Out of Bounds: A Sports Romance (Soulmates Series Book 5)

by Hazel Kelly

  How dare she throw that in my face after I opened up to her?!

  I knew I’d let her down. I understood that she was pissed off with me. But I apologized sincerely in the hope that she’d forgive my momentary error in judgement, an error that was made with only good intentions.

  Instead, she’d turned around and hurt me in the cruelest way possible, singlehandedly ruining what should’ve been one of the best days of my life.

  So I guess we were even.

  And yet, I’d never felt like a bigger loser.

  I squeezed my head in my hands before storming down the hall. I knew she was an only child, a rich kid who had no idea what it actually felt like to feel real worry, fear, and embarrassment. But I thought she was more than that, too.

  And that I was more to her.

  But her hateful words proved the contrary. In her eyes, I was disposable. I was nothing.

  And it absolutely tore my heart out, the same heart I was so ready to give to her.

  Yeah, I knew I fucked up, but I hadn’t let her down deliberately, hadn’t hurt her deliberately. But that’s exactly what she’d done to me.

  And I feared that even if I could forgive her flippant remark, I’d never forget the fact that she made it.

  T H I R T Y F I V E

  - Rosie -

  I knew I’d fucked up as soon as I said it.

  Even in the moment, it didn’t feel good. But by the time I realized what I’d done, he was already gone.

  I replayed the awful insult in my mind afterwards, desperate to figure out why I would think that such an uncharitable, undeserved, nasty comment was in any way relevant to the temporary pain I was feeling.

  Yes, I wanted to kill him. I still did.

  But he didn’t deserve that, and I hated myself for saying it. I mean, I knew good people sometimes said bad things, but comparing him to his dad was unforgivable, and I was so ashamed of myself I avoided him all week.

  Of course, it wasn’t just him that I stayed away from. I let my phone die, I boycotted social media, and I wore a disguise to make sure no one recognized me as the girl who had an anxiety attack on air.

  Granted, it only consisted of a hoodie and my thickest pair of glasses, but it seemed to do the trick. And with football season well and truly underway, even Nikki didn’t have the time or energy to investigate my hermitic habits.

  That being said, I didn’t see any way I could avoid my journalism class. Plus, I figured the least I could do was apologize to Professor Hopkins for messing up the opportunity he’d so generously given me… Though I wasn’t sure how I was going to tell him that the reason I hadn’t properly studied Josie’s example tapes was because I was distracted by a boy.

  I kept my head down during the lecture, taking notes on the importance of verification and active listening as Professor Hopkins cited historical examples that proved his points.

  Finally, just before the bell rang, I decided to hell with my apology. I was going to make a break for it.

  Regrettably, though, my professor had other plans and called me to his desk while my classmates shuffled out of the room with whispers of happy hour specials on the tips of their thirsty tongues.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said as I approached him.

  My eyes grew wide. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  He furrowed his brow. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

  I clasped my hands in front of me. “Yes I do. I should’ve reviewed Josie’s example footage more carefully. I didn’t think I’d be in front of the camera so soon, but that’s no excuse for being unprepared.”

  “To be honest, I think it worked to your advantage that you didn’t over-study her material.”

  “What?”

  “Your report was a breath of fresh air that I, for one, didn’t realize we needed.”

  “What?” I said again, convinced I was dreaming.

  He crossed his arms across his tan waistcoat. “Granted, it was obvious that your knowledge of football is…less extensive than it could be, but you were surprisingly funny and still managed to get all your points across.”

  “Funny?”

  He sat on the edge of his desk. “I loved when you accused the opposition’s quarterback of peacocking, and how you said—what was it? Something like, ‘by the third quarter the Falcons had stepped into the graves they’d dug themselves.’”

  I blinked at him.

  “I’m not the only one who enjoyed your unpredictable flair,” he said. “Your report had thirty-five hundred hits on YouTube by Monday.”

  “Thirty-five hundred?”

  “Yeah. When was the last time you checked?”

  “I didn’t know it had been posted.”

  “You have to check it out,” he said. “It’s obvious from the comments section that you already have some fans.”

  “I thought it was a disaster.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “You probably shouldn’t have called half the defensive line by their nicknames, but people will probably tune in next week to hear what D-Train and Juice are up to.”

  “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  He lowered his head to meet my eyes. “Of course you didn’t. But you pulled it off.”

  “You think?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, Rosie. You could’ve been more polished and more discriminating with your word choice, but that will come with experience. The important thing is that your personality came through and you reported the facts.”

  The tightness in my chest dissipated for the first time in days. “I am so relieved to hear you say that. I thought I’d let you down.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “The only person who was let down was Josie, and it was by herself. But we’ve talked about it and, between you and me, she is incredibly grateful that you stepped up.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Though I doubt she’ll ever mention it again.”

  “I’m just glad I didn’t let you down.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

  I smiled.

  “Personally, I’m delighted that my instincts about you were right.”

  I bit my tongue and did backflips in my head.

  “Speaking of instincts,” he said. “Was it Stewie’s idea to have you take your glasses off?”

  I shook my head.

  “Because that was an excellent call,” he said. “On a day that sunny, the glare would’ve distracted from your report. And your sense of humor.”

  Fuck.

  “So good thinking there.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my stomach sinking.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad it worked out,” he said. “I felt awful that I told you not to worry about a thing and then you got shoved in front of the camera on day one.”

  “I was pretty shocked.”

  “Well, it didn’t show,” he said. “You held your own, and I have a feeling you have a lot more airtime to look forward to.”

  “Great.”

  “Josie’s unlikely to go anywhere without you after that anyway.”

  I wondered if he knew what really happened. “Thanks for the feedback.”

  “No problem, Rosie. Enjoy your weekend.”

  “You too,” I said, backing towards the door. When I reached the hallway, I took a deep breath and pulled up the hood on my sweatshirt.

  How could I have been so wrong? So selfish? So self-centered? Not only had I pulled it off, but Luke was right. He was actually right. About everything. And I’d treated him like someone I didn’t even like, much less like someone I cared about…

  Someone I needed. Someone I owed an apology.

  After all, what was the point of a win if I had no one to celebrate my success with? And even if it had been a disaster, he would’ve been the only person who could’ve cheered me up, who could’ve offered some much needed perspective.

  Instead, not only had I turned him away, I drove him away.
/>   Right after I’d fought so hard to get close to him.

  I didn’t lift my eyes from the sidewalk a single time on the way back to my dorm. I was too focused on berating myself for being such a self-obsessed fuck up and promising myself that I would do better from now on.

  Not only for Luke, but for myself.

  T H I R T Y S I X

  - Luke -

  It was quarter past nine when I pulled in the driveway, which meant I could probably make it back to campus by midnight.

  Assuming everything went according to plan.

  And while I was riddled with doubts on the drive up, I knew I was doing the right thing when I saw my mom’s face. Fear flashed across her eyes in the split second before she realized it was me walking through the back door, and that told me everything I needed to know.

  She’d reached a breaking point. She would be ready to listen to reason.

  “Luke, honey, what a nice surprise.” She stood up from the kitchen table, abandoning her open newspaper.

  I walked across the tiles and hugged her, looking over her shoulder at the kitchen. I could tell by the dishes drying in the rack that she and Patrick had already eaten, but I was quick to notice the wrapped portion of Hamburger Helper by the microwave.

  She hugged me tight, worryingly tight, and when she stepped back, I could see the bags under her eyes and the flesh-colored medical tape over her eyebrow.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I came to get you and Patrick,” I said. “I want you to come down and stay with me for a while.”

  She furrowed her brow. “What?”

  “Not with me, exactly,” I said. “But I found a place. It’s a house. The lady who owns it works at the health center, and she has a room to rent.”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s perfect for you guys. I checked it out, and she gave me a great deal because she could use the company and—”

  “Luke.”

  Her sad eyes were the last thing I wanted to see. “What?”

  “We can’t just up and leave.”

  “Sure you can,” I said. “I borrowed my buddy’s truck so I could bring you back. It’ll fit anything you want to bring, and the place is already furnished.”

  “What about my job?”

  “You can get a new job.”

  “What about Patrick?” she asked. “He likes his school.”

  “He’ll like the school on campus. It’s a really good one. All the professors’ kids go there.”

  She put a hand on my cheek as her sunken eyes searched mine. “You have other things to worry about. We’re fine.”

  I pulled her arm down and squeezed her hand in mine. “You’re not fine. I know my solution isn’t the best, but at least you’ll be safe while we figure out something more permanent.”

  “We’re safe here.”

  “How can you say that to my face?” I asked. “If Dad breaks your wrist again you won’t be able to work anywhere. And don’t get me started on how bad his influence is on Patrick. What kind of example do you think you’re setting for him by taking this shit?”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m helpless. I’m not helpless.”

  “I’m not leaving here without you, Mom. You’re not safe here.”

  She opened her mouth, but closed it again when she heard a car pull into the driveway.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled. Fuck.

  “Not a word of this,” she said, pointing at me. “You’ll make things worse than they already are.”

  I could hear my dad cursing as he made his way up the walkway beside the house, kicking the siding a few times before he appeared outside the door. I leaned against the counter and folded my arms, watching as my mom hurried to put his dinner in the microwave.

  When he threw the door open, he looked right through me at first, like he’d never seen me before in his life. It wasn’t until I said hello that his expression softened.

  “Luke,” he said, tracking mud across the floor. He gave me a hug, but I didn’t even lift my arms. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  “Just came by to say hello,” I said. “See how everybody’s doing.”

  “Swell, swell,” he said, pulling out a chair and smacking the table. “Have a seat. Tell me all about it.”

  “About what?”

  “Things,” he said. “You know.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you?” I asked as my mom brought him his dinner.

  He didn’t even look at the plate, much less thank her.

  “Grab me a beer, will you?” he asked, gesturing towards the fridge.

  “I think you’ve had enough,” I said.

  His expression changed faster than a taunted pit bull’s.

  “I’ll get you one,” my mom said.

  “Don’t,” I said, maintaining eye contact with my dad. “See if he can go five minutes without.”

  She opened the fridge.

  “Mom!” I shot her a look.

  “Gaby,” my dad said, dropping his chin and leaning his bloodshot eyes towards her. “You bring me a beer right now or—”

  “Or what?” I asked.

  My dad stood up, walked over, and glared at me. “Did you come here just to start trouble?”

  “The only trouble here is you,” I said.

  “Get the fuck out.”

  I wiped some spit off my cheek. “After you,” I said, gesturing towards the door.

  He turned around, and just when I thought a clever comeback had occurred to him, he spun around and punched me in the face.

  I was more startled than I should’ve been, but the pain was squashed by my relief that he’d hit me for a change. “You’re a fucking disgrace.”

  He wound up and tried to hit me again, but this time I was ready. I grabbed his fist in one hand and jammed the other straight into his stomach so he stumbled back into the table, sticking his hand in his dinner when he tried to steady himself. “Fuck.”

  “If you don’t leave this house right now, I’m going to call the police and let them carry your sorry ass out.”

  He wiped his meaty hand on his pants. “This is my house,” he said, pointing at me. “And you better not be here when I get back.”

  I watched him fall against the screen door and listened as he banged the side of the house on his return to the driveway.

  “Why did you have to get him riled up?” my mom hissed. “He was happy to see you. That was the best mood he’s been in for—” She must’ve registered the unimpressed look on my face because she stopped right there.

  “Get your stuff,” I said. “None of us are going to be here when he gets back.”

  She grabbed the paper towels by the sink and headed over to the mess. “I’m not going anywhere. He needs me right now.”

  “I need you,” I said. “And Patrick. He needs you.”

  She dropped to her knees and started scraping up the clumps of meat.

  “Just leave that,” I said. “Enough is enough.”

  “Enough is what you’ve done,” she said, shooting me a look. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  I dropped to my knees beside her. “Mom, please. I’m begging you.”

  “Go back to school, Luke. That’s how you can help.”

  I rose to my feet, feeling as frustrated as I felt defeated, but when I looked up, Patrick had wheeled into the doorway with a small backpack across his lap.

  “I’m ready for college,” he said. “I want to go with you.”

  F L A S H B A C K

  - Rosie -

  “You had your teachers sign your yearbook?” Nikki asked, leaning over to look at my scribble-covered pages.

  “Did you not?” I asked. “I thought it would be nice to have someday. To look back on. I don’t know.”

  “I guess that makes sense if they have good things to say about you.”

  “I’m sure you have at least a few teachers who would write something nice.”

  “I’m
really not bothered,” she said. “As much as I’d enjoy watching them squirm, I’d rather read what yours wrote and pretend it was written for me.”

  “Actually, Ms. Walls did sort of mention you.” I flipped through the rigid pages towards the back.

  “Yeah?”

  I cleared my throat and dragged my finger along the note as I read aloud. “Rosie, you are a very capable girl. You’ll go far if you don’t sink to other people’s levels. Good luck, Ms. Walls.”

  Nikki’s mouth fell open. “What a bitch!”

  “That’s totally about you, isn’t it?”

  “As if it’s my fault you don’t apply yourself in gym class.”

  I smiled. “I know.”

  “She still hates me ’cause I got caught cheating on that test freshman year.”

  I scratched the back of my head. “What test was it again?”

  “Pickleball. Christ. Like anybody really cares.”

  “That was before we started hanging out, though.”

  “Right,” she said. “Before you got me back on the rails. I can’t believe she wrote that.”

  “It’s fine. We sort of deserve it. I mean, we blatantly walked the mile this year, and we were entirely responsible for causing that rebellion against the Presidential Fitness Test.”

  She groaned. “I should’ve been exempt from that anyway, with all the after-school practice I do.”

  “Whereas I really should’ve tried harder to do at least one pull up.”

  “Pull ups are hard,” she said. “It was your sit and reach that let you down.”

  I laughed. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Ugh. Enough about her. We still came out on top.”

  “You think?”

  “Well, yeah. She’s still a bitter, middle-aged gym teacher who can’t shed her second chin even though she has legs like a flamingo, and we’re out of here.”

  “Yeah, we are.”

  “So,” she said, bouncing her crossed leg and scanning the courtyard. “Whose signatures do you still need?”

  “I think I have almost everyone’s,” I said. Except Luke’s. I didn’t have Luke’s. And it would be nice to have…if only to run my fingers over it and think about what might’ve been. God, I was pathetic.