Chapter 11
ELEVEN
SUTTON
I swear I blink and it’s Thursday. But that’s college for you…
sort of. College is this weird matrix where days are quick but the years go by within a flash of a camera.
Pictures taped and pinned around my room are the only reminders of the memories collected over the past two and a half years.
But these days are also long. Sunlight stretching and bleeding into the night, hourless and boundless, somehow letting me accomplish my to-do list and more.
Eighteen credit hours, my independent study on top of it.
Classes in the mornings. Labs and case studies littering my evenings, appointments with my PT and therapist squeezed in between the cracks.
Moments spent lying on the couch studying or procrastinating with Elliot, a rom-com or dramatic reality TV show lightly echoing in the background.
Weekends or random intrusions from our friends, because the proximity of a college campus is unmatched, people that start as strangers quickly become your family.
Sometimes I don’t ever want college to end. Lucky for me—I send up a wish to the universe, manifesting or whatever people call it—I’ll get four to six more.
I think people take it for granted. The opportunity to attend. The chance to be on your own for the first time, even if it’s disguised behind roommates and your parents sending you money for beer in a weekly card. The unknown destination and adventure to discover yourself.
Since I was first asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’ve thought about college. That picture became detailed when asked what school I wanted to play hockey for. It was almost as if I could reach out and grab it. And I almost did.
Everything had been falling into place…for the most part. I hadn’t gotten an offer from my dream school, but my second choice—Lakeland University—was right there eager for me.
Freshman year checked one box after another.
A roommate that became my best friend. A friend group that feels like a family, albeit Cooper.
A major and coursework that is challenging but doable.
A month in and already having a boyfriend I was head over heels for.
And hockey. I might not have been starting as I hoped or my coach had anticipated, but all signs were pointing to a strong recovery and future.
But playing scared and favoring your good knee is easy for your opponents to spot. One trip, what wouldn’t have been a bad for another player, forces your hand in deciding to retire your skates.
Things started to unravel again. It felt as if high school was repeating itself. My ex dumped me. The next day Elliot and I got into a massive fight—luckily it only lasted for a week and not years.
On top of that, my major felt pointless, and I was back to the questions that started it all: what do I want to be when I grow up? Who is Sutton Davis?
In the moment, those first two years, it was easy to be upset. I wanted to do everything in my power to reverse time, but now, retrospectively, that wasn’t the college experience I was meant for.
This one…I can’t pinpoint why, but it feels right.
After my last class, I opted to study in the library. Spent the entire two hours researching stress in correlation to athletes and burnout. I ended up printing off three articles for Cooper before heading back to my apartment to meet him.
Elliot texted me on my way home, asking to check our mail. The key to our mailbox doesn’t work when I turn it. Staring at the black lockboxes with silver numbers, I laugh at myself. Lost in thought, I’m trying to unlock box number sixteen—my old hockey number—rather than our apartment number.
Two steps to the left, our mailbox is tucked into the corner. Unlocking the door, I tug out our stack of mail, smiling at the corner of a bright blue envelope sticking out. A key on a chain drops from the middle of the stack.
I guess neither of us have checked the mail in a few days.
The fallen key is for one of the package mailboxes. I locate the box, 3B, and pull out an unexpectedly heavy, medium-sized box.
Closing the mailboxes, I start to head upstairs. Cooper should be here soon…or now.
Over my shoulder, I hear him being buzzed in through the lobby doors by one of our neighbors. A senior education major who must have the sun embedded in her skin with the glow she continuously has. Her hair is the color of golden rays and eyes the color of the gulf.
I actively tune out their conversation, but it’s hard to ignore her body language.
The manicured hand she places on his bicep, how she bites on her bottom lip after giggling.
When she walks past me, the cherry red tint to her cheeks is obviously not make up.
There’s a different pep to her step, almost a glide as if she’s on cloud nine from one minor interaction with Cooper.
A dull ache starts with each heartbeat, and an urge to throw up works through me.
Am I…am I jealous of her? No. Impossible. I can’t be. I don’t get jealous, and I definitely don’t get jealous over him.
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” I bite out, reclasping the reigns of my emotions.
Cooper shrugs, walking over to me. “It doesn’t take much to be a nice person.”
“Flirt,” I correct.
“That wasn’t flirting.”
I scoff, “Yeah, right.”
He takes a step closer to me, presses his lips into a line, pushing them out slightly and I wonder how they’d feel pushed onto mine. Get it together, Davis.
“Trust me. You of all people, Dave, should know what my flirting looks like.”
Is Cooper saying he flirts with me? If being a dick is flirting, then I may need to find a new dating tutor.
His gaze locks on mine, a deep depth of brown pulling me into them like a violent current.
There it is.
The chasm that separates us. The reminder that I’m standing on one side of a bridge waiting for him to waive the white flag, missing a part of me.
The hole that he used to fill isn’t this flattened surface. It’s jagged and when I try to patch it up, or fill it with someone else, I cut myself and I’m thrown right back to the reason why we are like this.
“She lives in the apartment directly below me.” He looks confused, then stifles a laugh. “For later.”
I turn to the stairs, heading for my apartment, my steps forceful, loud. He’s right behind me, the extra step putting us at equal height.
“You’re jealous.” Cooper’s smug voice is in my ear.
“Am not.” My cheeks heat.
“You don’t need to be. I have no plans to stop flirting with you.” With that, Cooper sprints in front of me, taking the stairs three at a time.
“I win,” he tells me when I reach the landing of my floor a second after him.
I brush past him, body feeling like it was electrocuted, turning the key and going into my apartment. His groan from where I purposely grind my shoulder into him is satisfying.
I drop the mail on the counter.
“Elliot. Package.”
She bounces down the hallway, hair freshly washed and thrown up into a twisted towel, oversized shirt, and a green clay face mask cracking on her skin.
“Oh. Hi, Cooper. This is a pleasant surprise.”
His brown eyes bounce from her to me. I give him a subtle shake of the head, silently telling him I still haven’t told her. When I shrug my shoulders, I hope he understands I’m telling him it’s up to him.
“I’m the student athlete working with Sutton.” Cooper looks like he’s holding his breath. Is he expecting Elliot to laugh? Question him? I’ve never seen him this nervous before.
“Cool.” She shrugs it off casually, not asking any further questions. “Well, I’m going to my room. Let me know if you want to catch up on Survivor later.”
“Yeah, I’ll grab you after he leaves.” Elliot flips through the mail before excusing herself, taking the package with her. I flatten my palms on the counter and take a deep inhale, now that it’s just Cooper and me. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Water, but I can get it.”
He does. Reaching into the correct cabinet on his first try, lifting a glass with cherries etched into it, and pulling the filtered pitcher out of the fridge. It’s too comfortable for my liking.
Cooper pulls out a barstool and sits down, resting his elbows on the counter, his backpack in the chair next to him.
Refocused on the mail, I pull out the envelope that had me excited in the first place. It’s my favorite piece of mail every week. Has been since I started college, he’s never missed a week.
On the front in terrible handwriting is my name and address. The same little drawing of a lion on skates is in the right-hand corner.
The first time I ever went to the zoo was my seventh birthday.
Dad told me I had hair like a lion. I went as one for Halloween that year in a homemade costume to match Meave’s tiger.
Jordan was a black panther, Molly a cheetah, and Cooper was a jaguar, but all I wanted for my birthday was to see one in person.
Our zoo had lion cubs that year, and he arranged a special meet and greet with them. That same year I started to learn how to skate. Dad always joked about me being a lion on skates.
I know it’s silly and honestly, kind of stupid, but that year was a pivotal year in my life, and it stuck.
I flip the card around, opening it without giving myself a paper cut.
I read his card as a smile blooms on my face.
Tucked inside is a folded twenty. For gas, or beer, or whatever.
I pocket the money before putting the card back in the envelope and pinning it to the fridge with a magnet.
After I’m done with Cooper, I’ll add it to the box in my room.
“Is that from your dad?” he asks when I turn back around.
“How’d you know?”
“My dad writes me one too.”
“Really?”
He laughs out a, “Yeah. Think they sit around and write us letters together?”
I can picture it. Our parents already spent a lot of time together, but now that they are empty nesters, it’s probably obscene.