Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
DEREK
“You had a drink,” Max mentioned casually, his tone even, no accusation in it.
I thought back to the three sips of beer I took and groaned in disgust. “Yeah, it was Zero Beer. Tasted like cold piss.”
Maddox laughed, and I was reminded of Rosie and her distaste for alcoholic drinks. Pride bloomed in my chest that she liked my G&T. It wasn't anything special, but every small win was meaningful to her.
For some reason, I wanted to make her laugh and smile again. I needed to bring back old Rosie, the one I grew to like over the last semester. That girl was easy, chill, and the most fun person to be around.
But something happened to her over the summer, and I only occasionally caught glimpses of the Rosie I knew.
The ones whose company I craved day in and day out as I lay in the hospital bed and went to rehab.
She used to be my guiding light, the reason I didn't fall into a loop of hatred when I lost everything.
I never thought that with my recovery, I would lose the one thing that got me through it.
Her.
Still, I had to remind myself, she was never mine to keep.
“Hey, we're done,” Max slapped me on the back, dragging me out of my mind, as I dropped the speed of my treadmill.
“You gave me a heart attack.”
“You're not focused,” Maddox muttered, his dark eyes boring into me. “Why aren't you focused?”
“I just have a lot on my mind,” I used the lamest excuse, and the way my teammate arched his brow in question was proof.
“Name one.”
“I don't know, the fact that I have PTSD?” I rolled my eyes, saying the one thing that was weighing me down the most, and they stared at me wide-eyed. “Let's not pretend I wasn't the hot topic, and you all haven't noticed.
“No one is trying to hurt you now,” Max reassured me, which was lame. I knew that, but my brain still played tricks on me.
I scoffed. “I know, but I have trouble scoring and even aiming at the goal. I just can't do it. It's fear. My therapist said it was normal and that with time, it would pass. Which, you know, is a pity because I'm literally a striker. The ones who score goals.”
Doc also told me I wasn't going crazy, or anything like that, and a lot of athletes struggled with it.
The problem was I hated being so fucking useless.
People loved me as I was the star striker.
The guy who could always score on and off the field.
And now, I couldn't do either. But it wasn't something I was willing to share.
I only shared these things during my weekly therapy.
“Maybe we can practice some free kicks,” Max offered, slipping into his captain problem-solving role. “Just us three, no one else. Would that make you feel comfortable?”
His choice of words irritated me, and I wanted to bite his head off, but instead I nodded. “Sure, we can try.”
Make me comfortable. What bullshit. I wasn't broken. But they all looked at me like I was. Rosie was the only one who didn't think I was broken.
“I mean, if there's anything else,” Max started, his brain spinning a mile an hour, searching for the best solution.
“No, that's fine,” I shook my head, easing his worry and giving his brain a break. I knew it wouldn't work, but it also couldn't hurt to just try. Anything was better than my constant whining. Maybe I just needed to face the music.
“Our game isn't until next week,” Max went on casually. “You still have time to be a starter. Your speed and stamina are back.”
It's only your goal scoring.
The unspoken words hung between us.
I nodded, my eyes on Maddox, who was conveniently looking the other way, stretching.
“If you need to put Marco or Seb in again, I understand,” I said the words through clenched teeth. “They both showed up when I couldn't, so I know I need to earn back my position.”
“That's right, it's your position,” Max nodded, but his shoulders relaxed a bit.
We were all close, but the three of us were like a little family of our own. It must have sucked for him to tell me that I wasn't starting. But then again, I wasn't delusional. I knew he needed to do what was best for the team. Even if deep down it hurt him.
“Appreciate it,” I muttered, jumping off the treadmill. “I'm going to hit the showers, need to review some schoolwork as I have a quiz.”
They exchanged a look but didn't call me out on my bullshit. I didn't care about schoolwork or quizzes. I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, nor did I care. I was just looking for an excuse to be alone. Which I did a lot.
I popped my earphones in and pushed the volume to the maximum, trying to silence all my crazy thoughts, their silent judgement and power walked out.
I didn't care that I was sweaty or in workout clothes. It's not like I hooked up with anyone the past ten months, and I had no desire to become who I was before my injury.
The funny, the life of the party, playboy Dex died on that field as they wheeled him out.
Phantom pain sliced in my knee as I pushed myself to walk faster and reach the little café off campus where I always went. Where everyone always went.
I slumped into one of the armchairs in the corner, and instead of going up to the counter, I ordered over my phone before moving to mindlessly scrolling on TikTok.
I didn't even register any of the videos I passed.
Not the cheer videos, not the workout ones, not the cat ones, and not even the dog ones.
I just kept passing them repeatedly, killing time until the drumming in my ear became music instead of my crazy heartbeat.
Sweat trailed down my neck as the phone shook in my hand, and my vision turned all blurry.
My coffee appeared in front of me, and I already cursed myself for not asking for a decaf. But instead of correcting my mistake, I continued my endless scroll.
The smell of the coffee and fresh pastry tickled my nose as some of my senses slowly started to come back.
Deep down, I knew I needed to stop, lower the volume, and deal with the fact that I was having panic attacks, that I was having huge issues. But it was easier to ignore it.
I've become very good at that.
“Don't they have showers in the gym?” A voice suddenly invaded my foggy mind, and I noticed one of my earbuds was missing.
Looking up, Rosie sat on the armrest, her thighs brushing my arm as her blue eyes stared at me, waiting for a reply.
“What?” I asked, not even being able to sound polite.
“I said, I thought you guys got a full renovation of the locker rooms because of the fancy titles you keep winning,” she repeated herself with a grin.
“I see you're in a great mood,” I muttered, reaching over for my earbud.
Catching a glimpse of the old Rosie was calming. She looked happier and more balanced compared to the past couple of times I've run into her.
I wondered how she did it. Dealing with crazy mood swings.
She lifted a shoulder and, adjusting her baby-pink workout jacket, offered a small smile. “You smell.”
“No one's forcing you to sit next to me,” I pointed out the obvious.
Rosie took the phone from my hand and frowned at the screen. “TikTok, really? That's like the worst thing you can do when you're upset.”
“I'm not upset,” I replied automatically, earning an eyeroll from her.
“You can't bullshit the master bullshitter, Derek,” she grinned at me. “I'm the best at saying 'nothing's wrong' when all you want to do is scream. Trust me.”
I did trust her. I knew from what little she told me that she struggled with an injury, and her moods were all over the place. Maybe we were both equally broken.
But she seemed to have it all together. On some days.
“What are you doing?” I frowned at her as she was typing on my phone.
“I'm giving you my playlist,” she replied, not even looking up as she opened my Spotify and searched there. “Blasting whatever that was or TikTok is really the worst thing for you.”
“I don't need your music. I have my own,” I muttered defensively, and I wondered how the hell I was ever a playboy if I couldn't stop my teammate's little sister from going through my phone.
Rosie turned the screen towards me. “You mean your rage music for the gym? What's all this angry rock and EDM?” she asked, the words with so much disgust I almost apologized. But then again, that music helped me lift more and run faster.
Or at least it used to.
“It's called being motivated,” I rolled my eyes, half annoyed, half entertained as she kept scrolling on my phone. “What's wrong with that?”
“Nothing, it's just predictable,” she scoffed.
“All right, Thorn, what do you listen to while doing sprints? Chopin?
Rosie huffed out a laugh. “I'm impressed you know who that is.
But relax, all I did was add you to my acoustic covers.
All mainstream songs that you know and love, but acoustic covers.
You'll love it, just give it a try. Or don't whatever you want,” she shrugged, her cheeks turning pink.
“And I'm stealing your coffee. You really don't need anything to get your heart rate any higher.”
I glanced at her, watching in awe as she picked up my cup, smelled it, and took a sip. She did her best to hide her frown as she swallowed.
“It's not oat milk and definitely not Chai.”
“You really need to have better taste in coffee. Who the hell drinks a black americano? No milk, no sugar. Are you trying to kill yourself?” She shook her head, placing the cup back on the table. “Give me a moment.”
She stood before I could get a word in and with swaying hips she skipped to the counter where with a beautiful smile on her lips she ordered.
My eyes roamed her body, the baby pink set molding onto her ass and legs, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Her workout outfits were the sexiest things I've ever seen on anyone.
They fit her well, and her ass looked great.
I watched some skin appear between her top and leggings as she reached over the counter to take the cups and a paper bag, before she turned and danced back to me.