CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
SONYA
“Sunny, your shoulders are all the way up by your ears. Take a deep breath,” Walker orders, smoothing his hands over the silk fabric of the dress shirt I’m currently trying—and failing—to button up. He gently forces my shoulders down, and the nerves running down my spine out. “You’re going to crush your presentation. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
I clear my throat and meet his warm gaze in the mirror, leaning back into his chest as I give up completely on getting the buttons in the right holes. “I don’t know about that, but a little bit of nerves never killed anyone, right?”
“No, they didn’t,” he hums against my skin, gathering my hair to move it to the side. He presses his lips to my neck, his hand trailing around my hip and rests on my waist. It only lasts a second before his hands travel up to my waistband, his fingertips grazing my bare skin on their way between the open buttons. “Did you want some help with this?”
Nodding my head, I turn to face him and watch as he slowly does up the buttons on my shirt. “Thank you,” I say, tucking some hair behind my ear. “Do you think I made the wrong decision? Professor Andrews really thought I had a chance, and I just threw away this amazing opportunity to do something really exciting, but it would have looked amazing on my resume.”
He takes my face between his hands. “You didn’t throw anything away, Sunny. You chose to do what you were passionate about and what you thought could help the people you care about. That’s not something a lot of people would do. You’re going to blow this out of the water and show them exactly what you can do.”
“But—”
“You’ve got two more summers to stress yourself out about an internship. How about, instead of worrying about that right now, you focus on your presentation and put all your energy towards that? We’ll figure everything else out after.”
Chewing my bottom lip, I nod my head. I knew what I was giving up by going against what Professor Andrews said, but my nerves are getting the better of me. This app is the right decision. I feel it in my bones and yet, I feel as though I’ve somehow lost control of something I never had control of to begin with.
“I don’t remember ever being this afraid of failing before,” I mutter, shaking out my arms when I turn back to the mirror and reach for the button of my jeans. I’ve always been sure of myself. It’s something I pride myself on. My ability to push through the frustration of self-doubt, but this fear is new. It’s hard to swallow.
“Sunny, you’re going to be fantastic. You’ve worked so hard to build something you're proud of, and they’re going to see that,” he says, watching me as I readjust my clothes and tuck the ends of my shirt into my waistband.
“Yeah.” I nod my head, taking a slow breath. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He rests his hands on my hips, turning me around slowly to slide his hands into my back pockets. “You have this.”
“You sound so sure.”
“It’s because you’re a sure thing.” He leans down, his lips just brushing mine as he lifts his hand up to tangle in my hair. His thumb trails down my jaw, and the moment he tips my chin up, he kisses me firmly. “I adore you, you know that?”
I nod my head. “I do.”
“Good,” he whispers, kissing my cheek and then the tip of my nose. “I have something for you,” he tells me, lifting his hand up to my waist. “Do you want it now or later?”
“Is that even a question?”
His laugh fills my room as he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. “Turn around.”
The corner of my lip pulls up as I turn to face the mirror. “So demanding.”
He shakes his head as he steps up behind me, pulling out a chain from the box and undoing the clasp. “Brat,” he mumbles against the side of my neck and moves to clasp the chain in place, his hands moving over my shoulders. I lean towards the mirror to take a closer look, grabbing what looks like a round pendant, but under further inspection, I realize it is slightly lifted in the center. My lips curl up at the sight, flicking to him and the way he’s nervously chewing his bottom lip behind me.
“It’s a cowboy hat,” I say, spinning to meet his gaze and pressing it gently into my skin.
He nods his head. “Since I can’t be with you during your presentation, this is the closest I could get,” he shares, and I’m pretty sure my heart just collapsed on itself. “If it’s lame you—”
I cut him off by pressing my lips to his, curling my fingers into his side. “I love it,” I tell him, pressing my lips to his chin and then grinning at him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. How do you feel now? Still nervous?”
I shake my head and kiss his cheek. “I’ve got this.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“I’ll see you after, right? We’ll get dinner?”
“Adam’s and a piece of peach pie with your name on it,” he agrees, kissing me once and then a second time. His hand slides over my waist for the millionth time, like my skin is imprinted with his touch. “I’ll see you after.”
When I told Walker I had this, I meant it. The nerves had all but melted away, but now that I’m standing here, heading to the lecture hall, I am less sure of myself. With every step I take, my throat grows a little thicker, and my stomach tightens a little further. I want to be the confident version of myself that I was in my bedroom. The version of me under his warm gaze. The heat of his love on my skin.
I feel anything but sure of myself right now. It’s pulling at my skin, running down my spine and overwhelming the beating organ in my chest. Like I’m falling off the deep end, just waiting to be pulled under but the moment I’m hit with a wave of panic, I spot a familiar head of dark hair by the doorway. My stress is fading all over again.
“Dylan?” I ask, tightening my grasp on my bag. “What are you doing here?”
“I had to come see my girl in action,” he says, grinning at me. “Thought you could use some support in the audience. Soup and Fitz are inside.”
My heart swells as I look inside the hall, spotting the giant hockey players that stick out in the crowd of computer science majors “Dyl.” I smile and step into his open arms, pressing my cheek to his chest. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You show up at every single one of my games you can, Sunny. You show up for all of us. It’s about time we get to show up for you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “You are my favorite person, you know that?”
“I’ve been told once or twice,” I say, stepping back. His eyes drop to the gold pendant hanging around my neck, his fingertips brushing it.
“This is new.”
“Yeah, Walker got it for me,” I say, bringing my hand up to take the pendant in between my fingertips. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
He nods his head as a smile takes over his face, dropping his hand back down to his side to tuck his hands into his jean pockets. “You look happy.”
“I am happy. Really, really happy.”
“Good. I’m glad, Sunny. You deserve to be happy,” he says, moving his arm around my shoulder. “How are you feeling? Nervous? Excited?”
“Both,” I say, rubbing my lips together. “But I’ve got this. It’ll be good knowing you’re in the crowd. I really, really appreciate you coming, Dyl.”
“Wouldn’t dream of missing it,” he says, moving his hand to the small of my back and ushering me through the door. “Let’s get in there. Don’t want to miss these losers' presentations.”
I roll my eyes. “You can’t call them losers just because you want me to succeed.”
“Sure, I can. You do it all the time when you’re screaming at the top of your lungs in the stands,” he says, sinking into the seat next to Fitz. “Go Dylan! Go!” he mocks my voice, throwing his arms up in the air, a wild grin taking up his face.
“Is that really how you think I sound?” I narrow my gaze, lifting my hand to grab his. “I do not sound like that, and this is not a hockey game,” I tell him, leaning forward to greet the two other hockey players. “You guys are so sweet for coming to this. Thank you.”
“Happy to be here, Sunny,” Campbell says with a smile.
“I’m assuming Coach said you had to be here?” I ask, a small smile playing at the corner of my lips.
As much as I love Dylan and his support—which I know is genuine—I also know these boys like the back of my hand. They work crazy schedules, and what little free time they have, definitely wouldn’t be spent at a class presentation unless it was mandatory. That, and the rest of his teammates are spread throughout the lecture hall.
“Fitz’s presence was by demand for bailing on his partner as punishment,” Dylan says. “Soupy and I, and the rest of the guys are here for you.”
“Well, the reason he bailed was partly my fault.” I lean forward, the chain around my neck swinging with the motion. “Sorry, Fitz.”
“It wasn’t because of you, Sunny. I would have bailed on him either way, but you gave me an easy way out,” he says, sitting up when their coach looks our way.
Amusement fills my chest at the sight of all three of them sitting up pin-straight. The muscles in their back tense under his watchful gaze. “He scares you guys that bad, huh?”
“Don’t laugh. You haven’t seen that guy mad,” Dylan says, smoothing his hands down his thighs. He doesn’t even bother to look at me, too afraid to shift his gaze in my direction when his coach is still looking at the four of us. “He’s terrifying.”
I take a look at the tallest man in the panel of judges, his reddish-brown hair salted with grey and despite what they say, he looks like a gentle giant. The idea that he could be scary, feels thin. Maybe even nonexistent. “Him? Are you sure? He looks like a teddy bear.”
All three sets of eyes turn in my direction. “Teddy bear?” Fitz asks. “Try a grizzly bear.”
My lips part to argue with him when Professor Andrews calls our attention to the front of the room, filtering silence into the room. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” she says, pressing her hands together in front of her. “As you all know, you’ll have ten minutes to pitch your app to myself, as well as the panel of judges we have gathered here. I know this part is scary for a lot of you, the coding is the easy part, but think of this as a learning opportunity. Give it your all, and good luck.”
She calls the first one of my classmates, who moves to the front of the room, gathering the attention of the whole room, and nerves run down my spine. My knee starts to bounce, and Dylan’s hand reaches over to hold it in place. My eyes shift to him, watching as he takes a slow breath in and blows it out for me to mimic.
“Thank you,” I whisper, bringing my bag onto my lap to pull the project folders for the panel out.
I close my eyes and listen to each presentation until my name is called. The three hockey players who turned my project into something of its own, give me a reassuring look when I push myself up and head down to the front of the room.
“Hi, Sonya Cartelli,” I introduce myself to the panel while extending a folder out to each of them. “I’m very excited to be pitching this app to all of you. I took the liberty of creating a condensed version of my presentation down in these folders for you to refer back to.”
With a smile, I head to the laptop connected to the projector and open my presentation from the class-shared folder on the university server.
“When we were presented with the project brief, it was intended to be an app targeted for alumni and students to get all they needed to know about university sports teams and their players. We were asked to start with our D1 men’s hockey team, and assigned two players from the team to interview. While my intention was to follow the brief exactly, I found an area through my interviews that was lacking, and that was support for the players and their coaching staff,” I explain, my eyes flickering to the panel and settling on Professor Andrews.
Her face is expressionless as she holds my gaze and waits for me to continue. I’m not sure what I was expecting: some kind of disapproval at my blatant disobedience or for her to be impressed by my actions and following what I believe in.
Instead, all I get is a blank face. She’s giving me nothing, and it should make me nervous, but as I wait for the muscles in my stomach to tighten, I realize this is exactly the kind of thing I will need to do to make a name for myself. I can’t just stand by and hope for the best. If I want more for myself, I need to make waves, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.
“All of these players have packed schedules between their team obligations as well as their academic expectations. They are working themselves into the ground to ensure they are performing at the highest level. Right now, communication between their coaching and support staff is done all through email. Which can get complicated and messy when it’s mixed with their academic responsibilities. What I am proposing is an app tailored to make these athletes' schedules more organized,” I explain, turning to the next page in my slide showcasing the app.
I walk them through the features that will allow for easy communication with their support system, including the calendar and message board for teammates, as well as the benefits the app will give the staff, like the recipe book for meal plans and easy-to-explore dietary needs for each of their players.
When I finish, I can feel my skin flush as the excitement of doing something completely different wears off. “Thank you for listening. Are there any questions?” I ask, clicking to the last slide of the presentation. I finally let my eyes wander the crowd and stop when I land on Coach Shay, whose hand is in the air. “Yes, Coach Shay?”
“What made you pivot from the project brief as far as you did?”
“The two players assigned to me, Dylan and Campbell, are really good friends of mine. As well as Fitz. I see how spread thin they are with their schedules, and don’t get me wrong, they work hard to keep on top of them, but it’s a little chaotic at times. I figured having something that would make communication for them with you and your support staff, as well as you being able to keep things more organized in one spot, would ease some of that stress. It’s tiny, but even the smallest of things can make for a smoother ride.”
He nods his head, and my gaze slides to Professor Andrews, who gives me a firm nod. “Thank you, Sonya. Why don’t you return to your seat?”
Pride blooms in my chest when she squeezes my arm, a silent show of excitement before I head up the stairs and try to slow my racing heart. I’m proud of myself and what I accomplished, and that slides over me like a warm blanket.