Chapter 22 Jaden
Jaden
Maybe there’s something to Pop Rocks after all. I have been nothing but calm all week leading up to this week’s challenge matches. It’s as if my body has had a hard reset of sorts, and I’m back to being the competitor with zero doubts.
I tear the tape with my teeth and flatten the end piece against my wrist. I’ve been going hard at practice, and my body is paying the price.
It’s a good soreness, though. I thought I had plateaued in my workout routines, that there wasn’t a way to lift heavier or run faster. But this week, I’ve found new gears.
Fucking Pop Rocks.
Taryn’s hands close around my shoulders, and she digs in with her fingertips, rolling her palms around my joints while I let my head fall back.
“You’re a saint, you know that?” I blink my eyes open and look up at her, upside down.
“You’ve been so focused. I just want you to know that no matter what, I’m proud of you.” She gives my shoulders a final squeeze, then lets her hands slip away before I spin around to face her.
“Thanks,” I say in a hushed voice. “I feel ready. I feel . . . even, actually. Like, I’m not charged up the way I was last time, but I feel confident.
My body knows what to do.” I bend forward and adjust the laces on my right shoe.
I’m calm now, but when I tied it, I think I was a little full of adrenaline.
It’s awfully snug, and my toes feel numb.
“Bryson seems good for you,” Taryn says, and I lift my head to meet her eyes. She’s wearing that teasing smirk she usually does when we talk about Bryson. But I don’t mind it so much this time.
“I think he is,” I agree as I sit up tall and stretch my arms across my body one at a time.
Taryn steps back and lowers her chin.
“You’re agreeing with me.” Her gaze narrows as her lip twitches up on one side. “Oh my . . . my girl’s in love.”
“Ha, you’re funny,” I say, my cheeks lighting on fire mid-sentence.
I spin on my ass to face my locker and pull out my wristbands.
Taryn doesn’t let me avoid her stare for long, though, hopping over the bench and shutting my locker door only to lean against it with her arms folded over her chest. I let my head fall to one side as I exhale, but the longer she challenges me with her eyes, the more my resolve breaks down, until finally I bury my face in my hands.
“Oh God, I am. I really like him, Taryn. I like him so much,” I confess, spreading my fingers on one hand to peek at my friend.
“You don’t like him, Jaden. You love that boy. You’re in love with Bryson Moss. Jaden and Bryson, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—”
I throw one of my wristbands at her, and she swats it away.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I want this for you, J. You deserve it. And, well, you know I called it.”
She retrieves my wristband from across the locker room and tosses it to me. I slip it on and purse my lips at her gloating.
“You didn’t call anything. You just like to tease me.
Now you’re going to have to find something else.
” I roll my eyes and get to my feet, adjusting my wristbands again.
Everything on my body feels tight today, like my veins are swollen with too much blood.
I think maybe I’m overhydrated, if that’s a thing. I’m too ready.
“Seriously. I love seeing you happy, Jaden. It makes me happy.”
I lift my gaze to meet hers at hearing her words. I give her a soft smile that turns into me sucking in my bottom lip.
“I love that stupid boy,” I say out loud.
She rears back with a hard laugh, then throws her arms around me for one of her lanky-armed bear hugs. She kisses my cheek, making a loud puckering sound, then swats my ass as I head toward the door, ready for the courts.
“Go get ’em, partner.”
I brandish my racket as if it’s a sword, then slip through the locker door. My pulse starts to pick up with my steps, so I pause at the bleachers by center court and shake out my arms while I take a deep breath.
“Excuse me, but are you that famous tennis player, Jaden Johnson?” Bryson’s voice pulls my gaze straight up, where I find his head hanging over the fencing that lines the bleachers about ten rows up.
“What are you doing here?” I squint as I look up at him, his hair tips sort of glittering in front of the sun.
“Early practice today, and I figured you could use a fan in the stands.”
My lips pulse until I give in and stretch out my smile.
“Thanks,” I croak. My throat isn’t dry because I’m thirsty. It’s dry because I just said I love this man. Granted, not to his face. But I want to. And that’s super scary but exciting all at once.
“Now, go get this warm-up out of the way so you can face me next. You still owe me a match.” His smug, crooked smirk is so on brand for the guy I figured him to be before really knowing him. He’s not that guy at all. He’s so much better.
“You better bring your A game,” I say through a soft chuckle, reaching up as tall as I can until my fingertips hook on his.
“You got this,” he says with a wink and a nod. My hand slips away, but I feel destined now. I do got this. It’s mine. Number one. Meant to be.
Bryson tries his best to turn my cheeks pink, letting out a good finger-whistle when I enter the court.
He’s literally the only fan watching, and I’m glad he tucked himself up high and in the corner, out of sight.
I love him being here, but he’s pretty distracting right now.
He’s already the only thing on my damn mind.
I shake my head and try to erase his presence, turning my focus to Adrianne, who has kept my spot warm for long enough.
“All right, ladies. Remember, you’re teammates first. The point is to push each other, not tear each other down.” I nod to our coach’s instructions, and Adrianne does the same.
We both shake hands, then head to opposite sides of the court to volley for warm-ups.
I jog a few steps once I reach the baseline, the tingling I tried to correct by retying my laces suddenly back in my right foot.
My hands start to feel numb, too, so I flex them one at a time, my fingers stretching out like starbursts as I jog in place on the center of the baseline.
I shake my head a little, a strange tickle creeping up the sides of my neck and stuffing my ears. The typical music Coach plays during practice is blaring from the speakers, but everything sounds like it’s reaching me through a tin can.
“Jaden, are you okay?” Adrianne says, moving slowly toward the net.
I nod and lift my racket.
“I’m fine,” I say, and a second later my ears begin to ring, and the world turns bright, bright yellow.
I’m going to fucking pass out.
Right. About. No—
“Jaden!” Bryson’s face is so close. Why is it so close?
I blink wildly, and I want to turn my head, but I can’t. Someone is holding me in place. And I’m on the pavement. Why am I here? Did I hit my head?
“Let me—” I try to get the words out, but my head feels so fuzzy that I forget what I’m asking before the question comes out. What do I need? Do I want something? I’m on the ground. It’s my challenge day. I know these things. I remember these things.
“I just need to—” I try to roll to my side, but I’m suddenly being held down by a man in a fire uniform.
Oh fuck! Are they here for me?
“What’s happening? Bryson? Bryson?” I feel like I’m shouting, but my voice is scratchy, and I can’t hear a damn thing, only the incessant drumming of my pulse in my ear. I strain my eyes, shifting my gaze from one side to the other, trying to push my periphery a little farther so I can find him.
My coach is kneeling next to me, and her sunglasses are off.
Her sunglasses are never off. Her forehead is pulled in so tight, and she’s holding something.
I glance down as best I can without lifting my chin, and I see my hand in hers.
She’s holding my hand. Do I feel her hand? I squeeze, and she squeezes back.
“I’m right here, Jaden. Bryson is calling your parents,” Coach says.
“What? No, they were just here. They can’t come again. They can’t take off—”
“Shh,” Coach hushes, leaning in closer to me.
It’s hard to focus on her when she’s this close.
A hand rests on my forehead, and I try to peer up to see whose it is.
I think it’s hers. “You had a seizure, Jaden. The paramedics are here, and they’re going to transport you to Mercy.
You’re going to be just fine. I’m coming with you.
Taryn is getting your things. It’s going to be okay. ”
“But . . . I was playing. And then . . .” I stutter and blink several times, wishing I could focus on one goddamn thing. I feel like vomiting, but I also kind of feel like I just did.
“Can Bryson come? I need Bryson.”
I try to spot him one more time and finally do as the emergency personnel lift me on the stretcher, popping the wheels in place just as Bryson takes my free hand.
He and my coach walk alongside me until I’m lifted into the back of the ambulance.
All I see is cold metal cabinets, rolls of tape and gauze, emergency vests, gallons of water, saline bottles. My arm itches. Why is my arm itching?
“Hey. I’m right here,” Bryson says, taking my hand again, this time encasing it in both of his. The ambulance doors shut, and I think we’re alone.
“Where’s Coach?” My voice trembles. I’m going to cry. Fuck, I’m going to cry.
“I talked her into switching with me. She’s going to drive and meet us there. Unless you want her instead, I can—”
I try to shake my head.
“No!” I blurt out. “I want you.”
The tears slip down my cheeks. I feel those. They’re hot, and I’m terrified.
“I’m right here.”