“So they’re drinking tea in those cups? Not alcohol?”
“Yep, tea,” he laughed. “Frida gave a few of the MPA coaches the ingredients. They make the recipe overnight and bring it. It supposedly reduces stress, removes tension from the muscles, and calms the mind. And it doesn’t taste too bad either.” He turned to look at me, his whiskey eyes sparkling from the sun. “You an athlete?”
“Yeah. I play softball. Only here for a one-year ride, though.”
“Hey—and that’s perfectly okay! Notre Dame is tough to get into as it is. I’m Brody, by the way. Brody Hawks. Junior, and Linebacker for the big ND!” He extended an arm.
“I’m Kandy. Kandy Jennings. Pitcher for the big ND,” I laughed and he laughed with me while we shook hands. At least he wasn’t making this awkward.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Kandy Jennings. Takes some getting used to with all the rules they have here, but I think you’ll love it.” His smile was warm and made me feel at ease. “You should join the meeting. It’s not an official one, just a little get-together, but it’ll be a good way to meet new people.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to interrupt. It seems like you guys already have the party going and everything.”
“Stop. Come on. Seriously, there is plenty of tea and cups to go around. It’s always nice to have more people.” He started to walk toward the party, glancing over his shoulder once with bright eyes and a pleading smile—a smile that was impossible to say no to.
Though my shoes felt like they’d been pumped with lead, I followed him toward the parking lot. The music became louder, and I don’t know if it was a sign from above, or just the right timing, but when a song by Khalid came on, I figured this was where I needed to be. Surrounded by a group of people with great taste in music.
“Hey, guys!” Brody called with his hands cupped around his mouth. He had climbed onto the bed of one of the pick up trucks. Everyone looked up at him, but a few of them locked their eyes on me, probably realizing they’d never seen me before. “I think I have a new recruit!” He turned around to lower the volume of the music, then he faced me, extending an arm and offering a hand. I placed mine in his, my heart clamoring, mind rattling. This is so fucking crazy.
“This is Kandy Jennings. She’s a new student athlete here. A pitcher for our softball team and she’s super interested in MPA!”
Everyone cheered and hooted and hollered and I couldn’t help myself. I blushed, but made sure to wave to let them know that this group had indeed intrigued me.
Brody wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into him. The contact had thrown me for a loop and as badly as I wanted to push away, I didn’t. For one, he smelled nice. Really, really nice. And two, he was kind and had welcomed me in with open arms. It would have been absolutely rude of me to shove him off.
His smell was different than Cane’s. Where Cane’s was manly and crisp, Brody’s was earthy and ripe, like he’d just hit his peak of becoming a man. He had the kind of musk that could drive a woman crazy—a scent only an athletic guy could pull off and make sexy.
“Welcome, Kandy!” One of the girls up front yelled.
“See—told you it’d be cool.” Brody finally pulled his arm away, and the lost weight made me feel too vulnerable.
Right now, he was my MPA guide. I didn’t want to be left alone in this pool of athletes, though they all seemed pretty nice. I was fresh meat, easy to rope in and demolish. Brody hopped off the truck and I sat first before climbing off.
A girl met up with us. Her hair was blond and bouncy and her smile was wide. “Hey, I’m Lidia, one of the coaches. It’s really nice to have you, Kandy.” She handed me one of the brown cups. “The tea is really good, but if you wanna add a little honey, I have some in my car. Just let me know.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at her then sipped the tea. Brody’s eyes expanded when I swung mine over to him, like he was waiting for me to tell him how it was.
“Well?” he mused.
“You were right. It is pretty good.”
“See! Good! I think she’s good on the honey, Lidia. Thanks,” Brody said.
“Cool!” Lidia walked off and returned to the group of people standing by a red pick-up truck. I noticed she was standing with a girl who had a pink cast on her arm. I knew exactly who she was without having to take a guess. I’d seen many pictures of her when I searched for Notre Dame softball.
Sophie Banks. She looked at me with a light scowl, like she knew who I was too. The volume of the music was turned back up again and I looked away, toward the speaker.
Some of the athletes started dancing. Since school hadn’t started yet and some of them were probably only getting into conditioning, there wasn’t much to talk about academically, other than majors and classes. Dancing and head-bobbing felt like the right thing to do.
“So how is the meditating performed?” I asked Brody, who had been lightly bobbing his head to a song by Miguel.
“Oh! Okay, so we choose a partner or two, take a few blankets to the grass over there, and we ask a few of the questions from the prompts the coaches type up. Sometimes we ask things like, ‘was your day okay?’ and then follow up with ‘how could it have been better?’ if someone has had a bad or negative day. At first it’s weird asking the questions and answering them, but you get used to it. Plus the questions they tell us to ask always lead to genuine conversations. We switch partners every meeting, that way we can get to know someone new. Honestly though, most of us stick with the people we connect to the most. It’s easier that way, when the person actually knows what you’re going through and can comment on it. It feels great to get certain things off your chest.”
“Wow. This group seems very relaxing—like a breath of fresh air.”
“Oh, it is. Trust me. And it changes you. Believe it or not, I used to be this big, dumb jock who thought football was life.”
I cocked my brow and smirked, giving him a yeah, right look.
“What?” he laughed, hands in the air. “Okay, I might still be a bit of a jock who still thinks football is life, but I’m a jock who is much more aware of my surroundings. If someone is having a bad day, I can tell and I try to reach out to let them know there’s always a helping hand.” He paused for a moment, watching as I sipped my tea. “Like you…I noticed your slumped shoulders, your sad eyes—the hints the MPA coaches tell us to look out for in another athlete or student.”
I tried not to frown when he said that. “What do you mean by that?” I asked a little too softly.
“I could tell something was wrong. For one, you were walking alone and when I first spotted you, your head was hung low. You looked upset and kind of anxious.”
I wanted to smile and wave it off, but I couldn’t. There was a reason for that—a reason I refused to share with a guy I’d just met. “It was nothing, really. I’m just adjusting to this new life of mine. I’m miles away from my family. It’s scary, but refreshing all the same.”
“Where are you from?” he inquired.
“Decatur, Georgia. What about you?”
“Katy, Texas.”
“Oh, wow. Long way!”
“Yep.” He took a step backward. “I understand what you mean about it being scary and refreshing, especially when you have a family that loves you a lot.”
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
The song changed and one of the coaches announced that we’d be wrapping up and meeting again next week. They collected all of the plastic cups from us, several of the athletes chugging theirs down before adding to the stack. A couple students left the scene, Sophie Banks included, and since they were leaving, I decided to walk off too.
“Which building are you in?” Brody asked, catching up to me.
“Oh, umm, Providence Hall.”
“How’s your roommate?”
“She’s really cool. She plays softball as well. Outfielder.”
“Damn. You are a lucky one. Joining MPA on the first few days and having a cool roommate.
No one’s ever that lucky as a freshman. Maybe I need to stick by your side, hope some of that lucky dust rubs off on me for the season.”
I fought a grin. He was flirting, that much was clear. He’d been flirting since the first question he asked over my shoulder. The funny thing was he didn’t suck at it, like most guys did. Brody Hawks was a smooth talker and very charming.
“Do you do this to all the freshmen girls you meet?” I asked, slowing my pace.
“Do what?” His brows dipped, like he was truly curious.
“Flirt with them? Make them feel cool and secure? Because that would be a good way to bag a girl, especially a freshman. See a new girl wandering around, assume she’s a freshman, and then try to add her to your collection.”
His head tipped back as he broke out in a laugh, and his throat was long and smooth and…attractive. How the hell could a throat be so attractive? Why was I so damn attracted to this guy?
“I mean, I apologize for the flirting, but it’s not every day I see a freshman that looks like you.”
I blushed. God, I hated blushing. I wished my hair was down so I could hide my face behind some of it. He noticed and his smile continued.
“That’s probably another one of the lines you use on the new girls on campus. Hey, we’re easy targets! I get it, man.”
“Would you stop?” He fought a grin, head shaking. “It’s really not like that, I swear. I mean, do I find you attractive? Yes. You got me there. But that isn’t the only reason I came to speak. You looked like you needed a friend…or maybe just an escape from what was going on inside your own head. I remember how tough it was when I first got here. I missed my family like crazy. I wanted to make new friends, find things to do that actually interested me. I’m just here as a helping hand.”
“Well, I appreciate that, Brody. It was really sweet of you.”
“Of course, but since you think I’m trying to make a score on you, maybe I should ask before we keep walking. Would you like me to walk you back to your side of campus?”
I giggled. “No, I should be okay from here, but thanks for the offer.”
“Cool. No pressure.” He threw his hands in the air again with a charming smile, a guilt-free gesture. “Maybe I’ll see you around campus then, and hopefully next week at the next MPA meet?”
“Hopefully!” I called as he started walking backwards.
He winked and put on that bold white smile of his again. “Later, Kandy Jennings.”
I tossed him a wave and he turned almost instantly, meeting up with a group of guys who’d decided to toss a football back and forth on the lawn.
I turned just as quickly, walking as casually as possible, but deep inside my heart was racing. I couldn’t believe my body’s reaction to him.
For a split second, I didn’t think much of Cane or what had happened back at home. He had truly, without much effort, put my mind at ease. He made me live in the now…and that astounded me.
Brody was sweet and confident and smooth and so damn handsome. I couldn’t deny that. He was a beautiful guy with a great body and a nice smile. But as handsome and nice as he was, he wasn’t Cane.
I checked my phone once more as I entered my building. There was a text from Frankie. Nothing from Cane.
Maybe meeting Brody was a sign. I wasn’t in Georgia anymore. I was in Indiana, living the college life. It was expected of me to find boys attractive and to want to hang out with them. After all, Cane said I would meet someone eventually and move on from him. Perhaps it was time.
Brody seemed like he could provide an escape. His personality gave promises of a future full of fun and laughter and easy-going moments. I just hoped I’d actually see him enough to make it happen.
I knew from the start that Cane wasn’t meant for me, which meant I had to let him go. I had to start living my life for myself, not pining over a man I would probably never see again. Plus, he did say after we shared our weekend in North Carolina, that what we had would be over.
Maybe he’d promised himself that and was finally living up to his word. Sure, he would check in here and there, but it would never be the same, and that was okay, because I told him it was fine. I told him I wouldn’t ask anything else of him, and I meant that. He gave me what I wanted and risked so much for me.
It was done.
Fate always won, and if it was meant to be, we would be. We wouldn’t be hundreds of miles apart, wondering what the other was doing. We would be together, trying to figure out how to make this work.
I had to take what was right in front of me and make the best of it.
I could do that.
I could try.
PART II
MENDING THE WOUNDS
Eighteen
KANDY
Two months later…
There’s a saying that when you’re in the process of self-healing and letting go, you will lose many things from the past, but in the end, you will find yourself.
Well, it’s not a saying—more like one of the many inspirational posters my roommate has taped on the walls. I look at it every day and it’s a clear reminder to live my life, and I swear I have tried, but it’s so much easier said than done.
I hadn’t found myself. To be honest, I don’t think I was trying to. I was tied to the past, wishing to relish in it—relive the moments in the lake house or in his car, or even the innocent dinners with innocent chocolate and notebooks and pens.
To be fair, I had learned a lot about myself, like how much I loved to jog and burn off steam or stress from homework or exams. I learned that I loved nature, and that my college had the best trails when I needed to get some air. I also found out that I hated the cold. It didn’t get as cold in Georgia as it did at Notre Dame. I missed the weather back home and couldn’t wait to go back to it.
Another thing I realized was that my coach hated me. Well, Morgan thought I was just tripping out, but I really felt like she didn’t like me, or maybe I just wasn’t good enough. She didn’t encourage or push me to succeed. She constantly compared me to Sophie. She’d even made a remark once that we would never get to finals with how lousy I was throwing.
She had a good heart, but she could be a bitch. I’d ranted to my parents about it a great deal. Mom wanted to call the coach and give her some “kind” words, but Dad was against it, told me to ignore it and to keep practicing until I was “so good she’ll have no choice but to shut her damn mouth.” His words exactly.
Even though Mom called every other day, she would have to force Dad to talk to me. I’m sure he thought I didn’t notice, but I did every single time. She would say things like, “Oh, hey, here’s your father” or “your father wants to speak to you.” But if he really wanted to speak to me, he would have called me himself.
I won’t say he didn’t try, because he did. He would text me stupid, mildly funny memes and I would put the cry-laughing emoticon, but there was minimal conversation. To say things had been knocked off balance would have been putting it lightly.
Still, I couldn’t believe how quickly time was passing by.
The days went in a blur, and I gave most credit to conditioning, practice, and hanging out with new friends.
Two months.
That’s how long it’d been since I started college. Since I last saw Cane. Moving on wasn’t easy—hell, I still hadn’t. The thought of him infiltrated every single part of my mind and even seeped into my life. My friends knew I was hiding something, but I refused to tell them, especially Brody.
God, Brody.
He knew something was up, but he was patient and kind and never pushed too much on the subject. He always told me to tell him when I was ready to talk about it…but Cane was a topic I refused to discuss with anyone. It didn’t stop me from checking the company’s website, Twitter, and Instagram accounts for updates.
His company wasn’t doing too well. Stocks had gone down, and there was even a rumor saying that Cane was looking to sell Tempt. I didn’t believe that. Though his company was in
bad shape right now because of his lost investment in Tokyo, I knew Cane would pull himself out of it and would never give up so easily as to sell what he’d worked so hard to build.
Just like me, he was ambitious and driven and when he wanted something to happen, he made it happen, despite the doubts and criticism. It just sucked that all of this was happening because of me. Dad had created chaos in Cane’s life, leaving many investors unsure whether they should continue working with him or not.
I wanted to call. Check in. But he’d never called or text me again after that one call when I got here.
I figured it was for a reason.
The one thing I’d learned the hard way was that winters were brutal in Indiana. I had practically frozen my tits off walking across campus to get to my dorm.
I’d had my last class and was so damn glad when I made it inside my building where the warmth enveloped me, causing a fierce shiver to rush through me. When I got off the elevator and started toward my room, I noticed someone standing in front of the door.
His arms were folded over his chest, his upper back and the bottom of his right foot pressed to the wall, like he’d been waiting there for a while.
I smiled when Brody tipped his chin, revealing a set of dimples that I would probably never get tired of seeing. He pushed off the wall when I got closer, a casual smile still gracing his lips.
“My lady,” he teased in a horrible medieval voice. The day we met, he’d told me he would see me around, but I didn’t think I’d see him in my Renaissance Studies class the very first day. I didn’t expect someone like him to sign up for a class of that nature, so it was both exciting and strange to see him sitting in one of the chairs, fiddling with a pen on the desk.
Apparently, he loved the Renaissance and Medieval era and was also a big Game of Thrones and Spartacus fan…just like me. With our MPA meet ups and Renaissance class, we had no choice but to bump into each other more than once a day.
“You have to stop with that terrible accent,” I laughed.
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