Chapter 8
8
Charley
B efore Cade offers to help, I push past him. This is not a conversation to be had out in the hallway where anyone could hear. Tugging my shaking hands through my hair, I start to pace.
This is bad. This is so bad.
A figure steps into view, and I peer up to find Cade staring at me, a quizzical expression on his face.
Why did I come here again?
The answer rings immediately in my brain. Because he’s the only one here who knows you actually exist…besides Coach . And I definitely cannot go to Coach right now.
“Hey,” he says, reaching out to place firm hands on both my shoulders. He squares up with me, and for the first time, I’m able to assess him up close. He’s quite a bit taller than me, his frame lithe, yet muscular. But right now, it’s the concerned look in his eyes that undoes me.
“I—”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
His intense gaze roams all over me, sparking my skin to buzz as if it’s pulsating. Coupled with the worry in his voice, I’m struck silent.
With a deep breath, I pull my shoulders back and glare at his ear, so I won’t be able to see the look in his gaze when I tell him what happened. “I don’t know where Chuck is.”
He’s mute for a moment and curiosity gets the best of me. When I flick my stare to his, I immediately regret it. He’s stricken. “You?—”
“He was in my bag, but when I finally made it into my room after talking briefly with Coach about anything he might need me to do tonight, I put my bag on the bed to organize things for tomorrow, open it, and it’s…” I swallow. “Not there. He’s gone. Gone, Cade.”
Cade’s arms start to tremble, and then I realize it’s not him, it’s me. He squeezes my shoulders, kneading the pad of his thumbs above my collarbone. “We’ll find it.”
“Find it?” I grit out. “It’s gone .”
“Did you leave your bag anywhere by itself?”
I close my eyes, my foot tapping against the tile. Every time I try to think about what I did on the way to my room, the history of the statue rears up to haunt me. How it’s been a thing since the eighties. Their good luck charm. Not to mention that Coach T entrusted me with the responsibility of bringing it to the locker room tomorrow. I swear, the man already regrets hiring me. This will push him over the edge.
No job. No money. No way of leaving my dad’s house.
Oh God. I did leave my bag unattended.
I blow out a shaky breath, and Cade leads me backward until my heels hit the bed frame. He lowers me down to a seated position, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
I was messaging with the food delivery driver over the app, pleading with him to please take the food I ordered inside the house for Dad, even though he’s not supposed to. I tipped him forty extra bucks to do it. But the whole time, I had stopped, dropped my bag, then wandered off and paced while I attempted to make arrangements with this guy to take my orders for tomorrow, too. I was so wrapped up in what I was doing, I almost walked off without my bag when I was done.
Stupid—
“Hey, come back to me.” Cade lifts my chin, making me stare into his eyes. “Everything will be okay.”
“Okay?” I stand, effectively pushing Cade Farmer away from me. “I lost him!”
“Then we’ll find him.” He shrugs, that smug little smirk on his face.
His smile sends me over the edge. I’ve seen Cade around campus. I’ve been in his classes. He’s a typical male’s male. Every guy wants to be him, and all the girls want to sleep with him. He never walks down the hallways alone. He never eats alone in the cafeteria. I’ve heard him say more words in one conversation than I probably say in a year.
Bitterness eats a heart-sized hole in me until it bubbles to the surface in a spew of jealousy. “Imagine being the person everything works out for. It must be so nice to have the confidence you do. Oh, the statue is lost? Well, we’ll just find it. I wish I’d thought of that.”
His eyes shutter for a moment, and guilt makes my chest twinge.
“Sorry,” I whisper, remembering what he said about losing his friend. I’ve been nothing but a bitch to him since I met him, yet here I am, at his room for help because he’s the only one who sees me. It’s like I can’t stop the bitterness sometimes. Like my feet are always in a boiling pot of anger and I’m just waiting for everything to bubble to the surface.
He takes a deep breath, his hands moving up my shoulders to my neck where his thumbs trace small circles. “Tell me when you had him last.”
I almost don’t catch what he said. I’m not used to being touched. At that moment, my body decides to focus on each swirl of the pad of his thumb. The nerve endings awakening under his movements. It’s as if I’m a desert and he’s the thirst quencher.
His head tilts, and— Good lord, I’ve been staring at him like a mental patient on drugs. I take a step away so I can think. Where did I have the statue last?
“In the lobby of the hotel,” I finally answer. “I was texting…my dad.” The lie comes easily. No way I want to tell him that even though I bought a cartful of groceries and had plenty of non-perishable food within reach, my dad decided to text, cussing me out because he wanted a hot meal, like there’s something I can do about it hundreds of miles away. “He was worried about me.” Another fib. A giant one, but one that makes me sound normal, so I don’t feel bad. “I wasn’t paying attention to the bag, so maybe someone came by and stole it?”
“Your whole bag?”
“No, that’s in my room.”
“Let’s start there,” Cade offers. He places a solid hand on my shoulder, leading me toward the door. My skin pricks at the contact. The sensation filters through the embarrassment and nerves, filling me with warmth. Again, it’s all I can focus on. My thin shirt absorbs the cradle of his palm, the distinct five fingers pressing into me. When Cade’s hand drops, leaving me…alone, a chill runs up my spine, as if the air is suddenly cooler.
The elevator dings in front of us, and we take the sterile silver box to the first floor. Cade checks his watch, worrying over his lip.
“What’s wrong?”
“My curfew is at eight.”
“Mine too. What time is it?”
“Ten till.”
My shoulders droop, and I run my sweaty palms over my hips, waiting for the elevator to ding, announcing we’ve arrived on the main floor. As soon as the doors open, I step out, making a beeline to my room, swiping my key, and ushering Cade inside.
I gesture toward my bag on the bed, and Cade immediately moves in that direction. He unzips it all the way, searching through my things, and I cringe when he pulls out my white Walmart bra along with my cotton panties.
“I think you’d notice if there was a miniature Bulldog statue in there by now,” I snap, pushing him not-so-subtly out of the way with my hip while I return my undergarments to the bag.
“I was being thorough.”
I glance at him, attempting to read his face. One of the things that’s so unnerving about Cade Farmer is I can never tell when he’s kidding or not.
“I’m calling the front desk.”
“For what? If someone stole it out of my bag, they’re not going to turn it in.”
“Maybe it fell out.”
I roll my eyes, but he goes to the phone in the room while I plop down on the bed, my arms outstretched across the sheets, cursing my life.
“Hi, ma’am, how are you this evening?”
Charm oozes off him like the sweetest frosting covered in sugar. I wonder if he even knows he does it, or if it’s automatic for him. I’ve never met anyone this nice before.
“Well, I’m in a bit of a pickle. Did anyone happen to turn in a small statue of a bulldog to the front desk? Maybe about ten inches tall? Carved out of stone?”
Pause.
“Yes, I’ll hold. Thank you.” Then in a whisper, he says, “They’re checking.”
I give him a quick salute before letting my hand fall to the bed like it’s lost all fight. It could be anywhere. Maybe Coach took it when he saw my bag sitting there? Or one of the other players? Or worse, something more nefarious?
Every Warner student knows about our rivalry with Hamilton. Things have died down since the firework scandal, but maybe they were planning something like this and I made it too easy for them.
What a nightmare.
Cade sighs. “Okay, I appreciate you checking for me. If someone does, would you mind calling this room?” He waits a beat before saying, “Thank you. Have a good night.”
I cover my face with my hands. The bed depresses near my head, and I’m jostled that way. “No luck,” he says like I wasn’t listening in on his side of the conversation.
I draw in a huge breath through my nose, trying to stay calm. My phone pings in my pocket, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Dad, and I really don’t want to add another stressor right now. I’ve been a bundle of nerves since I found out Coach expected me to travel with the team. I’ve never spent a night away from my dad since I was in elementary school and used to attend sleepovers like a normal kid. That was back when he could still move. When my life had some semblance of normalcy.
“Okay, let’s think about this rationally. You had the statue on the bus because I saw it when you tried to stuff the folder into your bag.”
I gasp, my eyes flying open. I shoot up, twisting to face him, my fingers fisting the white comforter. “ The bus .”
“You never brought it into the hotel? You said it was in your bag.”
“I—” My mouth works but no sound comes out for a second. “I don’t know. I was texting my dad… Maybe I never put it back in my bag?”
His shoulders sag for the first time, showing uncertainty. “I happen to know that they lock the bus doors overnight.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, checking his watch on his free one. “It’s five minutes past curfew.”
“I need to get on that bus.” I close my eyes like I can shield myself from what’s next. “Coach is going to be so pissed. But there’s nothing I can do. I have to ask. The alternative is him realizing I don’t have the statue tomorrow, and then everyone’s going to be pissed at me.”
Look at that, everyone will finally know I exist, but it’ll be for a terrible reason. Fitting for my life.
“I’ll tell him I have medication that I left on the bus.” I sit up with a sigh, watching this all play out in my head. He’ll have to wake the bus driver. Maybe they’re already in their pajamas. Or asleep.
“I’ll do it.”
“What?”
Cade stands. “I’ll do it. I’ll call Coach and tell him I have to get on the bus.”
His offer plants up a warmth in my chest. “I can’t let you do that,” I murmur.
“Yes, you can.”
He moves toward the phone, and I scramble over the bed and grab his arm. “You’ve already done so much for me.”
A surprised expression greets me. He peers down at his hand where I’m holding him and then up to my face. I drop his hand like it’s a hot potato, and his answering grin is like a speaker on full blast. “Not to be that confident person you don’t like, but I’m Coach’s star wide receiver. Sure, I might get a lecture about planning, but I’m not going to get in that much trouble.”
My dry throat cracks as I attempt to swallow. “But what are you going to tell him you left?” I feel like a shitty person for considering this. Time after time, Cade has saved me in this job.
He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out when I talk to him. Where’s the folder with everyone’s room number on it?”
I lean over the bed and grab it, opening it to the list of every single Warner University football player and staff. I find Coach’s name and point at it. 127.
Without hesitation, Cade dials the number. He turns, his finger twisting in the telephone cord. “Hey, Coach. I’m sorry, I know it’s past curfew, but I just realized I left something on the bus.”
I step closer, hoping I can hear Coach’s side of the conversation. Whatever he’s saying, his tone is sharp.
“Yeah, I need it tonight. I’m sorry.”
Pause.
“Okay, I’ll call her. Thanks, Coach. Don’t worry, I’ll have the best game tomorrow to make it up to you.” Cade pauses before he chuckles. “Yeah, good night.” Turning with a glint in his eye, he says, “See, it wasn’t so bad.”
I crawl off the bed and stand. “What did he say?”
Cade hangs up the phone, and when he stands to full height again, his eyes round. He takes in the short amount of distance separating us before saying, “He reiterated that I’m his favorite wide receiver of all time and that he would do anything to make sure I’m comfortable tonight.”
I laugh, my stomach tightening with the effort.
His gaze drags across my face. “I like it when you laugh.”
I stop, pressing my lips together. I fight for them to stay that way, but Cade grinning at me from ear to ear makes it impossible. Finally, I give in.
“See?” he asks, reaching up to brush a thumb over my cheek. “Beautiful.”
His description is sobering—and one big lie. I step away, clearing my thoughts. I don’t talk until I’m on the other side of the bed. “What did he tell you to do?”
“He told me to call his shy assistant who doesn’t realize how pretty she is for the bus driver’s number.”
“Cade.”
“Charley.”
I swallow. I’ve never had to deal with anyone who used sweet words to lull people into getting what they want. In fact, it’s not fair. Despite myself, there’s something in me that preens when he calls me Charley. Not Charley-not-Charlotte, and definitely not Charlotte. But he knows my name. “But I don’t actually know his number.”
“Let’s see,” Cade says, grabbing the folder and reading down the list. “Ben Fields. Here we go. It’s his cell number.”
“You know the bus driver’s name?”
“He’s been driving our team since I was a freshman. Cool dude.” He pulls his phone out and dials the number with ease, no worried expression on his face. It’s crazy how effortlessly he does things. Second-guessing himself doesn’t seem to be in his repertoire. “Mr. Fields, hi. It’s Cade Farmer. Sorry to bother you so late, but I’m pretty sure I left something on the bus.” He nods. “Yeah, I got the okay from Coach to go get it. Can we meet by the bus in five?” His smile widens. “Perfect. See you then.”
He hangs up and turns the full force of his charm on me. “We’re all set. Chuck will be in your hands in no time, and no one will be the wiser that our game was almost ruined before it even started.”
“You really believe that?”
“Oh, I’m extremely superstitious. I almost threw up when you told me you lost him.”
“Cade!”
He shrugs. “Listen, I don’t make the rules. We need Chuck to win this game tomorrow.”
He strides around the side of the bed and reaches out to touch my forearm. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
That same warmth threatens to take hold, but his touch is so brief that it fades fast. So much so that by the time the hotel door closes behind him, I can’t feel it anymore.