Chapter 13 Cadence
Cadence
Ican’t believe what’s happening right now. I shoot Ryen a text and ask her to be my cover if my mom reaches out for some reason—she usually doesn’t. And even though it's a school night, Mom never really minds as long as we have a way to get to school and that we actually go to school.
I’ve never gone to Zach’s house by myself before and though I don’t think my mom would really mind if I told her the truth, I don’t really want to find out what her reaction would be or what her insinuation would be and I don’t want to risk Bray overhearing, so I tell her that I’m staying at Ryen’s—a lie that is necessary right now.
I knew something was off with Zach though, I could tell in the way he was talking to me.
And honestly, I’ve had a feeling since his first game, when he told me that he felt off.
But I just chalked it up to the fact that we were both putting ourselves into this unfamiliar territory and sneaking behind Brayden’s back even though we haven’t really done anything except for flirt with each other, really.
I’ve never heard him say he doesn’t want to be alone though.
It sounded serious and I wonder what could be causing him to feel like that.
It’s not long before he texts me to let me know that he’s parked out front, and I exit the house, taking my overnight bag with me because Ryen does plan to actually pick me up later, seeing as I don’t think I’d be actually sleeping at Zach’s.
I walk out the front door and quickly rush to jump into the passenger seat of his Jeep, eager to not get caught by my mom, and Zach storms off.
Immediately, I’m overwhelmed. I’ve been in close proximity with him before but never alone and never like this. I can feel the vulnerability trying to escape him as he navigates the roads back to his house in silence.
But I’m also overcome by the way he smells. It’s like an ocean and moonlight tangling with something that resembles winter trees. I don’t know how to really explain it, but I can tell that he just recently showered, his hair still wet with little beads of water falling over his brows.
I look over at him, eager to understand why he suddenly asked for me.
The whole afternoon texting him turned out to be something I never expected, better or worse, I can’t be too sure.
For me, it was kind of a form of clarity.
He likes me. And I like him. And it’s complicated.
And we’re hiding it from my brother because we really shouldn’t like each other like that.
But here I am, in his Jeep and driving back to his house because he didn’t want to be alone.
We went from not talking all week because of a misunderstanding to him nearly going on a date with someone else and now this.
So while the conversation held some clarity to it, I can’t help but feel excited while also even more confused all at the same time.
“Thank you.” he says to me, pulling me from my thoughts.
It’s been a while since I’ve heard his voice this close and hearing him talk to me honestly gives me butterflies, more than anything a text could ever do.
“I can’t believe I’m actually here, right now,” I say to him, not really realizing that I just admitted something that might sound so childish or geeky, but I decide not to overthink it because I have no reason to not be transparent with him and maybe it’ll make him feel more comfortable about whatever it is he’s going through.
“Why’s that?” he asks, turning slightly to look at me. His brown eyes eat me up and I have to hide my blush from him before I can answer.
“Well, can I be honest?” I ask him, and wait for his nod of approval.
“I’ve dreamed of being alone with you, Zach.
” I realize how bold I'm being by admitting my honest truth to him.
I know it's risky. But he's the one who took the chance to pick me up from my house, knowing that Bray could find out, so I think I owe it to him to take a little risk here and there too.
“Cadence, you have got to be careful with what you say to me.” His warning hits me right in my core, a feeling I can't say I'm too familiar with. But it makes my eyes grow a little heavy when I look at him and I dare to ask him to clarify.
“How come?”
“Because," he starts. His tone is deep and low. "We’re alone.”
I swallow. “Right.”
We drive the rest of the way in silence and I watch him as he pulls onto his street.
The closer we get to his house, the more I can sense that something truly is bothering him.
I know that I might not understand what he’s going through, and I can only hope that he’ll want to talk to me about it, but right now, I know that there is only one thing I can do that might truly calm his nerves.
I risk it, moving my hand over to cover his where he rests it on the center console.
He doesn’t move a muscle as I slide my fingers between his.
The sound of both of us breathing heavily fills the cab as I caress his skin with my own, fitting our hands together.
And then finally, he reacts by lifting his hand and returning the gesture, intertwining our fingers together so that we’re holding hands.
The feeling is beyond anything I can ever put into words.
It's indescribable. And I can't help but smile the entire time; holding hands until he pulls back into his driveway.
I don’t want to let go, but he turns off the car and jumps out, unlocking our fingers.
I follow him, walking up to his front door with nerves caressing my stomach.
I wait as he unlocks the door and leads me inside and, in an instant, I’m flooded with this insanely forbidden feeling, like I’m stepping into some kind of dream world.
I’ve been in Zach’s house before. Not nearly as many times as he’s been in mine and never alone. So while I can sense the familiarity in his home, it also feels fresh.
Zach walks us up the stairs and toward his room, something I can’t say I’ve done many times before.
And while there is silence between us, it doesn’t feel awkward.
I watch him as he steps into his room and I freeze.
I don’t know why, but as he goes further into his room, I just stand at the doorway and watch.
“You gonna come in?” he asks and I start to feel an extreme rush of nerves course through me, causing me to hesitate.
“I just, I don’t think I’ve ever been in your room alone before,” I say to him. And I don't know why I hesitate with that thought. Maybe because I still can't believe this is real.
“We’ve never held hands either, little one,” he responds and the use of the nickname he’s given me out loud really doesn’t help to calm my nerves more than shake them.
I take a breath before I take a step in and watch as he closes the door behind us.
I’m alone.
In a room.
With Zach. The boy I’ve been crushing on for as long as I can remember.
I can tell that he’s watching me. Likely trying to figure out what I’m thinking. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to panic in a way that would make me seem pathetic, but I really am kind of freaking out right now.
I turn to look at him, eager to get to the bottom of whatever it is that caused him to want me here in the first place. But he’s no longer looking at me. Instead, he’s looking at his trophy shelf, so I drop my bag at the end of his bed and meet him at the wall.
I stand by his side, looking over the collection of awards and trophies that signify his entire life of football.
I’ve never seen this collection before, and something akin to pride swells in my chest when I realize that I’m witnessing just how amazing this man is at the one thing he holds closest to his chest.
“This is impressive,” I say to him, eyes everything from the small medals on ribbons to the biggest trophy on his shelf.
And then I spot a purple football. It kind of stands out like a sore thumb next to all of the gold, but I feel my eyes start to water when the realization hits.
My chest aches a little, thinking of who that football belonged to.
But I don’t say it out loud, I don’t ask because I know that it’s a touchy subject.
“I don’t think I’m going to play football in college,” Zach says, a dread in his tone, and just like that, my heart sinks some more.
“What?” I turn to look at him, sensing a sad but serious expression exude from him while noticing something that looks like defeat in his eyes. “That’s crazy, Zach. You love football,” I tell him, trying to sound more hopeful than anything but I wonder if I come off a little too optimistic.
Obviously, something has him down and I don’t want to force him to feel the way he thinks the world expects him to feel.
But when I look at him, I get the same feeling I had when he looked at me in the rearview mirror all those weeks ago, and the same look I noticed earlier before I spit water through my nose.
And when I think back far enough, to the very first day I met him too.
He’s got that same somewhat despondent look in his eyes and it causes me a bit of distress.
“I do. I love football more than I value my own life sometimes,” he starts. “But lately, I just feel off. And…”
He trails off and I swear I can hear a lump form in his throat, his tone giving away just how down he’s actually feeling as he tells me exactly what I had been thinking. And that’s when I see it, his fist is clenched at his side, just like it was in fourth grade all those years ago.
I reach for his hand, urging him to relax as I snake my fingers through his to let him know that it’s okay. I’m right here and he doesn't have to say anything he doesn't want to. But he squeezes my hand in his and continues.