by Lauren Rowe
“I’ll never want anyone but you,” I say evenly.
He smiles at me like I’m a puppy chasing my own tail. “I know you think that now, sweetheart. Thank you. But even if we somehow manage to slog through the next three or four years of an exclusive long-distance relationship during which we never see each other, we still wouldn’t get our happy ending after all that suffering. After graduation, you’ll be heading to New York to chase your dreams, exactly as you should. Exactly as you’ve promised you’ll do. And God knows where I’ll be.”
I’m drowning in panic. Completely blindsided. Hyperventilating.
Out of nowhere, an epiphany slams into me, and I grasp at it like a lifeline. TBD. Surely, Tyler included that line item under Phase Two of the syllabus because some piece of his brain wanted to leave the tiniest opening for us to continue together past the stupid five-week mark. Because Tyler knew in his bones we’d fall in love! “What was TBD?” I demand, my tone much harsher than intended. By God, I’m going to use Tyler’s own premonition of our love against him. I’m not going down without a fight!
Tyler stares at me blankly.
“On the syllabus,” I say. “You listed TBD as the last item under Phase Two. What did it refer to?”
Tyler looks at me ruefully but doesn’t speak.
“Tell me, Tyler. You knew you’d extend the five weeks even back then, didn’t you? You knew it!”
“It was a threesome, Zooey,” Tyler says flatly. “With Jake.”
I gasp.
“It was what Jake demanded to agree to swap Social Psych partners with me.”
I consciously close my hanging jaw.
“Jake had seen us together on the dance floor at the party, and he assumed we’d fucked upstairs right after that. Based on what he saw of you on the dance floor, he figured you were the kind of girl who’d jump at the chance to get double-fucked by the two biggest stars on the football team.” He scoffs. “Of course, I didn’t tell him the real deal about you or what actually happened between us that night. I don’t kiss and tell, unlike Jake the Snake.” He rolls his eyes. “God, Jake’s such a fucking douchebag these days, you have no idea. Ever since his break-up, Jake’s been on quite the tear with the ladies. Talk about a guy who only cares about getting his dick wet.”
The hair on my arms stands up.
“So, anyway, Jake wouldn’t agree to switch partners with me unless I promised to ask you about the threesome idea at some point during our partnership. So I was like, ‘Sure, Jake. Whatever. No promises, of course, but I’ll float the idea with her when the time is right.’ Honestly, Zooey, at that point, I would have said anything to get you as my partner.” His eyes darken. “And, yeah, if I’m being completely honest with you, the idea of both of us fucking you back then turned me on.”
“Tyler.”
“But all it took was our first night together, and I knew I’d never ask you about Jake. In fact, just that fast, the thought of him—or any man—laying so much as a pinky on you made me feel fucking homicidal.” He clenches his jaw. His eyes are blazing. “You want to know why I’ve been playing like a fucking maniac since I met you? Why I’ve been hitting twice as hard and making twice as many tackles and interceptions as I did last year?” He cups my face in his large hands. I’m trembling in his palms. “Because when I’m playing, all I have to do is imagine the ball is you, and I go fucking insane whenever anyone else so much as touches it.” He swallows hard. “Because that ball is mine.”
I open my mouth and close it. Holy shit.
“I love you, Zooey Cartwright,” Tyler says, his voice low and intense. “You’re the answer to a prayer I didn’t even know I had. You make me feel completely alive for the first time in my life. I’m a new man, thanks to you. Now that I’ve got you in my life, I can’t even imagine how I’m going to be happy without you ever again. But that’s exactly why I keep thinking maybe I should break things off with you now—just to save myself from getting absolutely decimated later. Let’s face it, baby, the only thing loving you is going to get me in the end is a broken heart.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes are glistening and full of pain. “Zooey, baby, I’ve already had enough heartbreak to last me a fucking lifetime. I can’t take any more.”
Tears are streaming down my cheeks. He wipes them with his thumbs.
“Tyler, sweetheart, no one knows the future. Anything can happen. Think about it. Did you ever think in a million years you’d fall in love with me when you first met me at that party? And yet, here we are.”
Tyler runs the pad of his thumb over my lips. “Of course, I thought I’d fall in love with you when I met you at the party. I thought I’d fall in love with you the minute I saw you. Why do you think I turned you away that first night? Babe, I felt like I’d been struck by a thunderbolt, and it scared the shit out of me.”
I blink several times in rapid succession, trying to wrap my brain around that. Finally, I jut my chin at him, resolve washing over me. “Okay then. Fuck fate. If it’s not our destiny to wind up together, then let the stars take their best shot at us. But in the meantime, I’m going to do everything in my power to chart my own destiny. With you. Our assignment was to rewrite Romeo and Juliet for modern times, right? Well, then, that’s what we’re going to do. And in our version, Romeo and Juliet are finally going to get their happily ever after.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I’m sitting in the audience at the NFL Draft in Philadelphia, along with Tyler, his dad and sister, Aaron, and Tyler’s trainer and agent. And I’ve never been so nervous in my life. Seriously, I feel like every hair on my head is going to spontaneously fall out of my scalp any second from sheer anxiety. And that’s a lot of hair, folks. Since the first time I met Tyler at that party almost eight months ago, he’s been laser-focused on this one particular day. Envisioning it. Praying about it. He’s been the first player to arrive at the gym every morning and the last one to leave it in the evening. He’s talked for hours on the phone with his dad to deconstruct every little thing he did right or wrong in every week’s game. He’s thrown himself into weight-training, running, yoga, ice baths, cryogenics, sports massages. He’s studied game films, listened to motivational audiobooks, and meditated. He’s foregone partying when all his teammates were getting shitfaced. And, of course, he’s done the most important thing of all. He’s slayed it each and every week on the playing field. If there was something big or small Tyler Caldwell could do to position himself to get selected in the top ten of this year’s draft, he’s done it. And then some. And yet, as we all know too well, nothing in life is guaranteed—especially when it comes to the business of football.
So far, the first four picks in the draft have been a defensive end from Texas A&M, an offensive tackle from Clemson, a quarterback from Alabama, and another offensive tackle from LSU. The Miami Dolphins are currently on the clock, with about two minutes remaining before the commissioner announces their first-round pick—the fifth overall selection in the draft.
God, please let Miami pick Tyler.
The Dolphins aren’t Tyler’s dream team, of course. The Cowboys are. But childhood fantasies mean jack squat to Tyler right now—this is business. Under the league’s collective bargaining agreement, the salaries for the top twenty draft picks are predetermined right down the line. The number one pick is guaranteed a package worth over fifty million bucks, the number two guy gets a deal worth over forty-eight million, and so on. Sitting here right now, we know for certain if Tyler is drafted fifth, he’ll sign a four-year deal worth over forty-one million bucks, fifteen million of it up front in the form of a signing bonus. If Tyler goes sixth instead of fifth, his deal will be worth a whopping four million less. If he goes seventh, he’ll lose another four mil. And so on. Needless to say, Tyler’s hoping the commissioner announces his name next.
Oh, God, the commissioner is headed to the lectern at the front of the large conference center. Out of nowhere, a guy with a large camera with ESPN on its side appears next
to Tyler, primed and ready to capture Tyler’s reaction if indeed his name is called next.
Tyler slides his hand into mine and squeezes. I open my mouth to say something encouraging and realize there’s nothing to say. I hold my breath and pray and pray and pray on a running loop inside my head that fickle Fortune will smile on my beloved Tyler today.
“With the fifth pick,” the commissioner says into his microphone. Tyler squeezes my hand even harder. “The Miami Dolphins select…Tyler Caldwell, free safety, UCLA.”
The place erupts in loud cheers.
Tyler leaps to his feet and fist-pumps the air. He looks up, points to the sky, and blows a kiss to heaven—a simple gesture that instantly brings tears to my eyes. He hugs his dad hard, and I’m shocked to see his normally stoic father crying like a baby. His sister joins her father and brother in a three-way hug for a poignant moment, and my heart squeezes at the thought of the loss those three have endured. And then Tyler gets to me.
He picks me up, kisses me on the lips, and whispers into my ear, “Top five is because I’ve got my lucky beaver-charm with me today.” He kisses me a second time, puts me down, and quickly moves on to embrace Aaron. After quick hugs with his trainer and agent, he’s off, marching in his tailored suit toward the humongous stage at the front of the massive room with that cameraman in tow. I clutch my heart as I watch my beloved Tyler bounding gleefully through the crowd, getting patted and bro-hugged by everyone as he goes. Finally, Tyler makes it to the stage and effusively accepts an aqua and orange Miami Dolphins jersey from the commissioner. He holds it up for an army of photographers, his smile at full wattage.
And what am I doing? Crying. Squealing. Clutching my heart. Shaking. Gasping. Smiling bigger than I’ve ever smiled in my life. And, if I’m being honest, through it all, I’m also simultaneously marveling that a girl can feel this purely and unconditionally elated for the man she loves, even though she knows without a doubt the stars that have been hovering over her and her lover’s heads for the past six months just now…indisputably…crossed.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Crash into Me” is playing on low volume as Tyler slowly makes love to me on top of our fluffy hotel bed. I figured after the thrill of Tyler’s top five selection today, he’d be so amped, we’d go back to our hotel room and fuck like monkeys to celebrate. But, nope. It seems after this exciting and surreal day, Tyler wants to celebrate his triumph by reveling in my body with slow and sensuous strokes. And I’m not complaining.
Tyler pulls my arms above my head, clasps my fingers in his, and kisses me deeply as his hips move deliciously on top of mine. “So glad you’re here with me,” he whispers, his voice husky.
I squeeze Tyler’s fingers in mine, close my eyes, and inhale, taking in his masculine scent. Ah, yes, that’s the drug, baby. It’s the scent that makes me pilfer Tyler’s lightly worn T-shirts from his hamper and wear them to bed whenever we’re apart.
Tyler reaches down between our bodies and massages my swollen tip as he slides in and out of me. “You’re my lucky beaver-charm, pretty baby,” he whispers as his fingers work me.
A moment later, I climax, gritting out Tyler’s name as I do, and shortly thereafter, he growls and shudders on top of me with a release of his own.
After some tender kissing, Tyler rolls off me and we lie together, nose to nose. We talk about the unbelievable day. About how shocked and touched we both were when his dad cried. About how Tyler doesn’t even remember walking up to that stage after his name was called. And then, out of nowhere, I think I detect anxiety flickering across Tyler’s beautiful face.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“I’m just wondering when rehearsals start for you. Sorry. I know you already told me. I can’t keep anything straight.”
Two weeks ago, I auditioned for the lead role in UCLA’s spring-quarter mainstage production of Carrie, a musical based on the book and movie of the same name. And much to my shock, I got the part. I hadn’t expected to get into the show at all, let alone to be cast as Carrie herself. I’d only auditioned to get some auditioning experience. But that’s life for you. Sometimes, it’ll shock you.
“My first rehearsal is Monday,” I reply, and the minute the words leave my mouth, I regret taking the role. Now that Tyler and I have only a few weeks together before he’ll have to leave for Miami, I want to spend every possible minute of them with him.
“That’s great,” Tyler says. “I’m glad you’ll have something to keep you extra busy.”
“No, it’s terrible,” I reply. “Rehearsals are going to cut into our time together before you leave. Did they give you a firm date for when you need to report for camp?”
That same anxiety from a moment ago flickers across Tyler’s face again. “Yeah. Um. It turns out there’s a rookie mini-camp next week.”
My heart stops. “Next week?”
“And then there’s a full rookie camp a couple weeks after that. Followed by training camp for the entire team in July. I’m sure I’ll be able to get back to LA to see every performance of your show. But that’s probably going to be the last time I’ll be able to get to LA ’til January.”
I can’t believe it. I was counting on having weeks with Tyler before he had to leave for training camp in Miami. I wasn’t mentally prepared for him to leave next week. “So we’ve only got a week before you have to leave?”
Tyler twists his mouth. “Actually, uh, I’ve got to head to Miami…” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve got to head out there in three days, Zooey.”
Time stops. I can’t breathe. “Three days?” I choke out.
“Just enough time for me to head back to LA with you, pack a bag, and fly back out.”
Tears threaten but I force them down. Tyler doesn’t need to see me fall apart. Not today. Not ever, actually. Today, his dream, the dream he’s shared with his father his entire life, the dream he believes his mother would have wanted for him, has finally come true. The impact of his dream fulfillment on our relationship is irrelevant, and I know it. I came here to support him and to be thrilled for him, come what may, and that’s what I’m going to do. “Sounds exciting,” I manage to say brightly. “How long will you be out there?”
He looks stressed. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone on this first trip. While I’m in Miami, I’m gonna have to start looking for a place to live. I’ll definitely come back and see your show, for sure, like I said, but shortly after that, I’ve got to get settled into my new…home.”
Home. Such a loaded word. But it’s the right one, isn’t it? Tyler won’t be visiting Miami. He’ll be living there for God knows how long. Maybe even forever.
Tyler touches my cheek. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“I’ll apply to the University of Miami,” I blurt, panic descending upon me. “I’m sure they’ve got a theater program there. And if they don’t, then I’ll study, I don’t know, English or communications.”
For a long moment, Tyler doesn’t react to my outburst, other than to gently stroke my hair like he’s calming a stray dog at the pound. “You can’t move to Miami, beaver,” he finally says. “You’d be miserable there.”
“I’ll be even more miserable without you.”
“And what about your scholarship to UCLA?” he asks. “You don’t care about that? If you think I’m gonna pay your way at U of Miami with all my millions, you’re sorely mistaken, you mooch.” He smiles.
I blink back tears. “But I don’t remember how to be happy without you, Tyler.”
Pain washes over Tyler’s face. “You’ve got a destiny to fulfill, sweetheart. Every bit as much as I do. We both know that. We’ve always known it.”
I stare at him for a very long time, my lower lip trembling. He’s right. My brain knows he is. My dreams require me to eventually wind up in New York, not Miami. But my heart simply doesn’t want to accept today’s triumph will likely be our undoing. “Can I come visit you this summer?”
“I’ll be at training camp this su
mmer. You know that.”
I hang my head, defeated. “I’m sorry. I’m honestly elated for you. The three-days thing just threw me for a loop.”
“Babe, I know you’re elated for me. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.” He pulls me into him and I crumple, literally and figuratively, against his hard chest.
He wraps his strong arms around me, and I clutch him to me while Dave Matthews serenades us with his soulful, bittersweet song. And for the first time ever—even though by this time I’ve heard “Crash into Me” more times than I can count—it suddenly occurs to me how eerily prescient Tyler’s selection of this particular song was all those months ago. This beautiful boy crashed into me like a ton of bricks from the moment I first laid eyes on him. And now, it seems, fickle Fate is demanding I finally suffer the inevitable…burn.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tyler puts down his carry-on suitcase and hugs me one last time before heading into the airport security line. “Don’t forget to send me photos from rehearsals,” he says. “I want to see your costumes. Oh, and the first time they drench you in blood at rehearsal, you’d better Snapchat me that shit or I’ll never forgive you.”
“Only if you promise to send me a selfie when you’ve got your full Dolphins uniform on for the first time. I want to see your name on the back.”
He looks like he’s getting choked up.
I touch his cheek. “Babe, there’s no crying in football.”
He nods.
“I’m just a text or phone call away. Any time you want to talk, I’ll be here. Any time you want to watch an episode of The Office with me on FaceTime, I’m in. Any episode you want, as long as it’s not from season eight or from before Pam and Jim get together.”