Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
DEREK
The chilly September evening air licked at my face as I stared at the soccer field. Practice was brutal again this morning because the grass was damp, and I was afraid to slide on it.
I was scared of many things, and it was frustrating me. There were still moves even in Pilates that scared the shit out of me, and I didn't dare to do them. Only Rosie's encouragement helped. I have officially missed the first two games of the season, sitting on the bench.
Music blasted through my headphones, and I was really annoyed when I noticed Rosie added a 'We Are The Champions' cover. No one butchers the original one. But I had to admit it had its charm, and it was exactly what I needed.
Motivation and courage.
Somehow, she always knew what I needed, and that's why I caved and texted her.
I wasn't sure whether my heart was beating out of place because I’d texted her to meet me here, or because of my rising panic. Maybe even both.
We didn't have meetings. We did Pilates, crossed paths at the soccer house or on campus, but we never met up on purpose.
It wasn't even a date, and I was freaking out over the smallest thing.
Maybe because I cared about her on a deeper level.
She understood me like no one else, and I could be honest and open with her.
I wasn't Dex the funny guy with her; I could just be myself.
Whoever that person was. I've never felt as comfortable with a person as I did with Rosie, and that scared me more than the possibility of injuring myself.
Or at least they were on a similar level.
“Hey, you!” Her voice dragged me out of my panicked thoughts, and I came face-to-face with her beaming smile.
She was wearing a bubble-gum-pink workout set, and despite seeing her in these all the time, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her long legs and chest. My eyes kept roaming her body until she laughed.
“I know it's dark, but my eyes are up here.”
I found her beautiful blue eyes and sighed. “Sorry, crazy day.”
“I know you like pink,” she shrugged with a sweet smile.
And God, did I love pink. Especially on her. She was like a freaking real-life Barbie doll. Everyone's dream and my teammates' little sister. And here I was lusting over her like a lovesick fuck.
I really was losing my game.
“So, why'd you call?” Rosie asked, bouncing on the balls of her foot, and she dropped her matching pink bag on the grass.
I swallowed hard and pulled my headphones out of my ears. I dropped them in my pocket. “I want to try to sprint.”
There was a beat of silence after my confession, and Rose didn't laugh or scoff. Her unchanging smile nodded, and her eyes travelled across the dimly lit soccer field.
“It should be fine,” she told me, her eyes finding mine.
She didn't ask why I was attempting to do something we did in practice every day. She didn't pry to see what I was feeling and try to dig deep into the emotional damage I suffered. She simply accepted me and supported me.
It was something no one else did for me. Just like during my recovery, she was the first one there to bake for me and keep me company.
“Want to do a shorter one or a long one?” Rosie motioned the two directions across the soccer field, and I had the sudden urge to wrap her into my arms and kiss her. That's how grateful I was.
“Short first?” I asked, my voice breaking from the nerves.
“I can run with you,” she teased me with a small smile. For someone who claimed sucked at flirting, she was doing this pretty naturally.
“Okay,” I nodded, still unsure.
A warm hand wrapped around my shoulder, and I found myself eye to eye with Rosalie. “Think of it as a game,” she suggested as her eyes bore deep into mine. “We race across the field, and the loser buys coffee.”
“All this for a coffee?” I asked, like she was making me swim with sharks, even though this was all my idea. I was so pathetic.
I raked my hand through my messy hair and wondered where the cool, carefree guy I once used to be.
“For a week,” Rosie grinned. “And breakfast. Lunch and dinner.”
My eyes narrowed on her as her comment snapped me out of self-loathing. “You seem pretty confident you can beat me.”
“Well,” she shrugged, an innocent look on her face. “Three months ago, you could barely walk, and you complain endlessly during Pilates class, so I have a chance.”
“Pilates was supposed to be easy. It's for dancers, not athletes.”
“Oh, you did not just say that.” Her blue eyes turned the color of a thundering sky, and she stepped away from me. “For your information, dancers are athletes. We just have better balance and don't fall on our asses every time someone remotely touches us.”
I felt a grin pull on my lips. “Whatever you say.”
I knew she was right, but I just loved teasing her and riling her up. She was cute when she got angry.
“It's on,” she turned towards the field, not even giving me a chance to mentally prepare. “We go on three…”
My heart rate picked up, and I felt its drumming in my ear, muffling Rosie's voice.
I saw her lips move from the words of one and two, but I didn't hear a single thing until she shouted 'three' and launched herself into a sprint.
Muscle memory took over my indecisive and frozen brain, and I found myself chasing after her. My legs knew what they needed to do. I felt the slight burn in my thighs from how hard I was pushing myself, but thankfully, no discomfort in my knee.
Rose came into view as I got closer and closer to her, and I wrapped my arms around her middle and lifted her off even before we made it across.
“Got you.”
Her chest heaved from the effort, and she leaned her head back against my shoulder, looking up at me. Her sweet scent wrapped around me. “You were supposed to make it across.”
“Nah, this was way more fun,” I grinned at her, feeling lighter.
Her eyes searched mine, but instead of meeting hers, they dipped to her lips. Those perfectly plump pink lips, which she was biting. She knew what she was doing, driving me crazy.
“Any discomfort?” she asked quietly. For a second, I wasn't sure if she wondered about my knee or my growing erection behind her.
“None that I can't take,” I replied, and she grinned.
“Good.”
I slowly placed her down on her foot and adjusted my shorts before she turned around to face me.
Rosie stretched out and flashed me a beautiful smile before the most unexpected thing left her mouth. “Your parents must be so proud of you.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Sure. They're thrilled.”
Her head snapped toward me, blue eyes narrowing. “That didn't sound sincere.”
“That's because it wasn't.” I picked at the label on my water bottle, suddenly finding it fascinating. “My parents aren't really proud. Ever. They only do… transactions.”
Rosalie shifted, turning to face me fully. “What do you mean?”
I hadn't planned on talking about this. I never talked about this. But something about the way she looked at me: curious but not pitying, open but not pushy, made the words spill out.
“When I tore my ACL, you know what my dad said?” I stared at the empty field. “He said, 'Well, there goes your scholarship. Hope it was worth it.' Then he wired money to the best surgeon in California and told me not to embarrass him by failing at my comeback.”
“Derek.”
“And my mom,” I continued, the bitterness rising in my throat, “she sent flowers to the hospital with a card that said 'Get well soon, darling,’ but she never actually visited. She was too busy with her... friend.” I made air quotes around the word.
“The tennis instructor she's been fucking for the past three years.”
Rosalie's hand found mine, her fingers threading through mine without hesitation.
“They've been cheating on each other for as long as I can remember,” I said quietly.
“Mom has her tennis instructor. Dad has his secretary.
Sometimes they swap. Dad gets a new secretary, Mom finds a new trainer.
But they stay married because divorce would be 'inconvenient' and 'expensive.
'” I finally looked at her. “That's what love looks like in my house. A business arrangement with occasional affairs.”
“That's not love,” Rosalie said fiercely. “That's... I don't even know what that is, but it's not love.”
“I know. Logically, I know.” I rubbed my face with my free hand. “But that's all I've ever seen. So, when people talk about relationships, commitment, and all that... I just see my parents. I see people hurting each other and calling it love.”
“Is that why you never dated anyone? Why were you always just... hooking up?”
“Yeah. Easier to not care if you never let anyone close enough to hurt you.” I squeezed her hand. “But then you showed up with your cupcakes and your terrible frosting techniques.”
“Hey!” She swatted my arm, but she was smiling.
“...and suddenly I wanted to let someone close. I wanted to care.” I turned to face her fully. “That scares the shit out of me, Rosie. Because what if I'm like them? What if I inherited whatever's broken in them that makes them hurt each other?”
Rosalie shifted closer, until our knees were touching. “You're not like them.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you're terrified of being like them. That matters.” Her thumb stroked across my knuckles.
“People who are truly selfish don't worry about being selfish.
They just are. But you? You've been pushing me away this whole time because you're worried about hurting me.
That's not selfish, Derek. That's the opposite.”
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her.
“My parents got married because my mom got pregnant with Aaron,” Rosalie said softly.
“They didn't love each other. Not really.
But they chose to try. They chose to work at it every single day until somewhere along the way, it became real.
Now they're disgustingly in love, and it's actually kind of gross to witness.”
“What's your point?”