You and Everything After (Falling #2)(47)

“Kel, it’s always okay for you to call,” I say, wishing I could just hug her and make this okay.

“Thanks,” she says after a few more seconds. “Listen, I have to get Jack down for his nap. But Ty? Thank you so much…for listening. I think—” she pauses to laugh lightly. “I think I might just sleep tonight.”

“Anytime, Kel. Anytime,” I say, and I wait for her to hang up.

I’m fifteen minutes late for my appointment with Cass. I didn’t want to bring the anger and sinking feeling from my phone call into anything with her. But I’m not sure that’s possible, because she’s started her workouts, and all I can seem to do is sit here in the corner and bark orders at her—hoping I can pull my shit together by the time the coach shows up to surprise her.





Cass


“Faster. You can go faster!”

Ty’s been…he’s been a little tough today. I like tough in a trainer. I can take tough. I thrive off of tough. It’s what made me good in the first place. But there’s an extra edge to everything, too. And I don’t like that edge in a boyfriend.

I push the speed up on the treadmill and go faster anyway, because I also like to win. And if he thinks I can go faster, I’m going to go twice as fast just to prove to him that I’m better than he thinks. Run, legs! I promise, we’ll rest later.

I barely notice the next two minutes of sprints that pass—mostly because I keep stealing glances to the side where Ty is talking to Coach Pennington. I recognize him from the pictures I’ve indulged in of the soccer team’s website.

McConnell was never one of the schools I dreamt about when I had fantasies of playing soccer in college. I always thought I’d go Pac-12. But that was all before I gave up on myself and spiraled into self-pity and degrading behavior—before my mom cried that I was pushing myself too hard and going to ruin my parents’ marriage.

I’m dreaming of playing for McConnell now—dreaming stronger and harder than I have for anything in months. I tick the treadmill up one more level for the final sprint, just to show off how badly I want this.

When I’m done, I spend five minutes walking a lap or two on the indoor track. My body feels alive, my veins pumping blood faster than my muscles can burn it off. It’s adrenaline—I’m sure from knowing the coach is here…waiting for me.

“Listen, legs—we’re almost done. And tomorrow, I promise—rest. I won’t push you as hard,” I say to myself, chugging the last bits of my water and walking over to Ty, who’s waiting with arms crossed, a cocky sense of pride worn on his face. I definitely like that in my boyfriend.

“Those are some fast sprints you were doing there,” coach says, reaching out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Matt Pennington. My son works out with Tyson here, and he said you were thinking of coming out for our squad.”

Of course Ty has a connection. I glance his way, and he smiles quickly and winks.

“Cassidy Owens, nice to meet you,” I say, still a little out of breath. “And yes, I have been thinking about it.”

“I remember you,” coach says, looking at me sideways. “Your team took state in California, am I right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Striker. You had a mean penalty kick,” he says, pointing a finger out to punctuate the fact that he’s sold on me. I’m actually a little surprised. While the rest of my team put out recruitment feelers, I disappeared. I figured nobody would remember my name—let alone my stats.

“Thank you,” I say, not sure what else to add.

“Well, I’d sure like to see what you can do, see if you can do any of that…” he says, nodding toward the treadmill I just lit up, “out on the field. We have some friendlies, non-mandatory, this weekend. Maybe you’d be up for coming out for a workout tomorrow and sticking around Saturday for a game? Inter-squad.”

“I’d like that,” I answer, and the speed at which I do surprises me. Yeah, I want this. I REALLY want this.

“All right, well, I’ll get Ty the info, he can pass it along. We’ll see ya there,” he says, giving me one more shake, sealing the deal.

When the weight-room doors close behind him, I feel Ty’s hands at my waist, and soon I’m trapped on his lap.

“You were amazing today,” he says, his lips close enough to my ear that his breath sends shivers down my neck and spine, my skin finally cooling off from my sprints.

“Yeah, well, my trainer was a little pushy today,” I squint at him.

“I was,” he says, his eyes caught on mine, his mouth in a firm line. “I’m sorry. I sort of brought some baggage from earlier in here with you. That’s not fair, and I shouldn’t have done that.”

He nuzzles his nose against my arm and kisses my skin lightly before looking back up at me. “Wanna talk about it?” I ask, sensing that whatever it is that’s resting behind his eyes is weighing on him even more than he’s letting on. He takes a long deep breath and our eyes remain locked for several seconds before his lip finally curls into that familiar Preeter smile.

“Nah, it’s okay. Just some stuff with Nate, personal—ya know,” he says with a shrug, and I almost believe him.

Almost.