Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Your Girl
Jameson Sinclair
I wake up to being jostled far too aggressively.
“Are you asleep or dead?” Nash asks in a dubious tone.
I shove his hand away from my shoulder.
“I’m a deep sleeper,” I grumble and rub my eyes. “Why are you waking me up? We don’t have practice or a game.”
“What if I said it was the next day and you were going to be late to class?”
I drop my hands from my face and scramble to a seated position, wincing when pain shoots through my knee.
My fuzzy surroundings come into focus. I’m in our living room.
The last thing I recall was limping in here, muttering something to Nash about the bargain I made and giving him my phone.
I must have crashed right after. The exhaustion of the past few weeks combined with all the physical exertion of today must have gotten to me.
I glance at our living room window and scowl when I find the sky dark.
Nash laughs. “I was speaking hypothetically.”
“More like idiotically,” I growl, and lean back against the cushions again.
His grin doesn’t fall. He plops an ice pack onto my knee, making me tense in pain again. Then he drops my phone onto my chest.
“Red texted you. Figured that was important enough to wake you up, since she was important enough to risk sitting out a season.”
I glare at him. “My knee is just sore. At most, I’ll miss a game.”
“Mm-hmm, sure.” He taps the phone on my chest. “Answer your girl who’s not actually your girl because you’re too scared to do what I said.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferable?” I mutter, and pick it up.
“Yes. Paisley. About five minutes ago.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “Let me guess, you got her number from my phone and now you’re tormenting her?”
“Was that not what I was supposed to do?” He smirks and shrugs in a far from innocent manner. “My bad.”
I shake my head and open my messages. Nash heads into our kitchen and flips open a pizza box I don’t remember being there.
Marigold: Paisley won’t show me the picture she sent as proof of me sleeping. How bad is it? How many pillows should I throw at her face?
“Paisley sent a picture of Marigold?” I ask Nash as he returns with a slice of pizza and a napkin. He hands them to me. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, and I sent her one of you. Hopefully that was what you meant by a bargain. You didn’t explain much before you crashed.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, swipes a few times, then flips it toward me. Marigold is curled up on a pile of blankets, her red curls splayed across a pillow. She looks relaxed, and the sight makes me smile. I hope this helps her feel better.
“And the one you took of me?” I question.
Nash pockets his phone. “Not for you to see.”
“Did you and Paisley make some kind of pact not to show us?” I let out a frustrated laugh. “I should get to see a picture of myself.”
Nash shrugs. “Too late. I already deleted it. I’m deleting Marigold’s next. I was only waiting to show you.”
“As I said before. You’re insufferable.”
“You know, the word doesn’t sting as much when it’s repeated,” Nash says thoughtfully before walking back into the kitchen and grabbing a slice for himself.
I ignore his stupid smirk and text Marigold back.
Jameson: Nash won’t show me the one he took of me either.
I don’t comment on how she looks, because I won’t lie, and I don’t know that she’s ready to hear—or rather, read—me saying I think she’s the most beautiful woman to ever set foot on the planet.
Marigold: I say we team up and take them both down.
My smile returns at her message. If she’s bringing up the idea of us as a team, maybe she’s softening.
Jameson: And to think I thought getting some sleep would make you less violent.
Marigold: You know me better than to think that.
My chest tightens. I do know her. And I’m tired of holding that in tension with this heartbreaking distance.
I set my phone down and let my head fall back against the couch, balancing the pizza on my abdomen.
The nap helped, and I’m sure eating will too, but there’s a throbbing pain in my knee and a stabbing pain in my chest.
I can’t keep doing this.
“I tried to tell you,” Nash says from where he’s leaning against the archway to our kitchen. “The longer you drag this out, the worse it’s going to be.”
I know I didn’t say that out loud, so he must just be able to tell from my body language that I’m not doing well.
“I needed to show her that I care about her. I’m glad I’ve taken things slow, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”
“Paisley said she heard you tossed Marigold over your shoulder. That was after walking, like, five blocks to get to her on an already hurt knee.”
“Yeah?” I push myself more fully upright, grabbing the pizza so it doesn’t fall. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“How long are you going to bend over backward for her without telling her how you feel?” Nash asks. My stomach clenches at the mere thought of doing that. “Because until you do, nothing is going to change.”
“She’s softening,” I say, hearing the defensiveness in my tone.
“I’m glad. And maybe it was good that you gave it some time. You know her best.” I wince at his unknown prodding of a bruise. “But this can’t go on forever. Eventually, you’re going to have to lay it all on the table.”
I take a bite of my lukewarm pizza and think on his words.
On one hand, I feel like my plan has been working.
Progress has been painfully slow, but it’s there.
On the other, Nash is right. Marigold and I can’t move on until we address the past. Because even when we do have great moments, it’s not long before the past sneaks back in and taints everything.
“Maybe you’re right,” I hedge.
“I tend to be in these situations.”
“Why, because you’ve dated half the women on campus?” I can’t help but throw a jab after he’s acted so impish.
“No,” he laughs, unbothered by my words. “Because I have six sisters.”
My eyes bulge. I barely manage not to choke on a bite of pizza.
“Six?” I wheeze.
“Yep. I’m the youngest.”
“I can’t imagine having that many siblings,” I say with a shake of my head. “Or raising seven kids.”
“My mom says seven represents completion and perfection in the Bible, so they stopped at seven,” Nash says, then winks. “I like to think God gave me to them last because I’m perfect.”
I snort. “I bet your sisters love to hear you say that.”
His grin widens. “It’s their favorite. Just like me.” He turns and grabs another slice of pizza. “So, are you going to take my advice now that you know I’m an expert on women?”
I laugh again. “Your situation with Paisley begs to differ. But yes, I think I’ll try to talk to her soon. I don’t want to stay in this cycle of highs and lows.”
He bobs his head. “Good. And as for Paisley … that’s going exactly how I want it to.”
I raise a disbelieving brow. “Whatever you say.”
“Just trust me,” he replies with a mischievous grin.
I don’t say anything more, my mind drifting toward Marigold as it always does.
She’s my North Star, after all. Nash turns on the TV, sensing I’m done talking, and I stare blankly as I comb through everything I’ve wanted to say for the past few months.
I’m sure it will all come out differently once I actually get to talk to her.
But I still spend the rest of the night thinking of how best to tell my best friend I’m sorry and that I love her.