Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Peach
Precious – Omido, Nic Dean
" W e already have over fifty women who signed up," I say with a bright smile.
I look down at the notebook on my lap, but the words dance for a second. I scratch my eyes, blink rapidly, and look again.
I'm so exhausted. I fell asleep while working on the notes from Professor Lopez and didn't even get halfway through. I overslept this morning, and when I wanted to take a Ritalin I bought from some kid on the North Shore, it had completely disappeared. I'm ninety-nine percent sure I left it on my desk. And now it's completely gone because I'm losing my fucking mind and have no idea where I hid it. I have a huge day ahead of me, and I need to stay focused. I think I might sleepwalk. It’s not the first time I fall asleep and somehow wake up with my mess put away or not remembering where I put some stuff.
"Over fifty?" Coach Gomez repeats. "I have twenty players, Miss Sanderson-Menocci. What am I going to do with fifty rally girls?"
"Men a cci," I correct him. "And you're going to pick twenty girls. We have to do a selection. I was thinking to start with if they've volunteered before and then?—"
"Shouldn't we just take the prettiest?"
I pause, blinking at him as I bite my inner cheek.
"This remark is the exact reason we're doing this. You've created an environment made of jocks who think they can treat women however they want and the only thing that matters is if they're?—"
"Yes, yes, I hear you." He waves a hand. "And you think using those women to get money from us is great?"
My saccharine smile makes him shift in his seat. "What I think, Coach, is that if men, and especially varsity players, are going to objectify women, I might as well make good use out of it. It's a good image for the National College Lacrosse League to donate money to this charity, and your players get rally girls out of it. Where's the issue?"
"More work," he groans.
"I’ve literally been doing all the work," I snap before I can control myself.
I'm tired and this fucker is making my day longer than it needs to be at seven in the fucking morning.
"I'll select the girls, don't worry. Just make sure the league gets its checkbook ready. The public will also be able to donate, so I'll create a fundraiser page."
Holding my notebook to my chest, I hook my sport bag on my shoulder and leave his office. I'm late to cheer practice, thanks to his slow brain.
I'm hurrying through the hallway, my eyes on my phone as I add some stuff to my to-do list, when I bump into someone big and tall enough to make me stumble back. I try to catch myself on the wall, but I'm too far and start falling before an arm wraps around my waist.
"Whoa," Wren's voice reaches me before I even realize it's him. "Late to practice?"
I look up, my heart skipping a beat when his beautiful gaze crosses mine.
"’Cause you're so early," I say sarcastically, and it settles my heart again.
The tiniest smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, enough for one out of two dimples to show itself.
"Didn't sleep well," he rasps. And I see it.
His eyes are a little puffy, eye bags darkening the skin under them. And his voice sounds like he woke up not too long ago.
"Late night at the Acropolis?"
He licks his lips, his eyes bouncing between mine for a few seconds before he says, "Sure."
"Hey, Wren?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Wanna let go of me so we can both get to practice?"
His first reflex is to bring me closer to him. "Not really, no."
"Come on, idiot," I laugh, and he finally releases me.
"I'll see you on the sideline!" he shouts as he jogs toward the double doors leading to the field.
Number Seven. I can't keep my eyes off him the whole practice. When Wren is on the field, there’s no wondering who’s the best. He takes hits like they're nothing, catches the ball like he was born with a lacrosse stick in his hands, and scores so hard there's not a chance in the world the goalie can stop it unless he wants a hole through his body.
Everyone's eyes are on him. And mine so much that the second I get in the air, my feet landing on my teammate's shoulder, I lose my focus. It's our last throw of practice, and my eyes went to check if Wren was looking at us. Except it costs me my balance. I tighten my core with all I have, but it's not enough, and a short screech leaves me as I feel myself falling.
Two of them catch me, but they can't stop it completely. I stupidly throw my hand in front of me as I watch the ground get closer.
There's a general gasp, and before I know it, ten heads are looking above me.
"Peach, are you okay?" someone asks.
"Fine," I groan, slightly out of breath.
I push on the floor to sit up and bite my lower lip to stifle a scream. Holy. Fucking. Shit. My wrist... The pain shooting up my arm makes me want to roll on the floor and cry, but I don't let anyone see it.
Worried eyes stay on me as I take full breaths, still sitting on the floor with my legs to the side like I just washed up on a beach after escaping a sinking ship.
The crowd is growing around me, creating a tight circle that feels claustrophobic. Too many people are talking at the same time. Are you alright? Did you hit your head? Do you know your name? What date is it? How many fingers am I holding up?
"I'm fine," I lie again, with more strength this time. "Everyone, get back to practice." My eyes search for Ella since she's our captain.
"Let her breathe," her voice rings out from behind a few people. "Spread out?—"
She's cut off by a stern, "Get out of the way, everyone."
I throw my head back, already knowing who's coming.
"Wren, I'm fi?—"
A strangled cry makes people spread away from me, and my stomach bottoms out when I see my best friend's hand fisting Marlon's cheer shirt. Marlon is my base, the man who was throwing me.
"You dropped her ?" Wren asks calmly, but he's also shaking the poor guy, so his tone doesn't really matter.
Marlon isn't skinny by any means. It takes a lot of strength to be able to send women flying through the air or carry them on the palm of a single hand. But compared to Wren? Any common dog is a puppy next to a beast.
Especially when he's still wearing his shoulder pads and helmet. And especially when he's angry.
"I didn't...didn't..."
"It was my fault," I call out. I go to finally stand up, but Wren's gloved hand points a finger my way. He's not even looking at me.
"Stay put."
"Stay put?" I hiss as I do the exact opposite and stand. I feel dizzy for a few seconds, needing to pause before I talk again. " Stay. Put? Do you want to die?"
"Peach, calm down, you just injured yourself..." Ella attempts, knowing perfectly well I'm too angry to stop now.
But Wren isn't paying me any attention. He shakes Marlon again.
"If you're too bad at this sport to do your job, maybe you don't need to be part of this team. And since you won't be practicing cheer anymore, it won't matter if I break your legs, will it?"
There are a few sharp gasps in the crowd. Wren isn't exactly known to be a violent man. Within the rules of lacrosse? Sure, because we know he wants to win at all costs. But toward another student? This seems out of character, and the rumors are going to go wild saying that it was because of me.
Holding my right wrist to my chest, I shove him with my left arm. "I told you it was my fault, caveman. Get away from him."
Wren lets go, but only to take his helmet off. Then he grabs Marlon with both hands. He doesn't have to say anything for Marlon to start profusely apologizing to me.
"Peach, I'm sorry?—"
"It was me," I cut him off. "I'm sorry, I wasn't focused. Now, Wren, let go."
Marlon's wide eyes keep going from Wren to me with increasing terror.
"Wren, let go, or I swear I’m going to stop talking to you."
It’s like I told him I’ll kill his entire family. He lets go so quickly, one could think that me not talking to him anymore would be worse than death. He seems to come back to reality and some of the rage dissipates. Marlon takes a few steps back, pulling at his shirt to rearrange it.
"Are you okay?" he asks me, his voice shaking. "I tried to catch you..."
"Take a walk," Wren barks his way before turning to me.
His chestnut hair is a mess from wearing his helmet, sticking to his damp forehead. As his eyes fall on me, they soften, and he looks at me from head to toe, then back up again. When he catches the way I'm holding my wrist to my chest, his eyebrows pull together with worry.
"Your wrist." He takes two long strides toward me, one hand grabbing my arm gently and the other hovering over my wrist before he touches my hand.
"It's fine— Ow!" I hiss.
He tried to roll it softly.
"I'm taking you to the nurse." His words are final.
"Is that really necessary?" I grunt. I take a step back, but he shakes his head.
He lowers his voice, following me as I walk back. "Peach, don't make me force you to get that wrist checked. It'll be embarrassing for you if I have to put you over my shoulder in front of everyone."
"For you, you mean. I'll kick your ass."
He cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed by my light tone. "We're going to the infirmary. This isn't a joke."
I look around, ready to cause a scene, fight him, and then go to the infirmary on my own. But then I catch everyone's gazes on us. More specifically, the heart-shaped eyes from the other cheerleaders watching Number Seven, handsome Wren Hunter, care for me.
"Let's go," I mumble.
"Good g?—"
"Don't you let those words out of your fucking mouth if you want your balls attached to your body by the time we get there."
"I love it when you fight me, Trouble." He chuckles, putting an arm around my shoulders as we walk together. "It makes me feel like we're already a couple."
I bite my lip, keeping a whimper in as the doctor twists my wrist for the scan.
"She's hurting," Wren tells him sternly. "Be gentle."
"I'm fine," I rasp. I'm lying on my front on the MRI bed, but only my forearm is in the machine.
"Just stay like this. It'll be a few minutes." He turns to Wren. "Again, you should be out of the room. Radiation?—"
"I'll live."
The radiologist huffs and goes to the other side of the window while we stay with my wrist under the scan. Because it started to swell, the nurse insisted we go to the ER to get it checked in case it's broken. We've been waiting for hours, and my stomach has been eating itself from the anxiety. I don't have time for a broken wrist.
There's a pull at my hair, and I only now realize I was chewing on it. Wren pushes the strands behind my ear as I rest on my right cheek.
"It's going to be okay. Take a deep breath for me, will you?"
I shake my head. "No. I'll breathe when it's over and they tell me my wrist isn't broken."
"Peach, maybe this is a sign that you're doing too much. In all those years of cheerleading, I've never seen you fall this badly. Apart from that time you broke your ankle, but you were just starting."
"Oh God, that hurt so much." I look at my wrist and then up at him, standing right next to me.
"How did you even fall today?"
"I wasn't focused," I say without hesitation. "The gaze is everything, and I wasn't looking right ahead."
"What were you looking at?"
Realizing the situation I've just put myself in, I blink up at him. I can't tell him I was looking at him being tackled by two defense players and still coming out unscathed.
"What if it's broken?" I blurt out, hoping we move on.
"Then you'll rest until it's healed."
"I have so much to do."
His eyes stay fixed on me as he lowers to his haunches. "Peach." He caresses my hair, and all my muscles relax except one. Only my heart panics when Wren is a little too close.
"Could you do me a favor and at least acknowledge you take on a lot and that you're going to push yourself past the breaking point?"
I smile, but it’s too sweet. "I will never admit such a thing, you na?ve boy."
He chuckles and taps my cheek playfully. "You don't have to prove to the entire world how strong you are. We know."
"No, but I have to prove I was the right choice." I freeze the second the words leave my mouth. I don't know if it's the pain or the exhaustion, but they just came out before I could do anything about it.
His eyes search mine, and I do my best to keep avoiding them.
"What's taking so long?" I try to look over my shoulder, but he moves, making sure he's in my line of vision.
"Let the radiologist do his work. What do you mean 'you were the right choice'?"
"Huh? I don't even know."
"Penelope, look at me," he insists when I look down.
"Don't tell me what to do." I keep my gaze exactly how it is, out of pure stubbornness.
"Fine."
There's nothing for a second, then I suddenly feel his hand around the back of my thigh. I'm still wearing my cheer skort, and I squeeze my legs right away.
"Wren!" I scold him as he brings his hand higher.
"That radiologist is about to get the show of his life if you don't start behaving."
"Get your fucking hand off me," I hiss. I want to slap him in the face, but I can't do anything with my arm in the MRI machine.
Instead of listening, he goes higher, under the first layer, and I feel him where my thigh meets my ass.
"There's been a few times you've loved my hands on you. Why change your mind now?"
Lowering his mouth closer to my ear, he adds, "There's been times I even felt how wet you get against my hand. So don't act all shy."
I refuse to let him see how much those simple words affect me. The mere memories of his hands caressing me lights me on fire.
When I don't move anymore, he finally says, "Can we talk now?"
"Yes," I say through gritted teeth.
"That's what I thought. Now, what is this nonsense about being worth it?"
I try dislodging him, but he won't budge, and I can't move too much, or the scan will take even longer. There's absolutely nowhere for me to fucking go, and suddenly more than ever, I feel the way Wren... cares.
It's so powerful, gripping my heart and warming my chest. He puts that weird feeling of giddiness inside me. The one I used to get when I climbed trees as a kid, when I jumped into Stoneview Lake and would barely see the light anymore from underwater. There's excitement and fear, hope...and freedom.
I guess if there's one person I can tell this to, it's Wren, right? Wren cares. Wren doesn't judge. Wren...
"I was picked, wasn't I?" I rasp.
The shock on his face slackens his jaw.
"I was abandoned, and then I was picked. Do you understand? Out of who knows how many other kids?"
He's still speechless.
"The last thing I would want is for my parents to think I wasn't worth it. Because then…then they might leave me behind like the first ones did."
"Penelope..." His disbelief annoys me. Can't he understand? That I wasn't a miracle to anyone. That I wasn't good enough for someone before I was chosen by my dads.
None of my friends can understand that. Because no matter the type of issues they had with their families, they were still the same blood. I was an abandoned kitten gifted as a hope of rekindling a relationship.
"Your dads love you," he finally says. "And even if they were stupid enough for it to be conditional, then you have us."
"I have so many questions for them," I admit. "My biological parents." My eyes sting, and I sniffle when I feel I'm about to let go. "I want to find them and get answers so I can fall asleep at night without having those questions go round and round in my head. Why? Did I do something? Did they just, what, regret having me? Why wasn't I worthy of their love?"
His response is instant. "You’re nothing if not worthy of love, Peach. Your friends love you. I?—"
"God, what's taking so long? Did that guy go on a coffee break or something?"
In this instant, I'm grateful for the years of friendship Wren and I have piled up. Because he doesn't need to think for even a split second to understand he shouldn't push it anymore. I'm not someone who breaks open the more you probe. If you want to get inside my mind, I'll retreat and put a wall between us.
So he drops it. He lets go of me, and instead, he does exactly what I need. He changes the topic.
"So, about that rally girl thing..."
That gets a laugh out of me, and I'm grateful for his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Yes?"
My heart skips a beat when he takes a few seconds to appreciate the fact that he made me feel better. It's a very specific feeling when the line between friendship and more starts to blur, but I would be lying if I said I don't like knowing I'm special to him.
"Well," he finally says. "Are you going to be mine?"
My lips part, the sharp inhale making me feel dizzy for a second.
"Yours?"
What would it be like...to be Wren's?
"My rally girl," he clarifies.
The comeback to reality is almost painful.
"Of course not, Wren." My tone tells him I'm sick of his advances, but I'm glad he couldn't read my mind a second ago.
"Oh, come on. I would love to have you bring me cookies and hot towels at rallies."
I shake my head, pressing my lips together to not smile. "Everyone would love that. I'm in high demand. But I'm not sure how we'll pick, to be honest. Probably just draw names."
He opens his mouth, but is cut off by the door opening.
"Nothing's broken," the doctor says. "It's a light sprain, so nothing a bit of rest won't fix. We'll still give you a splint so you don't do any movement that could make it worse. A week should do."
I let out a sigh of relief, but something becomes obvious to me. It was because Wren was here to keep my mind off the stress and the pain that I feel better.
And when he says, "Good, let's get you home so you can rest," something pulls at my chest. And I don't like it one bit.
Before we leave the room, he turns to me one last time.
"I want you to know something."
I tilt my head to the side, waiting for whatever seems to be so important.
"I would choose you. Even if you weren't worth it. And you would have nothing to prove. I would choose you among a million other people. And anyone would be the luckiest person on this planet if you chose them in return."
I'm completely speechless. I can't even open my mouth as I try to digest his words.
"I…" My mouth is dry, my heart changing rhythm so fast I feel like my legs are going to give up.
"You don't have to say anything. However you feel doesn't matter; this is simply how I feel." An easy smile spreads on his lips. "Now, let's get you in bed." And the dimples are back. "But promise you won't jump me. I know how handsome I am."
I throw my head back as a laugh bursts out of me.
"Shut up, loser." I hope I sound like he annoys me even though I feel the complete opposite of annoyed.