Chapter 28
LENNON
C aleb is already awake when I wake up the following morning, which rarely happens. I’m usually the early riser of the two of us.
He walks into his bedroom as I’m pulling on his old Landry Baseball sweatshirt, giving me a warm smile and a soft kiss. “How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty good.” I smirk. He grins back before kissing me again. I’d rather he thinks it was his bedroom skills that made me pass out immediately after sex than the fact I’ve barely slept in days.
“I’ve got practice in twenty minutes,” he tells me.
I glance at the alarm clock. It’s just past seven. “This early?”
Caleb shrugs. “It’s too hot later in the day.”
“Okay.”
“It’s only an hour. I can come back and pick you up after. Or you can come?”
“I’ll go with you.” I’m ambivalent toward baseball, but I love Caleb. For him, I can sit through a practice. After all the times he’s helped me with the horses, it feels like the least I can do.
Caleb’s smile tells me that’s the answer he was hoping for. “There’s a diner we can go to for breakfast after.”
“Do you have coffee?” I slept well last night, but I’m running on a major deficit overall.
He grabs a travel mug from his desk and hands it to me. “Way ahead of you, Matthews.”
“Wow. I could get used to this treatment.” I take a sip of the coffee, smiling when I taste my usual creamer in it.
“You could,” Caleb responds.
I take my time lowering the mug. I wasn’t under any illusion the topic of me attending Clarkson wouldn’t come up during this visit, but I’m not ready to seriously discuss it yet.
“I need some more time, Caleb.”
“Fine,” he agrees easily, but a muscle in his jaw jumps.
We both know time is a finite resource. The Admissions Office was understanding when I informed them of Gramps’s death and requested an extension on accepting or declining their offer, but that leniency is limited. The fall semester starts in just over a month.
After I finish getting dressed, I follow Caleb downstairs.
The rest of his housemates are rushing about, grabbing sports equipment and eating granola bars.
All of them give me curious looks, a couple of them smile.
Caleb grabs two breakfast bars from a kitchen cabinet and waves at the rest of the guys.
“See you guys at the field.”
They all stare at us as we walk into the hallway and out the front door.
“I guess you don’t have a lot of girls spend the night?” I tease.
Caleb gives me my favorite grin. “Just you, Matthews.” He tosses me one of the bars, and I manage a catch. His smirk turns to an overdone look of surprise.
I laugh as we climb into his truck. “Shut up.”
He turns the key in the ignition and then looks over at me. “What?” I ask through a mouthful of granola bar. It’s a small miracle crumbs don’t spray everywhere.
“It’s just weird that you’re here, going to practice with me. Good weird,” he clarifies, catching my raised brows. “Really good weird. The best weird.”
“ The best weird ? No wonder I beat you out for valedictorian based on your English grade.”
Caleb grins. “What can I say? You make me less articulate, Matthews.”
I smile, then sober. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I…
” My eyes drop to the footwell, embarrassed by the sting in my eyes.
“I’m a mess right now, and I didn’t want you to see me like this.
Because it’s scary , how much I love you and how much I want to rely on you.
The fact that you stayed… I talked to Tom and he said you risked your whole season to stay, and I’m worried you’ll hate me for—”
I stop talking when Caleb’s lips hit mine.
He kisses me twice. Fiercely. “I could never hate you, Lennon. Never.” His voice softens.
“Do I wish you’d talked to me instead of yanking paintings off the walls?
Yeah, that was a little concerning. But you could have decided to go sky-diving and I would have strapped in right next to you. ”
“Now you tell me,” I joke.
Caleb smiles. He shifts the car into reverse, then looks over at me again. “I’ve experienced scarier things.”
He turns to back out of the driveway before I have a chance to study his expression, but I’m pretty sure that was his way of telling me that his feelings for me might be just as terrifying as mine for him are.
* * *
I thought Landry’s athletic complex was impressive. I suppose it is, for a high school. But Clarkson’s is massive . A series of bulky buildings surrounded by a lot more activity than the rest of the campus we drove by.
Caleb parks next to the baseball field. Bleachers surround it, unlike the couple sprinkled around Landry’s.
“Wow. How many people does the stadium hold?” I ask. Caleb looks over at me and starts laughing. “What?” It’s not like I can count the number of seats.
“This is our practice field. The baseball stadium is on the opposite side of the pool.”
“Your practice—”
Caleb’s already out of the truck. I open my door, sliding down onto the asphalt. The looming buildings look even taller now. I stare up at them as Caleb unloads his gear from the back. A couple of guys wearing football jerseys walk past on the sidewalk. They both call out greetings to Caleb.
“I’m going to go get changed,” Caleb tells me, coming back around with a duffel slung over one shoulder. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I reply quickly, not wanting to be an imposition. “I’ll just…look around.” I wave a hand vaguely through the air.
Caleb chuckles. “Sure. I’ll meet you at the bleachers after and we can get breakfast.”
“Okay,” I agree.
He leans forward and kisses me before heading off toward one of the many brick buildings. I quickly lose sight of him. Baseball isn’t the only sports team already back on campus. There seem to be people wearing Clarkson Athletics apparel everywhere I look.
I head toward the tennis courts, looping around a running track and past a lacrosse field. This place is huge. I gain a new appreciation for why people gush about how Caleb received a full athletic scholarship here.
When I reach the tennis courts there are two girls hitting balls back from a machine that’s spitting them out at an alarmingly rapid velocity. I turn around, heading toward the football stadium instead. Guys in jerseys begin spilling out of one side of it. A few give me looks as they pass by.
I hurry back toward the baseball field. There aren’t any players out on the diamond yet, but the stands have started to fill. With a few guys, but mostly with girls.
I take a seat on the far edge of the bleachers, slouching and tilting my head back so I can stare up at the sky. It’s a perfect, cloudless blue. A shade that is nice to look at but bodes for another hot, merciless day of heat.
I wish I’d remembered to grab my mug of iced coffee from Caleb’s car. By the time we leave, it’ll be watered down and warm. I pull off my sweatshirt and drape it on the bleachers next to me as the temperature continues to rise.
Excited chatter sounds to my right, and that’s how I know the team must have arrived.
I shade my eyes, watching as guys enter the dugout in pairs and trios.
Caleb isn’t in any of the groups. Finally, I spot him walking toward the field, talking to an older man in a polo shirt who looks like the head coach.
An assortment of trainers trail behind them.
I don’t think I’m imagining how the level of noise in the stands corresponds with Caleb’s arrival. But I tune out the chatter and focus my attention on the field.
My eyes stay in place, but my brain roams. I’m on a college campus. And not just any college campus, a school that sent me a letter offering a place here.
It was one thing to consider that in the abstract, another thing to be here. It wasn’t just the logistics of Gramps and the horses that kept me from visiting Caleb until now. I was apprehensive about what visiting a college campus could be like.
I didn’t tour any universities when I was in high school. I’m completely out of my element, but there’s a flicker of excitement, of interest, about imagining what it would be like to be a Clarkson student.
“Excuse me. Where did you buy that sweatshirt?”
My head turns to the right as soon as I register the question.
A redheaded girl seated one row behind me is leaning forward, her focus aimed my way so there’s no mistake about who she’s talking to.
The three girls seated beside her are also looking at me.
I glance down at the sweatshirt next to me.
“Um, I didn’t buy it. It’s from my high school. ”
“It’s got Winters on it. I’ve never seen it in the school store. They only carry his jersey, not sweatshirts.”
Up until this exact moment, I had no idea you could buy clothes with Caleb’s name on them.
And I wasn’t aware girls wanted to buy them.
Learning that’s the case throws me for more of a loop than seeing how many of them were in his living room last night did.
“It has his name on it because he gave it to me.”
The redhead’s eyes widen. She glances at her friends, who look equally stunned. “You know Caleb Winters?”
Hearing people say Caleb’s name with awe and admiration isn’t new. The need to stake my claim, or mark my territory, or whatever you want to call it, is new. I’ve never had to explain our relationship to a stranger.
“Yes.” I nod, then quickly stand and grab the sweatshirt.
Leaning against the metal fencing that surrounds the baseball field sounds more appealing than continuing this conversation. The team has gathered by one of the dugouts. I hope that means their practice is almost over. I’m starving.
“Wait!” the girl practically shouts.
Everyone in the immediate vicinity glances over, so I can’t pretend I didn’t hear her. I glance back.
“How well do you know him?” the redhead asks.
“What do you mean?” I know exactly what she means. I want her to say it.
“Are you two friends, or…”