Chapter 20
When I woke up this morning I had no intention of seeing Chloe.
Not because I didn’t want to because after waking up Sunday morning with her in my bed, I want to say fuck it all and spend every waking moment with her. She looked like she belonged in my bed. The way her honey-colored hair sprawled across my pillow as she slept soundly had me resisting the urge to wake her. Soft snores came from her slightly parted, kissed swollen pink lips. Chloe looked like a dream. But life doesn’t work that way. And the idea of wanting to say fuck it all made me realize I need to keep my eyes on the goal ahead of me.
Baseball comes first. It has to. I’ve got to make it into the major league to prove my dad wrong. He doesn’t think I have the willpower to play at the next level. Too bad for him because I have more determination than he ever did. And each time he sends me a text message trying to tear me down, it only adds fuel to the fire.
I was storming as I walked through the quad heading to grab a water since I left mine at the stadium. As I reached the Union, piercing blue eyes caught my attention. Even from a distance, I knew it was Chloe. I watched her put her hands on her head as she took long deep breaths. Her chest rose and fell, and my gaze tracked her movement, lower and lower, until her shirt ended and her perfect stomach was on full display. I saw red as I looked around the quad and noticed all the guys eyeing her.
My feet took off after her before I even knew what was happening. I’m all for girls wearing whatever they want, but my immediate caveman behavior was to make sure she was safe in a sea of douchebag college guys.
To add on to the list of things I didn’t plan on doing this morning, kissing Chloe in the middle of the Union was not one of them.
Of course, every time I’m near her, I want to kiss her, to touch her, to feel her near me. But I didn’t plan on acting on that temptation. I’m going to blame Coach Weber for my lapse in judgment. When I told Chloe practice wasn’t too bad, I might have been telling a white lie. Practice was excruciating, my brain was fried, and it was all my fault. After our disastrous loss Friday night, Coach made sure to punish us big time this morning.
And he promised to make tomorrow’s practice just as difficult since we don’t have a game until the weekend.
It was like hell week all over again as he made us go through conditioning drills. Practice was inside the indoor facility where he had cones set up for running drills. All of us were lined up for burpees which led to sprints which turned into ab workouts. The punishment was hard and this type of workout isn’t something we do during the season, but we deserved the pain.
After leaving Chloe outside the newsroom, I went home to shower. The shower ended with me crashing on my bed. Clearly, my body was exhausted.
“Dude!” Ty shouts as he bursts through my closed door. “Have you checked your phone?”
Groaning, I roll over and find Ty standing inside my room. “No, I crashed after practice.”
“You created a shit storm on campus today.”
I quickly rack my thoughts about what happened earlier. My nap knocked me out so hard that I woke up a little disoriented. Like getting hit in the face, flashes of this morning came rushing back to me. Seeing Chloe. Kissing Chloe. Chloe in a sports bra. Us in the middle of the Union.
Reaching for my phone, I flip the ‘sleep mode’ off and watch as the notifications pour in. Mentions on Instagram and X. Missed calls and a couple of voicemails, which means something must really be wrong because who leaves a voicemail, let alone calls? Text message after text message pour in.
Holy shit. Who died?
“What the hell happened?” Running my hand through my messy bedhead, I swipe left to clear out all of the social media notifications.
Ty lets out an exasperated chuckle. “Someone caught you and Chloe at the Union and sent it into CTU Gossip Gazette.”
I hate the CTU Gossip Gazette. Their entire feed is full of rumors and bullshit that only fuels drama around campus.
“This is bad.”
“You think?” Ignoring his smart-ass comment, I scroll through the—does that say seventy-five?—text messages. I don’t have that many close friends. It looks like anyone who had my number decided to blow me up. Typing Chloe’s name in the search bar at the top of the messaging app, I don’t see anything recent from her. I have half a dozen texts from Leah, but it’s the all-caps, ‘WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?’ from Brynn that has me opening up her messages thread.
There’s only one recent message so I quickly type out a reply.
Me: I wasn’t thinking. How is she?
Brynn’s response is immediate like she’s been sitting around waiting for my response.
Brynn: I have no idea. I can’t find her or get a hold of her.
Me: What do you mean?
Brynn: I mean she’s turned her phone off, and I can’t reach her.
“Shit!” I loudly groaned, jumping to my feet and bending down where I tossed my clothes haphazardly before my nap. I can’t sleep in pants or a shirt, no matter if it’s for the night or a nap, I need to be down to my boxers.
“Have you heard from Chloe?” I direct my question at Ty as I toss on a baseball cap while grabbing my phone, wallet, and keys. Brushing past him, he’s hot on my heels as I head down the stairs.
“No, her phone’s off. Where are you going?”
“I have no idea. I’m going to walk campus until I fucking find her.” I caused this. I made the move in the middle of campus without thinking of the repercussions.
Even though we aren’t professional athletes, we are under a lot of scrutiny as if we were. Fans want to meet us and aren’t afraid of how they come off. The media is always watching, waiting for us to screw up.
“You didn’t cause this.” Ty says from behind me as if he’s reading my mind. “That gossip site is bullshit.”
“It may be, but there’s nothing we can do about it.” Opening the front door, I go to step out before calling over my shoulder. “Let me know if you hear from her.”
Taking off in a brisk walk, I head down the sidewalk toward campus. The path isn’t too crowded, but I do catch a few eyes pop in my direction.
My phone chimes from my pocket, and I pull it out, fumbling it in the process. I save it from tumbling to the hard pavement and swipe it open.
Brynn: She just walked in the door.
Thank god. But now I’m in the opposite direction of her townhouse. Closing out of Brynn’s message, I find Ty’s name and type out a quick message asking him to pick me up at the location I just sent him.
Popping my head up, I look around for a place I can wait. A large shade tree sits at the end of a driveway. Walking toward it, I lean my back against the trunk hoping to avoid being seen. While I wait, I scroll through the notifications on various social media platforms.
The comments about Chloe are horrible. I will never understand how people can say such cruel things about others who they’ve never even met. I love technology, and I love social media. It allows me to stay in touch with my sister and my friends from high school and travel baseball. But everyone hides behind their screens and feels they have a right to express their opinion.
Whether it’s bullying someone, making someone feel invalid for having a differing opinion, or a community of people objectifying professional athletes as if they don’t have their own lives. Even if I wasn’t with Chloe, reading these hateful comments about her from other girls on campus while they proposition me would never have me choosing them.
My dad’s name flashes across the screen as I read the millionth comment about how Chloe Mariano isn’t good enough to breathe the same air as me. Deciding to rip the band-aid off, I answer the phone.
“Hello.”
“Ah, you do know how to answer your phone.” He says from the other end of the phone. I can hear a sports broadcast blaring in the background, which means Dad is sitting in his leather armchair in his office as he enjoys a bourbon. It’s his evening habit. I don’t know how my mom stays with such a worthless being.
He’s cruel with his words as he constantly spews hatred. Never has he been the type of dad to encourage me. Instead, he finds faults in everything. If I got an A- on a paper, he’d tell me I wasn’t smart enough. If I didn’t make varsity, he’d tell me I wasn’t talented enough. It’s been a constant cycle for as long as I can remember.
I thought by moving away, I’d escape him. But technology allows him to stay in constant contact with me whether it be through calls or text messages. He’s even resorted to sending me articles from critics whose job is to critique my game.
“This really isn’t a great time for your bullshit.”
“Don’t give me that tone, boy. You might be the king of Texas, but I’ll still show you who’s boss.” I roll my eyes at his threats which are laced with slurred words.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
He grumbles on the other line as I hear the ice clink against his glass. “I knew you would never amount to anything. You walk around like you’re some baseball god, but you’re nothing. Too weak. Undisciplined. Always choosing to get your dick wet over baseball. Now look at you, kissing half-naked girls on campus. You might as well have just whipped it out and given everyone the entire show.”
I zone out as his words continue. It’s always the same thing, with just different reasons for why I’m undisciplined, weak, and overrated. I’ve always wondered if things would have been different if he had made it to the major league. Even if it were just for a year or two. Would he have been a better dad? Would he have supported me instead of being my harshest critic? If Mom never would’ve gotten pregnant with Leah, would she have stayed?
I cringe at that last thought because I would never wish for a life without Leah. The two of us have been each other’s rock since day one. But the drinking got worse after Mom had Leah. A small part of me wonders if he would’ve shown his true colors sooner, would she have found someone else to have a family with?
“Are you listening to me, boy?” He grumbles a shout on the other end of the phone pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Of course.”
“We’ll see you at the game in South Carolina in a few weeks. Try not to be worthless.” He hangs up the phone before I can respond. This is how the calls always go. He calls, I answer. He bitches, I take it. He hangs up on me, I stare at the blank screen wondering why he keeps this up.
Ty pulls up to the curb, and I pull open the door, rushing inside before he even has a chance to put the car in park.
Ten minutes later, he’s dropping me off in front of the townhouse Chloe and Brynn share. Racing up to the door, I knock rapidly until Brynn whips the door open. Quinton isn’t far behind her, and the two glare at me.
“She’s in her room. She won’t let me in.”
Brushing past her, I take the steps two at a time. With a light knock, I don’t wait for Chloe to respond before I push through her door. I find her curled up in a ball under her covers. Used tissues lay on her pillow surrounding her.
“Wildflower.” The word leaves my lips in a whisper, and I feel broken at the sight before me.
Toeing off my shoes, I lift the edge of the covers and slide in behind her. Sliding my arm around her middle to pull her closer, I feel my skin graze her bare skin. I roll my eyes to the ceiling and take a long deep inhale praying my dick doesn’t get excited. This is not the time.
“Cody,” she mumbles. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on my girl. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. Practice was harder than I let on, and I crashed when I got back to the house.” Brushing the hair off her shoulder, I lean in and press my lips to the spot between her neck and shoulder.
Her back straightens, but I see her soft inhale as she tries to fight how she feels. “I can’t believe I let that happen.”
“You didn’t let anything happen, Chloe. What happened earlier wasn’t your fault. If anything it was mine. I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t go another minute without feeling those lips on mine. I should have been more aware of where we were. Drama seems to follow me around. Especially when it comes to the Gazette. They love writing shit about my life.”
She lets out a frustrated groan. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Cody.”
“I’m not following, Wildflower.”
Chloe sits up, and I watch the covers fall from her shoulders down her almost bare body. She catches them at her chest, crossing her arms, which does nothing but press her bra-covered boobs higher.
Of course, she’s wearing a sexy lace bra. The pale green color looks perfect on her body. This girl has no clue how beautiful she looks. I could just sit and stare at her for hours. But I won’t because that’d be creepy as fuck.
Sliding off her bed, I reach my hand out. “Get up,” I demand, harsher than I intended, but there’s something we need to do right now.
“Wh-what?” she stammers, confusion lining her face.
“I said, ‘get up.’” Pushing my hand toward her, waiting for her to grab it.
Tentatively she places her hand in mind. Pulling her off the bed, I lead her toward the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. Stopping a few feet away, I rest my hands against her curvy hips as I position her body so that she is standing directly in front of the mirror, her back to my front.
Pausing, I take a few moments to appreciate the beautiful woman in front of me. Her ocean blue eyes stare back at me as she watches my eyes skate over her pale green lace bra, down her slender stomach, and down to her matching pale green lace boy-short panties. Panties that hug her lean hips where her hip bones protrude slightly. My eyes wander down her petite, yet strong, athletic legs made from all the miles she runs. Bringing my eyes back to hers, I watch her cheeks tinge pink from my blatant perusal of her features.
I see the moment she wants to hide herself flick across her face, but she doesn’t. Instead, she slowly straightens her back and holds her head high. It takes her a minute to do so, but she does it nonetheless.
“When you look in the mirror, tell me what you see.” Shock and confusion flash across her face. “Tell me what you see, Wildflower.”
Clearing her throat, I watch as she takes in her reflection. Chest heaving, she chews on the inside of her cheek as she skims her body. Her head tilts from side to side as I patiently wait for her to answer. Just when I think she’s going to avoid the question, her mouth opens.
“I see a girl who let the freshman fifteen get the best of her,” she finally replies.
“Weird,” I say, taking her hand that’s resting at her side. With a squeeze, I continue. “I see a strong, beautiful woman with perfect curves. A woman who values her health by working out and taking care of the body.”
A blush spreads across her cheeks, while I prompt her to add more. “What else do you see?”
“A wallflower.”
“I see an observer who doesn’t like the spotlight.” Slowly, I trace her arm with my free hand. Running my palm down until it’s back resting on her hip. “Come on, Wildflower, dig deeper. What do you really see when you look in the mirror?”
There’s a long pause after I ask the hard question. As I watch her take in her appearance, I see the moment she breaks. Tears well in her eyes. As the moisture breaks over her lash line, tears streak her flawless face, and as much as I hate seeing them fall, I know this moment is what we need. A chance to be vulnerable with each other. To work through all the barriers we keep in place guarding our hearts.
At this moment, I’m going to see the real Chloe Mariano. The beautifully sweet, damaged girl she keeps hidden behind locked doors.
Finally breaking down as the tears stream down her face, her eyes find mine in the mirror. She wants me to see how she feels at this moment. “I see a six-year-old girl who isn’t good enough. I see the little girl who wasn’t even good enough for her mom to stay.”
Sobs rack through her body as her knees weaken. Pulling her tight to my body, she collapses her weight in my arms as the sobbing continues. “You are enough. You are more than enough, Wildflower.”
“I wasn’t enough for you two years ago,” she says in between sobs. My chest breaks as I realize all the damage I did to her over my selfish behavior.
For years she’s battled the feeling of not being enough and the abandonment by her mom, and here I did the same damn thing.