Travis were impressed. Knowing my company, I kept my celebration to a subdued minimum.

I was finishing the last of my second giant GGT when Erin Andrews caught Talyn on his way to the locker room.

"Oh jeez," Chase teased. "What's golden boy got to say for himself now?"

I laughed and rolled my eyes. Travis got up for another beer.

"Well, Talyn, it's been the story all season—how is USC going to carry on after the sanctions—"

"One game at a time, Erin," Talyn interrupted her in his most twangy accent.

Behind me on the couch, Chase sniffed. I elbowed his shin.

"Jesus, you're bony as hell!" Chase complained, grabbing his injured limb dramatically.

"Shut up! I can't hear!" I turned around as if to punch him, laughing as I did so. Talyn was giving credit to his d-line in the background. I knocked my drink over, flailing.

"Oh! You're fuckin' done, Sawyer!" Chase laughed as I threw my arms up in defeat.

I shook my head at myself and laughed some more. Travis walked back over behind the couch and nodded toward the screen. I finally straightened up and turned to see Talyn, next to Erin, scratching the back of his head. My initials were in plain view. I smiled, briefly transfixed again.

"Oh, and hey," he grinned at the pretty blond reporter, "I'd just like to thank God, and my momma for giving me the gifts I needed to win tonight."

We winked into the camera. I let out a quick breath of astonishment as Travis snickered behind me.

I laughed, almost as quickly as I'd scoffed, still staring at the TV.

"What about your dad?" Erin asked off the cuff. By now, we all (America) knew Talyn'd been coached by his daddy in high school.

Talyn smiled. "Oh and him, too, although if I know him, he's in his field house watchin' tape, getting' ready for Sullivan West tomorrow and not givin' any thought to this game. Y'all have a good night."

He flashed his million-dollar smile one more time before trotting off to the showers.

"He misses me," I breathed, smiling in relief, unwilling to look away from the TV.

"Well of course he does," Chase said matter-of-factly.

I shook my head. "No, no, I told him once when we were in high school that if he ever got on the radio or TV and said some Varsity Blues Johnny Mox bullshit about 'I wanna thank God and my momma' I'd find him and punch him in the face."

They both stared at me and laughed incredulously.

"Good thing he did that at Notre Dame, or I bet we'd be driving to LA tonight," Travis grinned.

I laughed again. I was so relieved. He'd thought of me. He didn't hate me after all.

"As if he could," Chase reassured me a while later on our way to Phi Delt.

I skipped ahead, giddy, knowing that, despite everything, there was still something left. Was that inside joke my olive branch?

"Hey, I'll be in in a second, OK?"

Chase and Travis nodded as I pulled out my phone. Travis grinned. "Tell him we said hello..." he gave me a faux-evil laugh.

I stepped to the side of their front deck and dialed Talyn's cell number.

He didn't answer, but I did finally leave a message.

"Hey TJ, good game, guy, and I...well, you know...what I really called for was to tell you to consider yourself punched in the face." I laughed softly. "You looked great out there. Call me."

I shrugged and shivered, knowing the warmth of my favorite frat house was only feet away. Before I even got to the door, my phone vibrated with a text.

From Talyn.

Still not ready to talk, SF. Just figure it's easier this way for the time being. At least know that I do miss you...;)

I triumphantly entered the frat house, found my friends and celebrated two personal victories: one I hadn't even known I'd wanted—interest...Hollywood interest in my script, and the other I'd wanted for months now: the weight of not having heard from my best friend had lifted.

And in its place, there was hope.