The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(20)

“‘Some of the greatest moments of my older years were watching you two get together during the summer and goof around. I always thought there was a deep-rooted connection between you, and to see that connection slowly disappear to the point that, Hazel, you didn’t even know some of things I told you over the last year about Crew . . . it hurt my heart. As we know, we’ve such limited time here on Earth, which means you need to make the most of the moments you have together.’”

I pause and take a deep breath. Glancing up at Hazel, I say, “I’m really sorry, Haze.”

“I know you are.” She bites her bottom lip, something I’ve seen her do when she’s holding in her emotions, trying not to cry. God. She taps the paper. “Keep reading.”

“‘Munich is that moment to iron out any of the wrinkles you might have in your friendship. To clear the air, to make sure that, going forward, you’re both on a clean slate. I would love for you to go through the Christmas stalls, but if you instead think you should stay in the hotel and work out any differences you might have, do it, because for the rest of the trip, I want you to be able to enjoy your friendship. Got it? I love you both. Pops.’”

I sigh and set the letter down as Hazel goes back to her seat and picks up her fork. Silently, she pierces the dumpling noodles and takes a bite. I study her the entire time, wondering if there’s any resentment toward me left in her heart.

She accepted my apology so easily. If I were in her position, I don’t think I would have been as forgiving as she has been.

“Hazel?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you still hold resentment toward me? I know I apologized, but anger doesn’t just go away. And I know you. You laugh things off because it’s easier that way, but you still take them to heart. There are always the lingering effects.”

I can tell that I’m right because she grows eerily silent.

She twirls her fork around her dish now. “I just . . .” Her beautiful, light eyes connect with mine. “I don’t understand how you could just ignore me. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Okay, finally she’s ready to dig deeper. This is what I wanted on the airplane. But now that we’re alone in our hotel room, she seems more comfortable.

“You did nothing wrong, Haze. Nothing. I honestly can’t give you a reason why I didn’t write back. I read each letter, though. I cherished each communication.”

“Was it because of what happened the last summer I saw you?” She bites her bottom lip. “I told you it was an accident. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It wasn’t—”

“Crew.” She gives me a pointed look. “I kissed you, and you could not run fast enough away.”

Fuck.

I push my hand through my hair, remembering that moment. We were down by the horses. I’d just gotten into a fight with my dad about focusing too much on football and not taking a second to breathe. He told me I was going to regret not having fun during the few summers I had left to visit the farm, and I told him there was no way the professionals took breaks on their way up the ladder, so why should I?

I was steamed, and I needed Hazel to lighten things up.

But when I got to the barn, my fun, easy-going friend was gone, and in her place was a nervous, fidgeting girl. We were brushing Titus, one of the stallions on the farm, when I turned to Hazel for advice and she kissed me.

I was shocked, stunned. I had no idea she saw me like that. That she had any sort of romantic feelings toward me. Hence the romantic pact she drew up for us. And like the coward I am, instead of talking to her, I backed away, trying to comprehend what the hell just happened. My mind whirled, my body froze, and then I felt it . . . I felt the rapid pound in my heart, the urge to press my lips against hers. I wanted more, and that fucking terrified me, so I ran.

That was the last summer I spent at the farm.

That was the last time I remember communicating with her.

“You know, we’re never going to get past it if we don’t talk about it,” she says quietly.

“Yeah, I know.”

“So then let’s talk about it.” She shrugs, posing as the calm and collected one. “I kissed you. You thought I was a dragon. You ran. Okay, your turn.”

“I did not think you were a dragon,” I answer, guilt swimming around me like a swarm of bees ready to strike.

“Could have fooled me.”

“That wasn’t it at all.” I grip the back of my neck, trying to figure out how I can tell her exactly what happened without making things exceedingly more uncomfortable.

“Was it because I smelled like a horse? Did I smell like a horse? Honestly, I don’t even know at this point.”

“You’ve never smelled like a horse, Haze. Always like flowers.” Summer flowers in a large field. When we were in high school, I’d take a whiff when she walked past me, committing the smell to memory.

Still rambling, she says, “I mean, it wasn’t my best kiss in the world, but it wasn’t sprint-away worthy. There was literally fire coming out of your shoes you moved so fast.”

“There wasn’t fire.”

“You tripped over a rock and still ran.” Her brow raises.

“I was testing out my balance and ability to catch myself.”