Broken Beautiful Hearts(48)

“When did it happen?” His finger is still touching the tag, and it grazes the curve of my thumb. Warmth spreads through me, and I feel safe enough to answer.

“A year and a half ago.” I change the subject. “Is your dad around?”

His smile falls and his lips form a hard line. “My parents split up a couple years back. My dad and I don’t really talk.”

“Sorry.” Now we’re both uncomfortable.

I pick up the hand wrap on the desk. “Maybe you should tell me why this is important to you. Miss Ives is still making the rounds.”

The tension in Owen’s expression fades. “You don’t think it will go over well if I say it was the only thing I could find in my bag?”

I tap on the cloth and pretend to give him a stern look.

Owen slips his thumb through the hole at one end. “I use these to wrap my hands before I train.” He loops the cloth around his knuckles a few times. “I love kickboxing and my knuckles would get torn up without these.”

I resist the urge to tell him that I know why he uses them. I wrapped Reed’s hands for him all the time.

“You probably don’t want to hear about anything related to kickboxing. Since you hate fighters.” He glances at me, and my stomach somersaults.

My body needs to get the message that Owen is off-limits.

“I said I don’t like fighters.”

“That changes everything,” he teases. “So what’s the deal? There must be a reason. Do you puke at the sight of blood?”

“I’m a soccer player. I get scrapes and cuts all the time. Blood doesn’t bother me.”

“Do you think kickboxing and MMA are too violent?” Owen asks.

“Something like that.”

“Kickboxing isn’t about hurting people. It started as a form of self-defense in Thailand. For me, it’s also a way to get out of my head.” When I don’t say anything right away, Owen gives me a sheepish smile. “That was a lame explanation.”

“No. It made sense. I’ve just never heard anyone describe it that way. But I get it. Soccer is my escape—at least it was, before this.” I tap on the brace and look away.

“Hey? Your injury doesn’t change anything. You’ll play again. You just need time to heal.”

Owen isn’t the first person to say I just need time, but the words mean more coming from him because he didn’t have to say them.

I’ll do whatever it takes to get back on the soccer field.

My knee will heal. Deep down, I believe that. But I’m not sure about the rest of me.





CHAPTER 20

Wishing, Wondering, and What Ifs

AFTER SCHOOL, CAM drives me to the Y without saying a single word the entire way there. I grab my bag the second the truck stops. “The reverse silent treatment, Cam? I’m impressed.” I must be rubbing off on him. I reach for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Hold on.” He takes an energy bar out of the center console and hands it to me. “You didn’t eat lunch.”

“I’m not a fan of cafeterias.”

Cam taps the steering wheel. “Is that why you were hiding out in the library?”

“I wasn’t hiding.” I sink back against the seat.

The Twins noticed when I didn’t show up at lunch, and they made Grace check the girls’ bathrooms in case I’d fallen like the old lady from a Life Alert commercial.

“They’re the same way with me,” Grace said. “Especially Cameron.”

The Twins were standing in the hall next to the library when I came out with Grace, and they practically tripped over each other trying to make it look as if they hadn’t been waiting.

Cam didn’t speak to me for the rest of the afternoon—until a minute ago.

“Don’t you need to get to practice?” I ask.

Driving me to the Y after school means one of the Twins has to miss the first fifteen minutes of football practice—an exception their coach isn’t willing to make on a regular basis.

Cam checks the time on his phone. “Yeah. I’ve gotta go. Coach is already annoyed. We’ll pick you up as soon as practice ends.”

“Okay.” I step on the running board below the door and lower myself to the ground.

“You forgot this.” Cam leans over the passenger seat, holding out the energy bar. I take it and shove it into my bag.

Inside, I check in and go straight to find Cutter. Today, the boxing gym looks empty. I spot Lazarus sitting at a card table next to the ring, playing chess. He has his back to me and he’s studying the board.

“Cutter is on the phone,” Lazarus says without turning around. “She’ll be out in a minute.”

“Thanks.” I inch closer and watch as Lazarus captures a rook. “Is it hard to play alone?”

He rubs the salt-and-pepper stubble along his jaw. “It depends. I like studying the board from both sides of the table. It reminds me of the old days when I used to box. Before the internet and fancy coffee with names nobody can pronounce.”

Lazarus’ dark brown skin is so smooth that it’s hard to guess his age.

“Boxing and chess.” He winks at me. “Two of my three great loves. They both require strategic thinking. You have to plan your next move and figure out what your opponent is going to do at the same time. But it’s a lot harder when someone comes at you with a right hook.”