Chapter 47
FORTY-SEVEN
SUTTON
I release a low, annoyed groan. I can’t focus when all I want to do is refresh my phone.
“Everything good over there?” Cooper asks from across his room.
We’ve both been busy, but we manage to do our best to squeeze in time together where we can—studying, even if in silence, is better than going a day without him.
He’s sitting at his desk, broad shoulders hunched over his math homework.
Forearm flexing when he grabs his calculator.
Straightening, Cooper turns in my direction, a pencil tucked into his backwards hat.
Yesterday, he shaved his scruff, leaving only the mustache he’s been growing out for the playoffs.
I kind of hate how much I like it, but pigs will fly before I ever admit that to him.
I also sort of hate how hot it is watching him do math.
I’m sprawled out on his bed. On my stomach with all of my textbooks and notebooks spread out around me in a half circle. Dotted with Post-its and highlighters, my pen is half chewed on and hanging out of my mouth.
I roll over on my back, paper crunches under me.
“Thinking about the internship. I should have applied to more. Gotten at least one other interview. I would have heard back by now if they selected me. Right?”
“It’s been a week—”
“They said they were making a decision quickly. A week, two tops. What am I supposed to do if I don’t get it?”
“Stop thinking about it. You are stressing yourself out,” he presses.
“Because—”
“Nope,” he cuts me off. “I’m not letting you talk negatively about yourself. There’s nothing about you that should, or deserves, to be spoken about like that.”
I roll into a seated position, knees tucked up into me.
I pull his sweatshirt over them and play with the drawstrings.
Cooper dotes on me, and because he knows me as he does, each positive affirmation feels like a kiss on my skin, an invisible tattoo, and is the exact opposite of what I was about to say about myself.
“You understand?” he asks after he finishes what could be a new encyclopedia.
“Yes.” I roll my eyes. Lovingly, of course. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I never want you to question how I see you, Sutton.”
Cooper rubs the back of his left shoulder. A wince creeps out every so many touches.
“You okay over there?”
“Just sore.” My eyes must be communicating with him, because he adds, “I’m not overtraining again, I promise. Coach is pushing us hard in practice. The teams we are going up against are some of the most physical ones. He wants us prepared for the pressure and hits we can expect.”
“Weren’t you supposed to go to the trainers after practice”
“Yes,” he hisses. “They we’re busy.”
“That’s not a good enough excuse.” I pat the bed. “Come here.”
Having been around enough athletic training rooms and gone through my fair share of therapy, I’ve picked up a few tricks.
Cooper stands, stalking intentionally to the bed. I should be clearing my things, but my attention keeps getting dragged to him.
I don’t think he’s purposely moving like a snail. The distance between his king-sized bed and the desk is maybe seven steps. Four for his long stride.
Long fingers, decorated with calluses where they meet his palm, curl into the hem of his self-cropped team shirt. The hem rolling up, teasing the tanned muscles underneath. Arms crisscrossed, biceps bulge against the sleeves—have they gotten bigger?—as he tugs it upward.
It’s as if I’m cutting a cake and slowly pulling the slice back, revealing the layers of deliciousness underneath. Each layer of abs is displayed as the shirt works its way up his abdomen. Over his pecs.
I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. It doesn’t matter how many times I see it, I can’t believe his left nipple is pierced. A dare between his housemates that resulted in Jaxon and Cooper with the bling.
Once his shirt is flipped inside out, face hidden, I let my gaze wander. Map out his torso, even though I have it memorized.
The bruises from his most recent games are still visible. One rimmed in yellow, the other still purple and blue.
I grind my teeth, cringing at the sight. Can’t say I miss those. The scar on my thigh is already bad enough.
Brown, shaggy hair pops through the neck of the shirt. A Cheshire cat-worthy smile on his face. Cooper tilts his head up to make eye contact with me.
I pat his bed again.
He closes the remaining inches. Cleans up my belongings. Tucking bookmarks into my textbook and stacking everything neatly on the ground. Gives me a quick kiss.
On his stomach, I straddle his back and start pushing into his knotted muscles.
“A little lower,” he requests, voice muffled in the comforter.
I shift my hands lower down his trapezius, digging more into his rhomboid minor and major. “Here?” I press in using the heel of my hand.
Cooper whimpers. Twice.
It drips down my spine like honey.
I press in again, then repeat on the other side. The yellowing bruise is there, wrapping around his ribcage. I’m careful not to touch it, but I do lean down to softly kiss the skin around it. I notice a new one forming almost under it.
“New?” I rub a gentle finger around it. “What’s this one from?”
“I don’t know. Must have been a slow burn.” He laughs, cheek on the comforter, eyes flicking to me in his peripheral vision.
“Oh yeah? It didn’t kiss your skin till seventy-five percent through?”
“At least it didn’t take fifteen years.”
“Funny.” I pinch his unbruised side above his Levi’s.
“I think it’s from the hit in our game against Minnesota. That side is achy and tender, but I figured it’s my other bruise. Popped up this morning.”
I lean forward and press a kiss next to it. “Now it’s better.”
“Mhmm.”
I keep massaging his back. Eventually, he takes off his jeans and I move to his legs. Little noises slip out of him while we talk about everything and nothing at the same time.
I stop when my phone buzzes. An email notification pops up. I glance over at it and read up to where the subject line cuts off. I pick up my phone, fingers moving quicker than my racing heart.
Tapping and swiping open the notification, I curse under my breath as the screen goes white before loading.
I scurry to the end of the bed and swing my legs over. The brightness on my phone is low, but enough to highlight the tear wetting my cheek like you do a slip and slide before everyone takes their turns.
A couple more tears sneak out, and I use the back of my hand to wipe them away.
I reread the email again. And again.
The bed dips next to me. Cooper sidles up next to me.
“Everything okay?” He peers over at my phone. “What is that?”
“I didn’t get the internship.”
It was a long shot, I know that. By the time the psych department approved my study, I was already late to the game, applying for internships or fellowship programs. This one didn’t have as strict requirements as the others.
It was my only shot. And I think I put a lot more weight on it than I intended. I wanted this, needed this, and didn’t get it.
His arm slips around my shoulders, fingers digging into my shoulder like he’s playing the piano.
“I-I can’t believe it.” Well, I can. I’m never the one picked. The one that’s wanted. “This was my only option.” My voice cracks, barely above a mumble.
Cooper pulls me into his chest and holds me. “We’ll figure it out.”
A handful of days later, I’m trying to enjoy the rare quietness of campus. Slowly strolling through the lawn, sipping on chai, and catching up on social media.
My favorite author announced a new book. Antonio’s is trying a pickle pizza. And…I scroll up and back down, making sure my suggested for you post isn’t fake.
It’s Izzy in Chicago. She got the internship.
I unfollowed her last year, but can’t lie and say I didn’t look her up after the interview. Now here she is.
I try to be excited for her, think about texting her congrats as I walk up the stairs to Dr. Manning’s office.
Leaning against the wall next to her door, I find the photo for a third time, and accidentally like it. Immediately I tap my phone to remove the red heart and shove my phone into my bag.
Good for Izzy. I’m happy for Izzy—valiant effort at sounding convincing, Sutton. I roll my eyes at myself. All I can convince myself about right now is that she’s right.
“You wanted to see me?” Dr. Manning’s office door opens, light pouring into her office, coating everything in a warmth, as she calls me in.
After I didn’t get into the internship, I’ve been avoiding her. I know I still have a full year left at school, but it doesn’t negate the fact that I feel like I wasted her time. I failed her. It won’t be worth it to work with me again next year.
The self-doubt and insecurities I used to know well are back. Printed on my body as if they are a temporary tattoo that won’t rub off. The more I try, the more irritated I become.
“Sutton. How are you today?” She smiles at me brightly, her fresh bobbed hair brushing her high cheekbones as she spins in her oversized leather chair.
“I’m okay.” I gulp, swallow a shard of another ruined dream. “Busy,” I add.
“Well, I’m about to make that okay, great.”
Impossible, but okay.
I shift awkwardly in the chair across from her, my shoulders straight and legs crossed at the ankles.
“I met with the Dean of Students and the department chair this morning.” My throat goes dry.
Any optimism is wrung out of me. “They are impressed with you. The whole package—paper, dedication to the study, application of real-life experience. They’ve accepted the addition.
Sports psychology is officially a minor at Lakeland. ”
My stomach does a somersault. “What?”
“That’s not all. They are adding additional resources for student-athletes in the Student Health Center. Bringing on specific therapists to work with the teams. At the start of every season, there will be a seminar on mental health.”
“Wait, I’m confused. How is this all happening?”
“Coach Mathieson and Mr. Carmichael spoke to the University and attended the meeting this morning.”
That’s where he snuck off early this morning and wouldn’t tell me. I’m in disbelief. Half of me wants to be excited, but the other half of me knows that it still wasn’t enough.
“I didn’t get the internship,” I blurt.
“Yes, I know.”
“You do?”
“Avoiding me? I’m older and wiser than you think.” She walks around the front of her desk, leaning back on it. “Plus, I know someone in the office. Sutton, there were three hundred students who applied for that internship. Twenty were interviewed.”
“Let me guess, I was ranked twenty.” Cooper would be scolding me for my self-deprecation.
“No.” Dr. Manning shakes her head. “Just because this door is closed, doesn’t mean another one isn’t opening.”
As if on cue, her office door swings open.
“I didn’t have an internship the summer after my junior year, and I turned out great.”
“Great? How humble of you, Vivi,” the newcomer says. Vivi?
Heels click across the hardwood. I turn over my shoulder to find Dr. Zando, a Senior Psychological Service Provider for Team USA.
“Allie.” Allie?
My list of idols, people I want to be, isn’t long. Meave tops it, then Mom and Dad, followed by Kendall Coyne Schofield, and recently Dr. Zando.
My eyes bug. Holy shit. I smack a hand over my mouth before I say something stupid.
She sits down next to me. Her deep chestnut hair is pulled into a slicked-back bun, exposing her striking facial features. Powerful, intimidating, and—I wonder if my curls could be man-handled enough to do that hairstyle?
“Is this her?” Dr. Zando pretends to discreetly whisper to Dr. Manning behind a cupped hand.
My advisor rolls her eyes. “Yes.”
“Hi.” I stretch out my hand to her. “I’m Sutton Davis.”
“Dr. Zando, but please, call me Allison or Allie.” She shakes my hand. “You know, Vivi, she reminds me more of myself than you.”
“Is that so?”
“Way cooler.” Dr. Zando laughs, then turns back to me. “Your advisor talks non-stop about her psych student protege.”
Huh? What? Me?
“Don’t let Allison fool you. I only talk about you once a day.” She smirks. “And the words protege did leave my mouth once or twice.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr.—Allison. Are you in town visiting? Did you two go to school together?” I have so many questions.
She licks her lips, glancing back at my advisor. “You could say visiting. Vivian and I went to grad school together. I could give you a good story or two about her.”
“Please do.”
“Maybe later. I’ll give you my number.” Opening her designer purse, Allison pulls out a business card and hands it to me. I tuck it securely in the back of my phone case. “My email is also on there. Send me your resume and a copy of your transcript.”
Wait…what? I wish I could rewind to make sure I heard that correctly.
“While Team USA doesn’t have formal internships, they do allow certain doctors to take on interns or allow students to shadow them,” Dr. Manning announces. The cadence and enunciation of her words lets me read between them.
Stay calm, Sutton.
“Really?!”
I’m about to burst out of my seat like a jumping bean.
“No promises.” Allie passes me a reassuring smile. “However, sometimes it’s good to know someone.”
Can they hear my heart thumping against my chest? Can they see the stars in my eyes?
“I’d love the opportunity to do that.” I turn to Dr. Manning. “Thank you.”
“All you, but you’re welcome.” Dr. Manning stands, grabbing her purse. “I’m starved. Sutton, do you want to join us for lunch?”