Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
DEREK
Late-August
“Pilates?” I stared at the phone, where I had just spoken to the doctor who had been with me through my ACL journey.
It wasn't usual for him to give me a call, hence my uttermost surprise when he requested a call with me, when I was in the middle of drinking my brains out. Figuratively, because painkillers were my new buddies, and they didn't mix well with alcohol.
“Yo, Dex, come on!” my teammates shouted from inside our house, where an intense beer pong game was underway. Everyone got to enjoy the now lukewarm beer, while I sipped on my fucking soda.
I was living the dream before this plot twist.
“No offense, doc, but I don't think Pilates is what I need,” I told him when he took a breath during his long-winded speech.
Yeah, no thanks.
Pilates classes: it was all girls in cute outfits doing stretches and nothing else. I needed to strengthen the muscles around my knee, so I worked my butt off during the summer.
“I'm not saying you aren't cleared for soccer. I'm saying you would benefit from regular Pilates classes and focused exercises to further strengthen your knee.”
Same shit.
“I'm sure there is a Pilates class on campus I can check out,” I brushed it off as my eyes travelled through our spacious garden, where a mock soccer game was underway.
Liam elbowed Max in his side, making my friend fall sideways, laughing. There were not many times Max let himself have fun and watching him finally not take life too seriously filled me with joy.
Maddox stood over them, shaking his head as one foot rested on the ball.
They were all having the time of their lives, while I lived with the constant panic of not starting this season and of missing my last chance to play soccer. All because of my dick and my big mouth.
Quite fitting.
Sad, but fitting.
“You can't just roll into any Pilates class, Derek,” Doc lectured me, and I wanted to roll my eyes. “You are recovering from an injury. You need special care.”
There it was. The word that drove me crazy. Along with special assistance and modifications.
All of those sounded like weaknesses.
“What do you suggest?” I grunted annoyed, and looking away from my friends, I eyed the beer pong setup in the living room, past the glass doors.
Ivy, Max's girlfriend, picked up the ball and aimed it at a cup with great concentration. She threw the ball, missing the cup completely. Nova, our Coach’s daughter, laughed next to her, bent over.
Ivy fixed her blonde hair and shrugged it off, as her partner and our team's best goalie, Alfie, rolled his eyes.
He was pissed off at being stuck playing with Ivy and Nova, while I was on a team with two brunettes: Brooklyn, Liam's girlfriend from high school, and Paige, Alfie's girlfriend. Or whatever they were. I was never quite sure if they made it official yet, but everyone knew they were a thing.
Aaron and Oliver were also playing, but they both disappeared somewhere when I went to take the phone call.
Clearly, no one missed the three of us as the game carried on. Brooklyn picked up the ball, only to royally miss as well.
If it wasn't for us guys on the team, that beer pong game was going to last days.
“Are you listening to me?” Doc's annoyed voice cut through my thoughts, and I pulled my gaze from my friends. My parents paid big bucks for this guy to lecture me. But money was the last thing on my mind.
“No, sorry. I got distracted. Could you repeat that?”
The doctor took a deep breath. “I said, I know a small Pilates studio in town where they do individual classes, and you should check it out. I will send over the details.”
San Matjo was one of the smallest cities in California. It hosted not one but two universities. Aside from the campuses, there was little to the town itself. The whole city center was made up of six roads. I was sure I could find the only Pilates studio existing there.
“Sure, thanks,” I muttered, contrary to my thoughts, and after saying our quick goodbyes, I hung up the phone.
My legs took me back to the living room, itching to play some more beer pong, instead of watching my friends play soccer, which I couldn't risk. Especially not in the damp grass that hasn't dried since whoever was on garden duty watered it.
People in the hospital warned me I might get a slight case of PTSD when resuming normal activity, but the gripping fear in my chest wasn't from my concern that I might tear my ACL again. My ACL got torn because our opponent from Westpoint University kicked my knee out of place.
It was sabotage.
Anger washed over me, and I found my hand forming a fist to control the sudden rage building inside me. I was constantly angry over my situation. I spent the whole last semester and summer angry at the world for my injury.
I thought being back home with my friends would dull that pain and anger, but I couldn't pretend like the last couple of months didn't happen.
They did, and they affected me more than I wanted to let on.
I was always the lighthearted, fun friend. But ever since returning, it was hard to resume that role.
Especially when all I craved was revenge, and I was stripped of the opportunity.
The player who caused my injury, Ander Sanchez, was removed from the team because of other things he did, no surprise there, but I couldn't get my revenge.
I was just supposed to move on.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I fished it out, staring at the address in Google Maps and figuring out where to park on that narrow street if I ever decided to go.
“Hey,” Aaron whistled as he rushed down the stairs, phone in hand, and concern painting his face. Oliver followed close behind as they both approached the beer pong table.
“Yeah, I'm joining back in,” I nodded, pocketing my own phone. “What's up with that?” I motioned to him as he waved his phone around.
“You didn't drink anything, right?” he asked me pointedly, his blue eyes narrowing.
I shot him a dark look. “Unfortunately, no.”
“Great, can you go pick Rosie up?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, my phone vibrated. “I dropped you the address.”
“Is she at a party?” I asked with a sigh, concern igniting within me. Picking up my teammate's little sister was not on my agenda. Then again, anything is better than not playing soccer or drinking. “Is she drunk?”
“She should be waiting outside,” Aaron said, avoiding most of my questions.
“Is she alright?” I asked pointedly, my heart speeding up. “Did something happen to her?”
“I don't know, dude,” Aaron snapped at me, annoyed, but worry swam in his eyes.
“She called me crying. She went to a party to meet up with a guy she liked.
I only made sure she wasn't raped before I told her to go outside and that I would send someone to pick her up. So, please stop asking me stupid fucking questions and go get my sister.”
Aaron using the word please cut me, because it meant Rosalie was really upset. Nova gasped behind me, and I felt Ivy's jasmine scent shift closer to me as well.
Everyone was so overprotective of Rosalie, but I didn't blame them.
I felt the same way. She was everyone's baby sister and a constant ray of sunshine during my recovery, where all the girlfriends and sisters of the team helped me out.
It was infuriating the way they doted on me, but Rosie was the least annoying out of all of them.
Plus, she baked for me and was terrible at every card game.
The thought made me smile. We hadn’t talked much over the summer break. It was an understatement that didn't quite capture how much her absence had affected me.
At first, the texts came regularly. How are you? How's physical therapy? Did you try that new coffee place? But somewhere around mid-June, her replies got shorter. Then slower. By July, they'd stopped altogether.
I told myself she was busy, reconnecting with her old dance friends and enjoying the summer. I told myself not to read into it, that we'd pick up where we left off in the fall.
But I'd missed her. More than I wanted to admit. More than it made sense for someone who was supposed to be just a friend.
“I'll go get her,” I nodded, picking up my keys from where I’d thrown them. “I will be there in ten.”
“Thank you,” Aaron nodded, visibly relieved as his shoulders sank.
I only nodded to him and to the others before I slipped out and made my way to my car as fast as I could.
By the time I arrived at the frat house, dread and worry swirled around in my stomach. Rosalie was a sophomore, and she had navigated the party scene last year. We didn't cross paths at many of them, but I did hear her mention parties in passing.
It was out of character for her to need a rescue.
But when I slowed the car in front of the white Victorian building being shaken by the bass, I saw her standing on the sidewalk.
Her light brown hair was fixed into messy curls that usually fell in a controlled way from the crazy amount of hairspray she used, but they were half straight. Her mascara was smudged under her eyes, like there had been tears falling before, and she hugged her long arms around her slender body.
She had one of the finest bone structures I've ever seen. Paired with her height, she could have easily been a supermodel. Instead, she gave her heart to ballet.
Looking at her now, something was different. The easy smile she used to give me felt forced. The comfortable silence we'd shared had turned awkward.
Whatever we'd built during my recovery felt fragile, like I was meeting a stranger who wore Rosalie's face.
“Your Uber has arrived,” I announced as I rolled the window down and flashed her a calming smile.
“Thank God,” she sighed, dropping her arms, exposing her midriff that wasn't covered by her crop top and low-rise skinny jeans that hugged every inch of her long, toned legs. While she was dressed appropriately, nothing was hidden.