You and Everything After (Falling #2)(50)
My chest is thumping wildly with adrenaline. This is the first time…perhaps ever…that I have stood my ground, stuck up for myself, squashed rumors before they got out of control. I feel like I could run a hundred more sprints, or climb a mountain. By the time I get to Ty, who is still waiting for me at the front of the field gate, I leap onto his lap and kiss him—completely forgetting all of the doubt that’s been keeping me awake the last two nights.
I’m amazing, and Ty is lucky to have me. And for a few moments, I honestly believe that’s true.
Chapter 16
Ty
“You’re pushing things kinda close, don’t you think?” I ask, watching her shove everything into one bag—her physics notes, her book for the exam, her cleats. I’m fighting every OCD bone in my body not to grab the bag from her and at least fold some of the crap she’s stuffed in there. “Awe, woman! You’re wrinkling your shorts.” I lose the fight and take the bag into my lap, doing my best to organize it.
“I know it’s going to be close, but I don’t really have a choice,” she says, tapping her foot while I do my best to organize this mess she’s thrown together. “I failed my test. I mean, like…blew it! This is my only chance to get a retake…just give it to me.”
She zips the bag shut, and hooks the straps over one shoulder.
“Okay, but just make sure you leave in time to get to the field for warm-ups,” I remind her. Why am I always the nag? Nagging Nate, nagging Cass—huh…I’m Mom.
“Yes, coach,” she teases, kissing my cheek as she walks by. “Oh, hey…can I borrow your watch so I can keep track of the time during my test?”
“Oh, uh…can’t you borrow Rowe’s or something? Mine’s so big and heavy,” I lie. That makes two, though this isn’t really a lie, it’s more of an omission. My watch is heavy, but that has nothing to do with my diversion tactic.
“Rowe went home for the weekend. Which means I’m alone,” she says, eyebrows waggling. I’m won over by her adorableness, and suddenly I slide the watch from my wrist and hand it to her, somehow keeping myself from clinging to the other end of the band. I watch her slip it over her hand, watch her clasp it shut, and when she looks back at me, I force myself to only look at her face—not at the black and silver time piece that has my soul locked inside.
“I’ll see you at the field, right? Nate coming?” she asks as she walks out the door, my eyes still splitting time between her lips and my watch.
“No, he has a tournament,” I say, and she freezes at the door, her lip curling on one side.
“You’re missing his game,” she says. And she’s right. I told my brother I had to help Cass with something important, and he understands. There will be thousands of games in his future. But she only has this one shot. He didn’t ask what it was, but he smiled and just told me he’d be fine without me harassing him for one game. I shrug and smile at her, pretending it’s no big deal. But it is—I don’t miss Nate’s games—even showed up with pneumonia once. But it seems something finally trumped my brother in the hierarchy of my attention.
She holds her hand over her heart and blows me a kiss when she leaves, and I can’t help myself…I stare at the watch when she does. That stupid watch—I hate how attached I am to it. But it’s like the glowing pod that lives in the center of Iron Man’s chest, and now that it’s gone, I feel a little weaker.
I shut her door for her, locking it from the inside when I leave. I make my way to my room to finish some reading before heading to her match.
I’m early. I know I’m early, but she should still be here by now. I told her she was cutting it close with the physics test. Who makes the only retakes available on a Saturday?
Most of the team is here, and coach motions to me across the field, pointing to his watch and shrugging. I wave him off, mouthing, “She’s on her way.”
Shit, she better be on her way!
I pull the phone from my pocket to my lap because I don’t want him thinking I’m searching for her. But f*ck, Cass! Where are you?
Are you almost here?
Long seconds tick by slowly, or at least, I think they do…I wouldn’t know because Cass has my f*cking watch! The more time that passes, the more my chest constricts, like I can’t breathe. I hate being late, and even though I’m here, Cass being late feels like an extension of me.
I’m watching the phone screen, waiting for any sign that’s she’s typing, sending me a message. Then I hear a whistle, one of those two-fingered kinds used to call a dog. I look up and see the coach waving his hand in the opposite direction, and Cass is sprinting to the field.
And the breath I’ve been holding exhales all at once. I’m actually sweating. And she hasn’t even entered the game yet.
My eyes zero in on her for the first part of warm-ups. I keep trying to offer her a signal, something to let her know that I’m here, I’m with her—watching. She’s got this. You’ve got this, Cass.
But she won’t look up. She’s locked in to her own zone, and that’s okay. She looks great in warm-ups, not that I know a whole hell of a lot about soccer. But she looks just as good as the other girls out there—girls who have been training with the team, not just some two-bit college trainer in a wheelchair. In a way, it gives me a thrill that I’ve made her stronger. But I don’t think I really did much; I think maybe she was just stronger than everybody else all along.