Chapter 4
The glowing thing doesn’t happen again.
Which, honestly, would be comforting if Colten didn’t also spend the next several days acting like I’m a mildly irritating coworker instead of the guy he’s spent the last three years glued to.
We still train, we still run drills. He still helps tape my ankle when it gets tight, walking me through stretches like the physical therapy major he is. I’m not sure what happened to Elias, but none of Colten’s laundry has blood on it, so I’ll take it as a good sign.
But still, it’s…different. There’s space between us now.
Colten keeps his hands to himself during our physical therapy sessions, correcting my form purely through stilted words, which honestly doesn’t seem like the best way to do it. Dr. Carlson would certainly never do it like that.
It’s like he thinks I’m diseased or something. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but I find myself biting my cheek to keep from calling him out on it during our sessions.
If he needs space, he can have it.
But the space that hurts the most isn’t the physical one. It’s the easy back-and-forth that we built from years of being best friends. Unlike others, he doesn’t just dismiss me as another stupid jock, which I admittedly am; he actually listens to me. Laughs at my stupid jokes.
Or at least, he used to.
When I asked him what happened with Elias, he just glared into the distance, which explained literally nothing.
He keeps to his room in our apartment, still doing his part of the meal prep but without arguing that I need to eat more vegetables, or forcing me to help cook, or apologizing for all the grass stains on his clothes, or making me watch one of his boring documentaries—
It’s like we’re strangers, and it really, really freaking hurts.
I’ve stopped in front of the door of his room multiple times now, hand up to knock, to try and bridge this distance. But I keep chickening out, like a coward.
I could pick the lock, Colten himself taught me how, and it’s not like I haven’t done it before to return his stuff or grab his laundry. But that could maybe just make him even more mad at me.
I know Colten won’t talk before he’s ready, but I’m going crazy here.
Because why is this space even here in the first place? I’m sure it relates back to the whole glowing situation, which hasn’t even happened again since my own brush with it.
After a couple of days, it almost feels like it didn’t happen at all, like we simply imagined it.
Which would make sense, except Colten definitely saw it too, and definitely knows something about it that he refuses to tell me. It’s the whole reason behind this sudden space that’s making me want to hunt him down and force him to watch one of those stupid documentaries with me.
By the fifth day, I’m completely restless.
I avoid the apartment as much as I can, not wanting to be faced with the fact that Colten wants to pretend we’re strangers, and throw myself into training.
Training is usually enough to keep my brain occupied. When I was younger, it was basically all I did—wake up, feed the cows, train, eat protein, train again. Study just enough to not fail my classes so I can continue to train. Repeat.
I wanted to make all the sacrifices worth it—for Coach, who believed in me, and for my parents, who spent so much helping me chase the dream.
But now, without school to distract me and with most of the guys gone for training camps or to go home, all I see is an endless mountain of training, training, and more training. Just thinking about it makes me exhausted. Is this soccer senioritis?
Still, I push myself to go out and train. Professionalism and all that, I guess.
I’m finishing another set of sprints when Brian jogs up beside me, wiping sweat off his face.
“You look like a dog that got left outside,” he says instead of a nice ‘hello’. “What’s got your panties in a twist? Is it because Colten’s slacking?”
I consider denying it, but he’s not wrong. “I guess I’m bored.”
“Perfect, because there’s a party tonight,” Brian says, grinning.
I raise my eyebrows, interested. “A party?”
“Yeah. The usual place, Hagley house on 179th.” He jerks his thumb toward the road. “A couple of the phys-ed people are going.”
That’s the track we share. Like most of the college athletes in the course, I didn’t pick physical education because I had some grand passion for it. I picked it because it seemed like the easiest major that would let me focus on soccer.
But then the injury last year happened, so I couldn’t train for months and had nothing to do but actually go to class and study. Somehow, it turns out I kind of like my major and the others in it. Even some of the footballers.
Brian bumps my shoulder. “You in?”
I hesitate, thinking about Colten. I should ask if he can come too, though the answer should be obvious. Colten has told me it’s polite to ask, though, so I always do whenever someone invites me to a party.
But…Colten is avoiding me. It’s not like he’ll say yes.
I shrug. “I’ll be there.”
Well, I’m not going to miss a chance to have a bit of fun, not when Colten is ignoring me and training feels like monotonous torture.
***
The party is exactly what you’d expect from a bunch of college seniors who just survived finals.
There’s music blasting in the living room, people packed on couches, and someone yelling about tequila pong, which sounds both terrifying and amazing.
I end up in the kitchen with a bunch of people from the physical education program. It’s quieter here, the music filtering in from the living room a background noise with the steady clink of bottles.
I’ve got a cup filled with whatever disgusting punch someone concocted with a should-be-forbidden mix of bottom-shelf liquor.
Raquel, who I think is a softball player, seems to like it, given how many times she’s gotten a cup from it.
In fact, she’s basically become the party bartender, pouring cups of punch for anyone who wanders too close to her perch on the counter beside the disgusting punch bowl.
I’m worried about her falling off the counter, but at this point, the counter might be the only thing keeping her upright.
I think we dated at some point, but honestly I can’t remember. She feels very familiar, though.
As I keep an eye on her, I talk to Nico Alvarez, who is leaning against the counter next to me, a phys-ed sophomore turned junior who is stuck in the dorms.
He also has apparently snuck a cat into his dorm. Given that his dorm is governed over by the terrifying RA Reyes, who is part of the reason Colten and I moved off-campus, I’m more than a little concerned.
“If Reyes finds that cat, there’s no way you’ll be able to finish your degree here,” I warn him, like a proper, protective upperclassman.
“Then I’ll make sure he never finds her,” Nico tells me, waving my very legitimate concern away. “Want to see pictures? Her name is Princess.”
It’s impressive how he doesn’t have a worry in his mind. Was I this stupid when I was younger?
…Probably.
Nico is also interested in bringing his chaos to the soccer field, which I can appreciate.
“The soccer team is D2?” Nico asks after putting away his phone and the five hundred plus photos of Princess. To be fair, she is a really cute cat.
“Yeah. NCAA rules, training requirements, all that fun stuff,” I say, wondering how he’s keeping Princess hidden, but also, I don’t want to know because that might make me an accomplice or something.
RA Reyes is terrifying, okay? After the rotting home-made salami was found, he had me write a fifteen-page apology letter about it.
“Sounds intense,” Nico says, though he doesn’t look put off. If anything, he looks even more excited. “You think I should try out?”
I grin, confident of my answer. “Knowing what kind of trouble you’ll bring? Definitely.”
Nico grins back. “Even if I’m terrible?”
“Especially if you’re terrible,” I assure him. “That’s when it’s funniest.”
A couple of people laugh before Raquel leans forward from her spot on the counter, turning toward our conversation.
Was it freshman year that we dated? No, no, probably junior year, fall quarter. Maybe? I vaguely remember drinking hot cocoa with her.
“Ya know, team sports build social motivation,” she says, her voice slurred. “It should be a requirement.”
“For who?” I ask, curious.
“Everyone,” Raquel clarifies, her arms waving around as if to encompass ‘everyone’.
I nod, while wondering if it was actually a chocolate milkshake during my freshman summer quarter.
“But it would only work if the group dynamics are good,” Nico argues, taking Raquel’s question seriously. “Otherwise, it reinforces keeping the odd one out.”
“It might help if you use peer leadership models,” I suggest, swirling the punch around in my cup. “Like if you rotate team captains so everyone has a role.”
“That would’ve saved me from some middle school gym trauma,” Raquel agrees, looking morose even though she was the one who suggested everyone join team sports. Still, we laugh, and she cracks a drunk grin.
I’m enjoying myself as we dig deeper into the benefits and downfalls of team sports. It’s fun breaking down the very things I’ve spent my life on, but from the other side. It helps that most of the people in the program are athletes, too, like Raquel.
Who I had some sort of chocolate drink with at some point.
I lose myself to the conversation, and for a little while, I even forget about Colten.
Until my phone rings.
I glance down and see his name, my stomach instantly dropping.
Crap. We were supposed to have a physical therapy session tonight! Colten usually reminds me, but since he started acting like his power was invisibility, I’ve been forced to actually use my calendar. Of course, I forgot to check today.
“Be right back,” I say quickly, stepping out of the kitchen and ducking into a quieter hallway to answer.
“Hey!” I say, trying to sound super casual. “Sorry man, I totally forgot about the session.”
There’s a pause on the other end, quiet and dangerous. A trickle of sweat runs down my spine.