3. Ivy
My best friend in the entire world, Esmerelda Ramirez, was the easiest person to live with because she cooked, cleaned, and knew when to pull me out of my shell. Don’t get me wrong, I shared in the chores, but this girl preferred to cook because she wanted to be a chef. Her parents would never let her drop out of school because, and I quote, Education is the only guarantee in life, so you’ll get one at all costs.
It was hard to disagree when I saw careers end from injuries every year. Three very specific memories of a player getting hurt came to mind, and I shoved them away. They were gruesome. The bone jutting from the—I cringed.
“That better not be from the eggs Benedict. I did my own hollandaise sauce with some extra spice, and that shit hits hard.” She pointed the spatula at me.
“No, this is delicious.” I took another bite and crossed my eyes. It was Sunday, two days since the situation with Callum, and a rare morning where we were both home and hanging out. We tried to hit the fresh market for flowers once a month, and a beautiful vase of colorful petals sat in the center of our island.
Again, a perk of having Esme as a bestie? Her brother was super protective and also… kinda famous and rich, so he’d found us a kick-ass apartment. No seniors in college should have a place this nice. We had ceiling-to-floor windows on the west side that showed us the sunset every night. We each had our own bathroom with a walk-in shower. A huge closet that I only took up a third of.
Enrique Ramirez was a famous video gamer in a way I didn’t quite understand. He streamed events, competed, and dabbled in design. All I knew was that he loved his sister, which meant he doted on us. All he asked for in return was one day when he needed guidance on anything-sports related, that I’d answer his questions.
Uh, no shit.
The man got us a bougie apartment on the top floor because it was safer for two young women.
“Then why did you make that squishy face?” Esme dipped her finger onto my plate and tasted the sauce. Her dark lashes fanned her cheek as she thought. “Shit, I’m good.”
“You are.” I took another bite to prove it. “I was just thinking about career-ending injuries.”
She frowned. “What is wrong with you?”
“How much time do you have?”
She chuckled and shook her head at me, the gesture one of an old, wise aunt. We were the same age, but she was an old soul. While her brother doted on her and her abuela called her twice a week, she had a complicated relationship with her parents. Part of me was envious of her family dynamics because where she spoke to hers all the time to the point they annoyed her, my parents and I never really talked.
I loved my parents, and I knew they loved and were proud of me, (for the most part) but everyone did their own thing. I’d always wanted a huge family, a large group of people to love and support me, to call on a bad day, but that just wasn’t in the cards. Fact: one of the key factors that formed family dynamics was how the family communicated, and ours was…not ideal.
I had Esme. She was enough.
I used to have Callum…
“Do we have stuff for Bloody Marys?” I asked, the familiar ache in my chest returning. I hated seeing him every day, remembering how things used to be. I hated knowing that the pain never really went away. I just avoided it by not searching him out. I also hated how he made me feel small, like I couldn’t do something.
He used to be my biggest cheerleader when my parents were too busy for me.
Esme sucked her teeth, frowning. “No, but we have straight vodka if that’s what you’re in the mood for. I love me some tipsy Ivy. It’s only happened three times in the last three years, but I recall them in a lot of detail. Like the time you?—”
“Shut up, no.” I covered my ears, closing my eyes. I was an introvert and calculated. I knew what to drink to feel a buzz or what to avoid to not feel bad, and getting drunk wasn’t something I ever wanted to do. Not after what happened to me when I was eight.
A drunk driver hit me on my bike, shattering my right knee, my right arm, and giving me a hell of a concussion. I was only eight, and while I didn’t remember most of it, I realized from then on I would never let myself get to that point.
Being tipsy was the closest I had ever been and would ever be.
“You kissed that man on the cheek, and it was glorious!” She smiled so large she looked wild and a little terrifying. Esme loved teasing me but never in front of others. Only when it was us.
“It was the margarita. Stronger than I thought.” My face burned, and I quickly downed the rest of her brunch. “Plus, that guy was hot and very kind. He slid me his business card.”
“And you never called? Ivy, Ivy, Ivy.” She clicked her tongue, something her abuela also did. “When a man with thick glasses who looks like him slips you his number, you call him. I don’t make the rules.”
“I’m eternally grateful for that.”
I cleaned my plate, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher before adjusting my hair. Today was a bright yellow scrunchie, a cropped shirt and high-waisted white cutoff jorts. Yes—jean shorts were jorts, and I refused to hear anything different.
One could even call jeans jants –jean pants, but that would take it too far.
“You said you’re heading to the shelter today instead of your Mondays?”
“Yes. With football running my life, I need to switch days. I’ll grab some coffee after for you.”
“You’re an angel. I have a FaceTime set up with Enrique, something about planning an anniversary present for our parents. It’s in a month, but he’s honestly super thoughtful.” She adjusted her dark curly hair into a messy bun. She was effortlessly gorgeous, inside and out, and I was glad she was in my close, small circle.
“Let me know how I can help.”
I waved before departing toward the local animal shelter. I’d found Miss Paige’s place freshmen year—I mean, I had searched for a shelter where I could work through my time in college, and hers was the first one I visited. She ran an amazing place, and I fell in love. Volunteering with animals brought me joy, loving on them until they found their forever home. It was the same feeling I had when working with athletes, where I wasn’t on the team, but I was as close as I could be.
Most of my favorite memories growing up were at the humane society. It started as a project in middle school with Callum. We were caught cheating, and instead of punishing us at school, they made us do community service, and it changed my life.
For the record, I asked hima question in algebra. Most assumed he’d been the one to cheat, but the guy was wicked smart despite his goofy personality. Eighty percent of the time I had been coming to Miss Paige’s shelter, I never thought of Callum and all the hours we spent together with animals, laughing and being our full selves.
But now… after seeing him almost every single day the last couple of weeks, memories assaulted me. The time he surprised me for my birthday by having every dog wear a bow and naming one of the puppies after me. (Ivy the black lab was thriving with her family, by the way). Or the time we cleaned the whole place after a football game where he wanted to hang with me instead of the team. It had made me feel worthy and special to have his attention.
I wasn’t a fool. Callum was always going somewhere with his talent on and off the field, but I never expected to be cut out that way… the things he said that night. Or to have memories that brought me joy and sorrow. Feelings were complicated, and I was grateful for the cats and dogs to give all my love to.
The drive only took ten minutes, and I preferred silence as I drove. The used Chevy I’d bought myself last year smelled like sunscreen and leather—the smells of my life around athletes, and it felt like home. The same comforting feeling wrapped itself around my soul as I pushed open the faded yellow door. A bell tingled, and before I even glanced at Miss Paige, I sang, “Hello, hello, hello!”
The smell of cleaner, pee, and pet food clung in the air, and I took a deep breath, my stomach bubbling with anticipation of seeing my kittens. Fact: kittens were like sponges the first twelve weeks of their life. They needed to interact with humans and watch how their mom cleaned and ate for them to pick up everything. The kittens had been born six weeks ago, and I wanted them to be ready for adoption. We hadn’t quite named them yet, but I wanted to so badly.
No one sat at the entry desk, but that happened sometimes. I ignored the hairs on my neck standing on end as I pushed through toward the room with the animals when goose bumps exploded on my skin.
Callum was here.
With another girl.
He’d brought someone else to an animal shelter, a place we shared as former best friends. I hated how my eyes prickled from betrayal while my pulse raced with questions I wanted to shoot rapid-fire at him. Was this his first time here? Why now? Who was she?
Did he … love her? Why did that hurt? I wanted him happy, didn’t I?
“Ivy! My dear!” Miss Paige walked in with her usual outfit: overalls covered in dirt, some bright-colored tank top, tied boots, and a bandana in her hair. She could be forty, or sixty, I never really knew. Her dark skin was flawless, and she had no wrinkles despite how much she grinned.
My reflex was to smile, because I was so tuned to being happy near her, and to the outsider, I looked normal. My insides though. Phew. They were a clinical mess. Stomach clenching, guts bubbling, sweat forming under my outfit. The worst part was—I moved on from this part of my life. My friendship with Callum was over. It ended in July, three summers ago.
“Miss Paige, you look wonderful as usual.” I leaned into her hug, grunting when she squeezed a little too hard.
“And you are just a doll. I love the yellow on you.” She held my chin and grinned. “You look well, a little startled, a little tired, but well.”
My skin flushed, my gaze refusing to move away from her face to see Callum’s. He probably thought me weak or pathetic now. He had always been cooler than me, way more popular and on trend. I was just me. Not an athlete. Never on the team. A loner. The girl reading a book or listening to a podcast over partying.
Callum used to look at me with so much love and support I felt like I could fly. Being in a shelter, with him and another girl? I couldn’t glance at him and see anything else. It would hurt too much and rip open the wound I thought had healed.
I was never enough for my parents, for any team, but I had been for him. Then he said those cruel things and never spoke to me again. It made me question my own worth, and I hated him for that.
“Your kittens are doing great. They need to be fed if you want to head on back.” Miss Paige hummed.
“I’ve been thinking about them so much.” I didn’t have to pretend with that. Those words were nothing but truth.
“Might be time to name them. I’m still superstitious though about naming them before ten weeks, honey.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “I have another regular here with a guest. Ivy, meet Callum and Lorelei. Aren’t those just the best names?”
My throat closed up. Wouldn’t work. Too much emotional cotton in there to make a sound. I lifted a shaky finger in the air, hoping that I kept it together as I blurted out, “Kittens.”
My mission to not make eye contact was in full force. I moved toward the smaller room where the babies and momma hung out in a small kennel. Just seeing their wiggly butts helped ease the horrible heartburn that formed five seconds ago. “Hello, my little sweets!” I cooed, gently petting one with my finger.
“They are so freaking cute. Holy shit, I can’t stand it!” Callum’s girl, Lorelei, stood next to me, smelling like a cookie.
Why couldn’t she smell bad? That would make it easier for me. It was hard to be mad at a woman who had crazy curly hair and smelled like a dessert.
“I’ve never been around kittens before, and gosh, they are so sweet. I’m more of a dog person myself, kind of like Callie boy here.”
“Callum prefers dogs, yes,” I said, my voice firm.
“He is such a puppy. He’d probably be a black lab or a poodle or something. Pretty and energetic.”
“No, I’d say a golden retriever.” I still hadn’t looked at her, instead focusing on the kittens I wanted to name. The silence grew to a full minute, and the girl still stood next to me humming to herself. I had to fill that silence. “Goldens love to eat, need to exercise a lot, and stay young at heart. That is exactly him.”
She cackled, a loud, booming sound. “Shit, you are spot-on.”
“And they’re naturally mouthy,” I mumbled, shushing some of the dogs that barked from her laugh.
My response made her go even harder, and the honking sound was honestly kinda weird. I chewed my lip, sparing her a glance. She laughed with her whole body, and it was slightly contagious. My own mouth curved up in a reluctant chuckle. “I’m not wrong, am I?”
“Not at all. God you’re great. How did Callum hide you all these years?”
What.
My face must’ve frozen in place, because Lorelei’s gaze softened, like she knew I was freaking out. God, they must be serious for him to tell her about me. “Uh?—”
“Lo, leave her alone. She likes to have moments with animals herself.” Callum’s voice held a hint of hesitation, like his nerves were also getting the best of him.
Good.
He’d been the one to crush me, then make continual little jabs at my weaknesses.
“Excuse me, I’m talking to her, not you.”
That almost made me laugh. I loved feisty girls for Callum. He needed someone to keep him on his toes. People assumed I was secretly in love with him in high school, but I really hadn’t been. I loved him as my best friend, nothing more, though I hated most of the girls he hung around because they were shallow, pushovers, or just dating him for fame.
Even though I hated that Callum brought Lorelei here, it made me happy to see someone with her attitude.
“Luca tells me you’re the best trainer to go to right now. The others are too talkative, but that’s my Luca, not wanting to small talk ever.”
My Luca?
“Your… Luca?” I frowned, my brain trying to pick up the pieces. I glanced at her, then Callum, before my skin seemed too tight on my body. “You’re not together?”
“Me and Callum? Oh hell no. He’s one of my best friends now.” She laughed that honk-like sound again, putting her hand on my arm. “He’s great, obviously pretty, but yeah, that’s a hard no.”
“Jesus, Lo, you don’t need to be so aggressive about it.” Callum’s tone was laced with humor. “Luca isn’t that much better than me.”
Lorelei rolled her eyes. “Here we go. This my fault, honestly. I lived with my brother for a bit at the football house and ended up friends with the guys. This one latched on.”
“Because you’re more fun than Dean.”
Dean Romano. Quarterback. This is his twin sister. The girl dating Luca Monroe, our tight end. Relief trickled through me, causing swirls in my stomach that had no place being there. There was no logical reason to be glad she wasn’t with Callum. I didn’t feel that way about him at all.
Yet the relief was there, and I found myself smiling. “I’m not sure what Callum has told you, but I have a ton of blackmail stories on him if you need them.”
Her eyes flashed with glee. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, please. I’m so glad we ran into each other! He said you kinda went your own ways, and that’s why I haven’t seen you around before, but you seem fantastic.”
Went your own ways.
That was what we’re calling it then? I sucked the corner of my lip into my mouth, finally letting my attention move toward Callum. He had his hands in his pockets, his low-riding jeans ripped at the knees. He wore a tight white shirt with sunglasses hanging from the center. His jaw flexed, and an unwanted rush of heat went through me. He was ridiculously handsome, and I hated that I noticed. He was never one to be embarrassed because he didn’t think shame was worth feeling about anything that was done and over with, but for the first time in my life, he looked guilty.
“That’s one way of putting it,” I said, a rush of power giving me confidence. “Is that the story that makes you feel better about yourself?”