Chapter 7
7
Cade
I tap Charley on the shoulder. It’s the first time she’s been on the bus to go to an away game, and she’s sitting next to one of our equipment managers, staring out a foggy window. “Hi, fellow group member.”
She whirls, peering at me between the seats. “Do you usually sit here?” She darts her gaze at the other open seats as if she’d known, she would’ve sat somewhere else.
Why does that not surprise me?
I make myself comfortable in the luxe seats. “I usually sit in the back, but I saw you were sitting here, so?—”
“So, you thought you’d sit behind me like a creep?”
“Who said anything about being a creep?” I can’t keep my lips from tugging into a smile. “I’m your friend.”
“That’s a generous use of the definition of the word. We’re acquaintances at best.”
“Please. You know I’m starting to grow on you.”
“Like a fungus, maybe,” she retorts, her eyes sharp and calculating.
“Ew, do you have a fungus? As your friend, I have an obligation to tell you that you should probably take care of that.”
She sneers before turning around and pulling her plain black bag onto her lap. I switch my attention toward the glass pane to my right as the rest of the guys file onto the bus. Through the gap between the glass and her seat, I see her reflection in the haze of fog. Her eyes are open, troubled, clutching her bag like a buoy in rough waters.
She’s…intriguing. I’ll give her that. I keep getting sucked back in time and time again. If this was another girl, I would’ve given up by now. But she’s unlike any other girl I’ve met. I don’t have to try hard with women. They sort of just pop into view—perks of being on a respected college team and, subsequently, a big man on campus.
But Charley-not-Charlotte…is unamused by my popularity or my charms. It’s a shot to the ego and refreshing all at the same time.
Rifling in my bag, I attempt to settle in for the four-hour bus ride. I grab a piece of gum and slide it between the seat and the window. She sees it coming in the reflection, her worried gaze turning to stone in an instant. “Gum?” I ask.
She shakes her head, pulling away as if the gum is diseased.
Okay…
I dig some more into my bag after unwrapping and popping the gum into my mouth. Maybe gum isn’t her thing? The utter chaos of my Bulldog-blue overnight bag makes it difficult to find anything, but luckily, my hand closes around a Snickers bar.
“Hey,” I whisper, leaning forward.
She ignores me.
“Psst… Charley-not-Charlotte.”
Her hands leave clear streaks in the glass as she uses the window to help turn toward me. “Are you going to annoy me the entire trip?”
“I’m being helpful.” I hold up the Snickers with my best grin. “Do you want?”
“Why do you keep trying to feed me?”
“It’s a candy bar, not a four-course meal. Offering snacks to friends is normal.”
“There’s that loose definition again.” She turns around again, but this time, she sits straight. Her profile greets me in the reflection, marred by the clear streaks her fingers made. One of them slices right through her eye, her troubled expression stark.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Grief can come in waves. Some days, it’s as if I’m back on that field, leaning over Brady, except I understand that he’s dying. He’s dying right in front of me…and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s overpowering. Like a tsunami hitting the shores. From a distance, the fear is slow to come, then as it draws nearer, it’s inescapable. Complete devastation.
I don’t know much about Charley, but what I do know makes us kindred spirits. There’s the loss connection, but also, she can’t seem to do anything right when it comes to being Coach’s assistant. I’ve felt like that. I’ve been that person. Late when I wanted to be early. Mess up when I wanted to be perfect.
She hasn’t acknowledged my question, so I get closer. “Are you sure?”
She huffs, ripping open the front zipper on her bag and taking out ear buds before fixing them in place.
Well, that’s that. Smooth move, Cade.
I settle back just as the bus doors close and our driver pulls away from the curb. Soon, the sun will lower as dusk approaches. We’ll be corralled into the hotel and expected to adhere to curfews like we’re still impressionable teens.
My chances to get through to Charley probably just slipped past my fingers, like when the QB puts a little too much juice on his throw and I’m not fast enough to catch it.
I throw the unwanted Snickers bar into my bag and take out my own earbuds, shutting my eyes to the world for the next few hours.
The sharp movement of the bus jolts me awake. I blink, letting my eyes come into focus. Outside, the front of a hotel is lit up, and I wipe the glass with my forearm to clear the haze.
Ah, yes. I remember this place. Sophomore year, Reid, Lex, and I—along with a few others—snuck out to a nearby Applebee’s. The flirty waitress and I were getting along great until the coaching staff came in and ordered us to return to our rooms. I smile at the memory. Nowadays, I let the younger guys make stupid mistakes like getting caught past curfew or showing up late to the bus.
Per usual, we wait at the curb while an assistant runs in to get our keys.
“Charley,” Coach T barks.
In front of me, she doesn’t move. She must be out. I slip my fingers through the gap and poke her in the shoulder.
She lunges forward like I was going to tackle her again.
“Where is she?” Up front, Coach T narrows his gaze through the low light. “Charley!”
“Y-yes,” she stammers out, holding her hand above the seats.
Coach is a nice guy, but he’s impatient. His tight smile says it all when he crooks a finger at her, beckoning her forward. Scrambling, she rustles around with her backpack before nearly tripping past the equipment manager.
His low voice meets my ears just a few rows away. “Remember when we said you would check us in?”
“Yes, right. On it.” Coach moves out of the way so she can slip past. The bus makes a whistling noise far too loud for the silence while it lowers and the door opens for Charley to step out.
Her back ramrod straight, shoulders tight, I watch through the window and spy her staring up at the exterior of the hotel like she’s at the tiger cage at a zoo. The doors close behind her, and despite myself, my stomach clenches.
There’s just something up with her. She has no confidence whatsoever. I’m not sure another player on the team would even recall her name, and trust me, these guys are all about easy female targets. She slips into scenarios like an invisible ghost, and I know I don’t know her very well—or at all—but no one deserves to walk around unseen.
She returns a few minutes later, a folder in hand with the hotel’s insignia embossed on the front. Coach T whispers something to her, and her face blanches before he plucks a room key out of her grip and gets off the bus. The other coaches fall in line, and I swallow the sudden dryness in my throat when I realize she’s been given the task of distributing the room keys. Her deer-in-headlights look says it all.
I jump to my feet, grabbing my bag in the process, first in line. She peers up at me, and all of her earlier bravado is gone. The folder trembles a little. I gently relieve her of it, taking control of the situation.
“Listen up, dickheads,” I yell from the front, hefting the folder over my head like it’s a championship trophy. “I have the power.”
A chorus of whistles and laughter sounds, and I start calling out roommate pairs. One by one, they glide down the aisle, grabbing their keys from me. I nudge Charley into the front seat so they can pass by unobstructed, my arm rubbing against hers. A warmth breeches my bravado, settling into my skin like a caress. I stumble over the next name and am rewarded with jeers and teases. “M-Michaels here,” Aidan mimics when he takes his key, smiling from ear to ear.
I can’t imagine why Charley didn’t want to do this.
“Fuck off.” Our banter rolls off us easily, and he laughs while walking down the stairs. For the remaining pairs, each one of them teases me, stuttering out their names or making their voice crack like they’re prepubescent boys.
And for every one, I have a retort. A middle finger here, a Yo Mama joke there. Soon, it’s me, Charley, and the driver left on the bus, the air clearing with the empty space.
“This must be you.” I hold up the room key for Charlotte Heywood.
She takes it. “I guess I should thank you.” She shakes her head. “I mean, thank you. I wouldn’t have known what to do.”
“You’ll get it,” I tell her, pocketing my own key.
She takes the folder from me and attempts to stuff it in her bag. With a sigh, she removes the miniature Bulldog statue and sets it on the seat to make room.
“Aww, you’re in charge of little Chuck?” I pat his head. He’s the perfect mini replica of the original Charlie that sits on a pedestal in the quad on campus. It’s good luck to rub him on the way to a game, so transportable Chuck comes with us when we’re away. He gets set up on a table so when we exit the locker room, each of us can rub his head before taking the field.
“I’ve been told he’s essential to the team’s success.”
“Very. Do you realize you guys share a name?”
“Great. I share a name with a dog.”
“Not just any dog. I’ve never had a game without him. As far as I’m aware, he’s been a tradition since the eighties.”
“I feel so much better,” she says, rolling her eyes.
I want to laugh because no one can be this miserable. Instead, I give her a grin. “I’ll catch you in the morning. If Coach gave you a curfew, know he’s very strict about it.”
“I don’t plan on leaving my room,” she says, her lips a thin line.
“You know, you don’t give much for people to go on.”
Her empty gaze meets mine and then shifts away again. Case in point, but at least I’ll take the hint.
“See you in the morning, Charley Heywood.”
She doesn’t respond, and when I peer over my shoulder before walking down the bus stairs, she’s checking messages on her phone. I’m dying to peek, to get insight into what kind of person she is. What kind of wallpaper does she use on her phone? A picture? I doubt it. She seems like a monotone girl to me. It’s probably black or dark blue.
She starts tapping at her keyboard, and now I’m wondering who she’s talking to. A friend? Family? I’ve never had anyone so closed off from me.
I file all of the info away and get off the bus. It’s been a long day, and I know if I attempt small talk, she’ll throw up roadblocks again.
With my bag pulled up my shoulder, I wave to the dude at the front desk. My teammates are milling around, some of them sitting in the lobby, others raiding the small store for some last-minute snacks before curfew hits. A few more are waiting for the elevator, so I join them next to a couple with a young girl. She holds the hand of a doll in a tiny fist, the other firmly in her daddy’s grip.
“What’s your doll’s name?” I ask.
“Evie,” she says softly.
“Well, that’s a pretty name.”
She smiles up at me at the same time the elevator dings, announcing its arrival. My teammates let the family on first and then they pile in after. When I step in, the little girl’s cute voice whispers, “Are we going to get smooshed, Daddy?”
The guys all chuckle. Luckily, the door closes without issue, and I await the fourth floor. By the time it’s my turn, the couple and the little girl are the only ones left on the elevator. I wink at her and get off, then take a look at my room key again to see what number I’m in.
435. I’d have preferred an even number, but it’ll be fine. Back in the day, we would switch rooms with our teammates if we didn’t like the vibe, but the coaching team cut down on that when it was brought to their attention that in case of an emergency, their records needed to be right. I snap a picture of the number and send it to the group chat.
Responses start coming in immediately.
Lex: You’re dropping a pass tomorrow, bro. Sorry.
Me: Dude. Fuck off.
Reid: He’s right. Those are a whole bunch of odd numbers.
Me: It’s two to one.
Lex: We don’t make the rules.
Briar: You guys are ridiculous. Cade, go out there and have the best game of your life.
Me: Thanks, sis.
Briar: Or maybe you’ll tackle another unsuspecting girl on the sidelines.
Me: Right through the heart. You guys aren’t playing around tonight. Don’t worry, that girl is the coldest person I’ve ever met in my life.
Reid: I can picture it now.
Reid: Cade: Hey girl. *flicks non-existent hair* You liked having my body all over you, didn’t you?
Reid: Girl: Actually, it kind of hurt, and why are you doing that thing with your neck? Do you need assistance?
Reid: Cade: *rubbing his six-pack* You know how it is. So, since part of me has already been on you, maybe we should make it official and go on a date?
Reid: … (person is typing)
Me: Wow. You’re still going. Okay. I didn’t know my best friend turned into Shakespeare.
Briar: He’s avoiding studying game plays.
Reid: Girl: Sorry, I don’t date guys who physically attack women, and seriously, are you sure you’re okay? Do you have a stomachache? A twitch and a stomachache? I’m worried about your health.
Reid: Cade: *flashes his signature cocky smile that he thinks makes girls cream their panties* Well, I?—
Reid: Girl: *walks away because she’s scared she might catch whatever he has*
Reid: Yeah, bro, she’s really cold for no reason.
…
…
Lex: HAHAHA. Why does this sound so accurate?
Me: Oh, you’re done now?
Briar: That was actually quite good. Maybe after you retire from being the best quarterback in NFL history, you can write books!
Reid: Sounds like you only want my money. Keep me working.
Briar: No, there’s something else I want more.
Lex: Oh, here we go. Have a good game tomorrow, Cade. I’m sure that girl is cold to everyone. You two, I’d say Reid should study his playbook, but you’re probably not going to respond anyway.
Me: Yeah, they’re gone. Night, dude.
Lex: Night.
I smile at my phone, shaking my head. I re-read the texts Reid sent with his little story. I don’t do that. Rub my six-pack. Please.
I still, my free hand on my stomach. Shit .
Tugging my shirt down, I toss my bag onto the desk and fall back onto the mattress. It creaks, depressing under my weight. A flat TV is directly across from the bed, flanked by two plain wall sconces. Above my head, the same two sconces are affixed just above the nightstands, and between them, an abstract painting made from pastel watercolors.
All hotel rooms start to look the same during the season, but I don’t take it for granted that I’m one of the lucky ones that get my own room. Being a fifth-year senior comes with its perks.
A knock sounds on the door. I pull myself off the bed, noting the tile floor as I walk to the other side of the room. Peering through the peephole, I close my hand around the door even tighter when I see who it is. Charley Heywood.
Well, this is interesting.
I pull the heavy dark wood door open and smirk, but it quickly falls off my face when she peers up at me, unshed tears in her eyes. “I need your help.”