4. Only Time Will Tell
4
Foster
The gym at the practice facility is full to capacity, the entire Bandits team here to work out now that the football season is once again approaching. Our team won the national championship last year, an unheard-of accomplishment for a team in its first season. But we pulled it off, and now we have even more to prove.
That it wasn’t a fluke. That we really are that good, and we deserved the title.
That we can do it again.
I exhale as I push the bar up from my chest for the tenth time. Porter has been spotting me, and he helps me guide it onto the rack. Then I sit up and mop the sweat from my face with my towel.
“So, how are things going with Hadley?” he asks as he rounds the wide bar and moves in beside me.
I see Riggs and Miles perk up on the treadmills next to me, the latter pulling his earbuds out to hear my answer. My muscles tense as I peer up at him.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re staying at her B&B, right? I was just wondering how it was going.”
“Oh.” Of course, that’s what he meant. There was no other way to logically interpret his words, right? “Yeah, everything is good. The house is great, and she’s been very accommodating.”
I flinch at the word even before Porter snickers, saying, “Accommodating, huh? Just how accommodating has she been?”
“Shut up, Crawford,” Riggs barks, then looks at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say defensively.
“Bullshit,” he says, shutting down his treadmill and stepping off to move in next to Porter. “You only use big words when you’re stressed.”
“That’s not true,” I argue. “I have an extensive vocabulary.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Miles says, hopping off his own treadmill and joining us. “Riggs is right. What’s going on?”
I heave a sigh and shake my head. “I don’t think Hadley really wants me there.”
Miles frowns, then shoots Riggs a look. Riggs gives him an almost imperceptible shake of the head, and Miles’ frown deepens. When they look back at me, they’re both wearing blank expressions.
“What was that?” I ask.
“What was what?” Miles fires back.
I cock my head. “That little telepathic conversation you two just shared.”
“Yeah, I saw it, too,” Porter adds.
“Nothing,” Miles says, nudging me over so he can sit down next to me. “Tell us what happened, and we’ll try to help you figure out what’s going on.”
I lay out the whole story for them, and while Riggs and Porter try to keep a straight face, Miles lets his humor flow. My elbow connects with his ribcage, and he grunts before wiping the smile off his face.
“You said you tripped going up the steps and hit your face on the porch railing,” Miles says, studying my bruised face. “I knew there was no way Foster McKenna could be that clumsy.”
“She was probably just nervous,” Riggs says as I shrug in response, his voice firm with confidence.
“Nervous? Why would she be nervous? She has strangers stay under her roof all the time, and we actually know each other. She should be less nervous with me than anyone else.”
Riggs and Miles have another one of those weird, silent conversations, and I’ve had enough. I open my mouth to demand answers, but Porter beats me to it.
“There it is again. What is going on with you two?” he asks.
“She might be used to having regular people as guests, but this is the first time she’s had a big-time football champion under her roof,” Riggs says without missing a beat.
I narrow my eyes. He’s lying. He and Miles know something, but I’ve known them both long enough to know I won’t be getting any answers until they’re good and ready to give them. Heaving a sigh, I look down at the black ink swirling across my forearm.
“I think she’s afraid of me,” I say in low tones.
“That’s ridiculous,” Miles says. “She’s definitely not afraid of you.”
Riggs coughs at that, a loud, forced sound that doesn’t sound at all natural. Before I can call him out on it, Miles clears his throat and goes on.
“It’s nothing. Hadley was probably just embarrassed she head-butted you yesterday. Give it a day or so. I’m sure she’ll go back to acting like everything’s normal once that impressive shiner fades away.”
I reach up and touch my cheekbone absentmindedly. It doesn’t really hurt anymore, but a look in the mirror this morning showed me a dark purple bruise spreading toward my eye. I’d flinched at my reflection, not because of vanity, but because I didn’t want Hadley to see it and feel even worse.
So I’d snuck out without breakfast and came straight here.
Could that really be it? Riggs and Miles’ strange behavior aside, they could have a point. Hadley is a little on the shy side, and she was probably mortified by what happened even though it was technically my fault for startling her.
I nod, and Miles claps me on the back before standing and heading back to his treadmill. Riggs follows suit, and Porter moves back to his spotting position while I lay back down on the bench and prep for my last set.
Hopefully, they are right, and things with Hadley will get less tense as the days go by. They have to, or I might have to take pity on her and find somewhere else to stay.
I guess only time will tell.
Hadley’s standing behind the desk, reading something on her computer screen when I walk through the front door. Her eyes rake down from my hair––still damp from my shower––to my feet, then shoot back up, zeroing in on the bruise on my face. Her cheeks pinken with another blush, then she clears her throat and stiffens her spine as she looks back down at the screen.
“How was your workout?” she asks without meeting my gaze.
“Good. Productive. Sorry I missed breakfast.”
She shakes her head slightly. “It’s fine. I made cinnamon rolls, and they’ll keep until tomorrow. Unless you want one now. They’re on the counter in the kitchen.”
“I’m good. Thanks,” I say, silently willing her to look up at me.
We stand there for several long moments, me staring at her downturned face while she adamantly refuses to look up. It’s like a silent standoff, neither of us relenting. When I can’t take another second of it, I open my mouth to say something…anything…but Hadley breathes out a sigh before I can speak and locks gazes with me.
“Did you need something?”
Her straightforward and slightly terse question throws me off, and I lift a hand to rub the tension from the back of my neck before shaking my head.
“No, I’m good.” I take a step to the side, heading toward the staircase. “I guess I’ll head up to my room.”
“Okay,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I nod and head for the stairs. I keep my steps light as I jog up to the second floor, my mind whirling.
Hadley is definitely still acting out of character. The normally sweet, shy woman I’ve gotten to know is stiff and tense, acting like she can barely stand my presence.
I don’t know which is worse, the skittish, mortified Hadley from yesterday, or the tense, unapproachable version of her I just met. Hopefully the guys were right, and she’ll go back to normal after the proof of what happened yesterday––this fucking bruise––fades away.
Until then, I’ll try to stay out of her way as much as possible. There’s no point in making her uncomfortable when it can easily be avoided.
And hopefully after that, with a little time and familiarity, we can get back to the easy friendship we had going before all this happened.