5. Ivy
Ever since I had the accident, I had to be mindful of being on my leg. It wasn’t a weakness, but it was a reality. When I was in the hospital for weeks, Callum organized our class to write me notes. But instead of a normal third grader with colorful papers and markers and gel pens, Callum taught them all origami.
My shoebox of get-well notes were frogs, dogs, birds, dragons, and fish. I kept those still in a memory box somewhere, but Callum was kind even at eight years old. He gave me one mini crane the day we graduated that was with shiny gold paper. He wrote along the neck our time is now and told me that the next chapter for us would be even better. He’d play football and chase his dream, and I’d escape our hometown and find myself where I wasn’t my mom and dad’s unathletic daughter. I could create a name for myself without their being attached to it, and I could be someone without the whole backstory of being injured. When you had a major injury like I did, everyone knew, and it was exhausting always having that as part of your story. I just wanted to be a badass AT without all the baggage. Just Ivy.
Despite our huge fight, I kept the small gold one. I twirled it in my palm, letting myself feel the hurt. I read once that hurt was just leftover love, and I hated that bullshit. I never had a relationship before because the pain of losing Callum was unbearable, and he was just my best friend. What if I was in love with someone?
Not sure I could survive it.
Seeing Callum had me feeling raw, something I hated because I’d already lived through pain and hopelessness. People assumed I was so grateful I didn’t die getting hit that day, and of course, I was, but I still had to mourn a life I planned. I lived every day like I wanted, but it was still difficult having physical and emotional scars. My parents did their best, but they didn’t know how to raise a child who couldn’t play sports. That was all they knew.
That was their love language, so take away the game part, and what was left? An empty void of forced emotions.
Removing off my glasses, I set them on my desk and rubbed the ridge of my nose. I couldn’t see shit without my glasses, but a small tension headache formed with all the emotions crashing into each other like football players. I was due at the stadium in an hour, Mondays the day where I had no classes and just spent eight hours working, but that meant seeing Callum again.
After we had our fight, I went through the conversation in my head a million times of what I would say to him. I wanted to crush him, to make him feel the way I did when he abandoned me and said the words that he knew would hurt me the most.
But the urge to strike back dulled. Now…I wanted to move on, but how did one do that without closure? I could… reach out to him?
No.
I shook my head violently, hating the idea. I’d tried reaching out to him before, and it went unanswered. Not again. I was happy, doing something I loved, with a best friend for life.
I was good.
Better than good. Great, maybe.
Yeah. Maybe if I say it enough it’ll be true.
Eyeing my watch, I stood up and winced at my left leg. It fell asleep after sitting for so long, and I hopped toward the door. Esme and Enrique sat on the couch, discussing loudly the pros and cons of intermittent fasting.
They could argue about NASCAR, aliens, or diets. They were honestly weirdos, and I adored them.
“Whose side are you on, Ivy? This is important. You work with athletes. Is it beneficial?” Enrique asked, his eyes hopeful.
“To lose weight, yes. To build muscle mass, no. Depends on what your goal is.” I stretched my right arm a few times, trying to get rid of the stiffness. It happened pretty often when I was super active or slept on it wrong. I winced as I rotated it again, a flicker of worry taking root.
One of Callum’s comments that summer had been that the only reason I wanted to be a trainer was to be on a team, which would never happen.
You’re never gonna be an athlete, so stop trying to live through me. Find your own thing. Stop thinking you can do everything.
I heard that anger in his voice every time I hurt. I used it to push me harder.
“Oi, you okay, Ivy?” Enrique stood, frowning. “Why did you wince?”
“Oh, my arm.” I waved him off. “No big deal. I swear.”
“She’s lying.” Esme studied me. “Could you drop her at the stadium on your way out? She likes to walk, but if her arm is hurting, her leg probably is too, but she’s being a heroic pain in the ass.”
“I’m not. A little soreness is no big deal.”
“With an injury like yours it is. You know this. You work with athletes and the body and healing. You’re too stubborn for you own good, so that’s why you have us.” Esme picked up her pad of paper and pointed at her brother. “We will finish this argument later and call it a draw right now. You take care of my bestie.”
“Of course.” Enrique smiled at me, his gaze softening. He was only three years older than us and had graduated in game design. He was wicked smart, kinda cute, and my second closest friend.
“Please don’t feel guilted into driving me. The walk is good for me.”
“It’s on the way.” He eyed my duffel bag and clicked his tongue. “Nope, I got it.”
Sighing, it was hard to be annoyed when they were so kind to me. No one else in my life did thoughtful gestures like that. Not my parents or my classmates or the few guys I’d tried dating.
Callum used to.
Not him again. My brain needed a vacation from memories, my goodness. I’d gotten so good at not thinking about him the last few years that being around him again opened all the wounds. “Thank you,” I said, passing him on the way down the stairs. He gently pulled my elbow, guiding me toward the elevator. “I hate?—”
“Tough.”
“You’re bossy.”
“That’s what happens when you’re in our family.” He shrugged, not having any idea how that comment got to me.
He meant it, truly. Him and Esme had adopted me into their family, and knowing that made my eyes prickle with emotions. Gratitude surrounded my heart, pushing away all the negative thoughts I had that morning about Callum and what happened.
We joked about how growing up was all a lie and that it actually kinda sucked, and even though he was doing super well, hearing him speak about it was still a lot. He made adulthood more approachable and real than my parents did. They just assumed I’d figure it out on my own without their guidance, where Enrique talked us through all his choices.
He arrived in the front of the stadium where our Central State Wolves played. They packed that place every home game, fans dressed in orange, white, and navy as they cheered the home team on. The sun blasted the cement in the front, making the heat come up in waves like a radiator on the ground.
I always liked the feeling of warmth after being blasted with air-conditioning. I had poor circulation since the accident. “Thank you for the ride. I really appreciate it.”
“Have Esme pick you up if you don’t want to walk.” He got out, his all-black outfit looking too artsy and hip for the athletes. Football players were around us, all coming into practice at various times. They had to do it in waves because there were so many on the roster.
I ignored the tingling on my arms, like someone watched me.
“I’m getting your bag.” He popped his trunk and slung the bag over his shoulder like it weighed two pounds. “Don’t fight me.”
“You’re not walking me inside, Enrique.” I glared at him. “Give me my stuff, please.”
“Are you still hurting?” He narrowed his eyes right back. “Because if I see a single wince, then I’m walking you and your bag inside.”
My jaw flexed as embarrassment flooded my face. How could I do this as a career if a simple bag was too heavy for me sometimes? The flicker of doubt grew from a seed into a bloom, where it was getting nurtured from my own insecurities.
“I’m fine.” I took the strap from his hands, refusing to show a single emotion. Using my left arm, the healthier one, I slung it over and spun around. “See? I’m perfectly good.”
“Okay. Call me or Esme if you need help after, okay? Promise me.”
“It’ll be?—”
“Promise me. Or I’ll make a scene.”
Laughing, I nodded. “Fine, I promise, now will you leave?”
He studied me for a beat then nodded. “See you later, Emerson.”
I waved, watching him drive away, and steeled my shoulders to walk in.
“Who was that?”
And there went my momentary peace. Callum stood next to me, smelling like an older version of home and comfort. He wore sport shorts and a loose, cutoff shirt that showcased his muscles. He’d definitely put on muscle in the last three years but also had matured well. He looked good. Objectively, of course. I liked his hard jawline and the laugh lines around his eyes. It meant he was happy—which, that made me happy.
“You think you have the right to ask me in that tone?” I glared at him.
“I haven’t seen him before.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t go here. Why would you?” I headed toward the entrance, Callum’s footsteps following me with a soft thud. For being a large man, he walked with a quiet swagger.
“Are you dating him?”
“Callum.” I stopped, my shoes squeaking on the floor as my heart raced. The question blindsided me in so many ways. Facing him, I gripped the strap of my bag tighter to prevent myself from yelling. “What are you asking? Why do you care?”
“I told you. I don’t recognize him. He obviously cares for you.” He gripped the back of his neck, his jaw flexing. “He dropped you off and carried your bag.”
“Yeah, because my arm—” I stopped, not willing to give him anything. He’d make fun of me or tell me I couldn’t do this. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s not do this, please.”
“Your arm what? Is it bothering you? Are you still going to therapy every once in a while?” His gaze moved toward my right shoulder, his nostrils flaring as he scanned me up and down. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”
“Why is everything you say to me in a tone that hurts?” I backpedaled a few steps, putting distance between us. “I have lost weight because I’m working on my feet four days a week. That’s why my arm is a little sore, but Enrique was being kinda?—”
“And how do you feel about Enrique? Does he know your past?”
“Yes, he does,” I fired back. “He knows all of it and doesn’t treat me differently because of it. If anything, he makes sure I have support and confidence.”
“He’s not in any of your pictures, so it must be new. Why are you sharing that with someone so new?” he asked, his voice quiet as he squinted at the ceiling.
“Pictures?” I repeated, my stomach tightening. “What pictures?”
His face flushed as his eyes widened. “Never mind. I have to get to practice.”
“What pictures, Callum?”
“Social media, okay?” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. “I never stopped following you. I wanted to make sure you were good, that’s all. It’s no big deal. That dude isn’t in any posts, so I figured he was new to your circle.”
He followed me on social media to make sure I was good but couldn’t talk to me in person? Why did that hurt worse? It was one thing to cut me out entirely, but to keep tabs on me and ignore my attempts at reaching out? My fingers trembled, and for the first time, I wasn’t sure I could do this.
Survive three more months of seeing him and feeling the weight of the loss. There were other avenues to being an athletic trainer and other sports. I didn’t know the world outside of football as well, but I was a fast learner.
“Enrique is a huge support for me. I don’t post about him because he’s famous and wants to keep his life under wraps.” I swallowed, moving my arm a few times as the stress caused the muscles to bunch up. “I have never once questioned the people in your life, so please don’t do that to me.”
“I’m not questioning. Why do you look like you’re going to cry? Is your arm bothering you?” He frowned, his dark brows coming together. “Ivy, does Henry know?—”
“I have to get to work.” I left him at the entrance, thankful I had an internship that I loved to keep my busy. I didn’t want to leave the football team or stop working for Henry, but I also wouldn’t survive this dance with Callum either. Being an athletic trainer meant so much to me. It was hard to describe the deep, almost wild need to succeed, all stemming from proving to myself that I could do it. It was physically exhausting. It was hard. You had to know your shit and think on your feet. I loved all of that. Plus, I got the idea from the physical therapist, Eric, who’d worked with me for eight years. He came up with the idea when I was twelve, and it just stuck.
Being on one of the best D1 football teams for an internship was massive to achieving my goal, yet a few conversations with Callum almost derailed me. I either could stay, tough it out to further my dreams, and be crushed by him every day. Or I could explore other options to see what else was out there. Staying would be tough, but I did hard things all the time. I could do it. I refused to let Callum get in the way of my goals.
Yet why does the thought of not seeing him hurt me even more?