I squeezed Wyatt’s thigh, glancing at Dax and Molly with meaning. He sighed, his shrug all but imperceptible.
“How’s your first day?” Molly asked Dax.
I peeked at my brother, watching his features go hard. “Fine.”
“I’m glad.” Molly looked at her food, then at me, then at Wyatt. “How’s it going for you, Allie? Coach can’t wait to meet you. I had PE this morning and he’s been asking all of us about you. Guess he’s real excited about this year, with you being here and all.”
Shit. Nothing like a coach building you up to put a big fat target on your back. “Oh, great.” I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice.
Molly frowned and Wyatt glanced at me.
“Don’t want to disappoint anyone,” I added—hoping to explain that my tone wasn’t directed at Molly.
Wyatt smiled. “No worries there.”
Molly was watching us, all smiles. “Aw, Wyatt. You’re so sweet.”
“Like Cannon?” Dax ground out.
Ouch. I saw Molly flinch. I couldn’t decide if I was proud of Dax or sad for Molly. Maybe a little of both.
“Dax…” Molly’s huge eyes filled with tears. She sniffed, smiling. “Never mind.” She shrugged, picked up her tray, and walked away, alone.
“Dax?” I murmured as he crushed his empty soda can in his hand.
He was watching Molly over his shoulder. “What?”
Not touching the Molly thing. “How are classes going?” I asked, hoping to distract him.
Wyatt leaned forward. “You’ve got Mr. Hastings for Spanish, right?”
Dax nodded, still tense.
“Shit, man.” Levi shook his head. “That sucks.”
“Take notes. On everything,” Wyatt offered. “Seriously.”
I knew he was trying to distract Dax. Dax probably knew it too. But it didn’t stop me from loving Wyatt all the more for it.
Lunch was followed by World Literature, a Health Professions class, and then girls’ athletics. The athletes of Black Falls were…interesting. Half of the girls were uncoordinated and giggly; the other half looked like they’d kick my ass and enjoy doing it.
Coach Garza was a red-faced, angry-looking guy—like he was constantly on the verge of a heart attack. Standard coach. “Allie Cooper.” He read the slip from the office. “My soccer star. Glad to have you,” he continued. “Work hard, play hard, win. That’s the Bobcats motto.”
I nodded, feeling the hostile stares of my soccer teammates. We dressed and headed out onto the field.
I left them in the dirt, weaving through them, owning the ball, and driving it into the goal without any resistance from the goalie. I heard the whistles from the stand and spun. Wyatt was sitting there watching, all smiles.
“Cooper! I’m putting you in charge of drills.” Coach Garza was staring at me.
“Oh.” I glanced at the other girls, to see a mix of reactions. “I’m not—”
“I’m not asking.” Coach Garza handed me his whistle and walked off the field, toward Wyatt.
I looked at the whistle, the other girls, and tried not to be upset. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want responsibility. I just wanted to skate by until graduation. Not exactly the grateful attitude I was supposed to be working on.
“I don’t know your names…yet,” I said. “I’m Allie.”
“We know,” one of the giggly girls said. “And you’re freakin’ amazing.”
Another girl snorted. “Bet you can’t do it again.”
Don’t take the bait. Don’t do it.
Someone else laughed. “Bet she can.”
“Who wants to drill?” I asked.
No one raised their hand. A couple of them crossed their arms over their chests, clearly not excited.
“Great. So, laps then?” I asked.
“Let’s drill.” The first girl jumped up and down. “Can’t wait. Drilling is my life.”
A few girls laughed then. I smiled.
I worked on toe-touches with them, one on one. When they seemed to have that down, we worked on passing. I had one girl run down each side of the field, passing the ball back and forth, then setting it up for the shot. It didn’t go very well. A few of them knew what they were doing, but most of them acted like they’d never seen a soccer ball before.
When Wyatt and Coach came onto the field, I noticed the visible shift in the other girls’ attitudes. Wyatt was hot and I wasn’t the only one that noticed it. While they straightened their ponytails and stuck out their chests, I put my hands on my hips and stared him down.
“You’re all sweaty,” he said as he stopped, inches from me. His eye was healing, which meant both his wonderful brown eyes were focused on me—all red and sweaty and grinning like a fool.
“I do that.” I leaned forward. “Want a hug?”
“Why do you think I walked over here?” He cocked an eyebrow at me, pulling me against him. His lips brushed mine as his arms wrapped around me.
“Isn’t PDA against school rules?” I teased.
“School ended thirty minutes ago,” he said before kissing me again.
One quick glance around told me that everyone was leaving the field. “How are you?” I asked, slipping my arms around his neck.
“Lonely.” He smiled. “Your cheeks are all red.”
I laughed. “That happens when I’m overheated.”
“I like watching you when you play. You’re amazing.”
“I love the game.”
“It shows.”
We walked off the field slowly, to his waiting truck. He stopped walking then, pulling me against him. “Got everything you need?”
I was wrapped up in his arms—so yeah, pretty much. But that wasn’t what he meant and I knew it. I shook my head. “My backpack’s still in my locker.”
“Let’s go.”
I smiled. “You don’t have to come.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead before stepping back, taking my hand in his as we headed back toward the school. Walking down the halls of the high school, talking soccer with Wyatt, feeling happy—life had changed so completely.
***
Friday. “Who’d have thought school wouldn’t suck?” I asked Pickett as he ran around me, eyeing the stick I held in my hands. I smiled at him.
If I was completely honest with myself, which was still a new concept to me, school had never sucked so little. So my classes might not be the most exciting thing in the world, but the teachers were all decent—so far. Athletics was going to be a challenge, but dealing with competitive, bitchy girls was nothing new to me. I could handle it. I was making friends, sort of.
And I had Wyatt. My smile grew.
Pickett whimpered, running around me in smaller and smaller circles until I was forced to stop walking. I laughed. “Fine, here.” I threw the stick and jogged the last few feet to the beaten metal mailbox at the end of the long driveway.
I pulled out the stack of mail as Pickett dropped the stick at my feet. His stubby little tail wiggled and he spun around, bursting with energy. “You’re hyperactive, you know that, right?” I asked, bending over to pick up the stick. “Shit,” I muttered as the pile of letters slipped from my hold, scattering all over the dusty road. I picked up Pickett’s stick, threw it, wiped the dog slobber on my jeans, and picked up all the mail.
A letter from Southern Methodist University caught my eye. It wasn’t the only letter I’d received from a university. Kentucky State, University of California, University of North Texas, and Harvard had all replied to my early applications. I’d had two yeses so far—Kentucky State and University of North Texas. It was good to have options.
I swallowed, ignoring Pickett as he circled me. My chances were good with SMU too, I knew that. I’d applied before the accident, when my game was the best it had ever been. The scouts had been impressed when they’d come to see me, tossing around scholarship amounts and generally making it feel like I was in. Which was what I wanted…had wanted. Having Dr. Duncan on the Bo
ard of Regents took a lot of the worry out of the whole thing.
I stood in the middle of the long dusty driveway and opened the letter. “Congratulations,” I read. “We are pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted to…” I wanted to feel excited. I wanted it to feel right. So why didn’t it?
I threw the stick for Pickett as we made our way back to the house. SMU wasn’t the only college that had sent scouts to watch me play. A lot of them had. Not just Texas schools, schools from all over. But I was a Texas girl at heart. I didn’t want to go far. Maybe A&M was far enough… I hadn’t heard from them yet.
I took my time, trying to separate my feelings for Wyatt from my plans for the future. Had SMU been where I’d wanted to go? Or where Lindy and I had wanted to go? At SMU I’d have to transfer out for my master’s degree. I could stay at A&M the full course.
But was I seriously considering A&M? And if I was, was it for Wyatt or because it was the best choice for me?
“What’s up?” Dax asked as I came inside.
“Nothing.” I set the mail on the table, tucking the letter into the back of my waistband, smoothing my t-shirt over it.
Dax rolled his eyes. “Right.” He turned back to his homework.
“Dax.” I put my hand over his book. “It’s Friday night. Don’t you want to do something?”
He shrugged. “Like what?”
“We could go watch the Bobcats’ first football game,” I suggested with a smile.
Dax’s eyes narrowed. “Fine.”
Which surprised me. “Fine?”
He smiled. “Yep, let’s go.”
“Okay.” I turned around…and Dax grabbed the letter. “Dax,” I growled, spinning around and reaching for the letter.
Dax ran into the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it.
I thumped the door. “Dax!”
Silence.
“Dammit, Dax.” I thumped the door again.
The door opened. “Congratulations, Allie! This is fantastic!” He grabbed me in a bear hug. “Call Mom. And Dad.”
I took the letter back. “I’m not sure.”
Dax frowned. “About?”
“I’m not sure about this.”
He blinked at me, then frowned. I didn’t say a thing. “This is all you’ve been talking about. Leaving, going home, to SMU.”
I shrugged. “There are other schools…”
“Such as?”
I shook my head.
He smiled. “Huh.”
“Huh, what?”
“Huh, I never thought a guy would get to you like this.” He leaned against the wall.
I sighed. “It’s not just Wyatt.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, giving me a look.
“Just. I said just…” I frowned at him. “It’s everything.”
“That makes sense. Not.”
“I…I don’t know what I want. SMU was a Lindie-and-me thing, you know?” I sighed. “Everything’s different now. I need to figure out what’s me… What’s right for me.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay.” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “But—and don’t get pissed at me for asking this—is A&M even a possibility?”
“Yeah. I-I think so. They have the exact program I want, you know? But—” I held up the letter. “These scholarships are kind of hard to argue with.”
“Have you heard from A&M yet?”
“No.” I refolded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope.
“Then wait,” he said. “You going to tell Mom?”
I shrugged.
“Wyatt?”
I shook my head. “No…you’re right. I should wait…for now.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Wyatt’s coming back Sunday?”
I nodded. Wyatt and Hank had headed to Ft. Worth for a rodeo. As cool as Mom and Dad had been about Wyatt staying with us, I knew better than to ask if I could go on the road with him. He’d left while I’d been in athletics class.
“So, football?” I asked.
“I guess. I’d rather go to a movie.”
I laughed. “Way to support your school.”
Dax rolled his eyes. “At least it’s not Homecoming yet.”
I didn’t say a thing. Homecoming was a big deal at our old school. Ridiculous mums, huge pep rallies, a week of spirit activities and parties…homecoming court. It made me think of Lindie, of how much she’d wanted to be Homecoming Queen this year.
I imagined Homecoming in Black Falls would be very different from Homecoming in Richland Hills. Sure, Black Falls was crazy over their football team, but I didn’t know if it was because the team was good or because there was nothing to do when there wasn’t a rodeo to go to. I guessed tonight I’d know the answer to that.
***
Thunder woke me.
I glanced at my clock. Two in the morning. Awesome.
Wind howled outside, and a crack of thunder so loud I sat up.
Was Wyatt home—safe and sound? He’d called earlier to let us know he’d be home late—they’d had a flat and then it had started storming. Dad had checked the weather and Mom had tried to convince them to stop for the night, let the weather clear—but he’d promised to be careful.
I hadn’t wanted to worry—but that wasn’t going to happen, so I’d done some laundry, made a batch of blueberry muffins, then some oatmeal raisin cookies. After I’d cleaned up the kitchen, I swept off the porch, glancing at the driveway a dozen or so times before I decided I needed to get away from the house. Pickett was all too happy to go for a run with me until it was too dark to keep going. I showered, picked out my clothes for tomorrow, packed my lunch box, and poked around, looking for anything to keep me preoccupied.
He’d been gone two days. It felt like weeks.
Apparently my agitation irritated the crap out of Dad. At eleven, he’d told me to go to bed. Pickett had flopped down on the mat at the edge of my bed. “You miss him too?” I’d whispered to the dog. Pickett had stared back at me, his ears pricked forward and his eyes watchful. I’d fallen asleep waiting for the sound of Wyatt’s truck.
Thunder rumbled, sounding far too scary-movie for my liking. “Pickett?” I whispered, needing some reassurance.
No head peeked up. I glanced across the room. My bedroom door was open, just enough for Pickett to get out. Was he out in the storm? I frowned.
Or, hopefully, Wyatt was home and Pickett was sound asleep on the floor by Wyatt’s bed.
Thunder shook the house, rattling my window. I’d shoved the bed into a corner of the room—nothing like solid walls at your back to help chase away a panic attack. I’d made sure I could still roll over to see Wyatt working in the morning: a win-win situation.
More thunder.
Wyatt. I hoped Wyatt was home.
More rattling glass.
A flash of lightning that had me pulling up my quilt.
“It’s a storm. A stupid storm. Nothing to get freaked out over. Nothing at all.” I shook my head. Like talking to a storm was going to help? But I wasn’t just freaking out over me. If Wyatt wasn’t home, was he driving through this? Which was way scarier than sitting here right now. But I didn’t know if he was here or if he was out there, on the road, right now.
I flipped on my small bedside lamp, hoping it would chase away my nerves. It flickered, but didn’t go out. Watching the light dim and flicker was so not helping. I sat in a smaller ball and stared at the light.
This is stupid. He’s either here, sleeping right down the hall, or he’s not home yet.
I slipped to the edge of the bed, hesitating. The thunder and lightning made my decision easy. Right now, more than anything, I needed to know he was safe. I pulled the sheet over my head. I’m pathetic.
I jumped up, dragging my sheet with me. In my sock feet, I tiptoed—avoiding the squeaky giveaway floorboard—along the hall and down the stairs. The hall was illuminated with a sudden flash of white and I paused, my heart in my throat. Deep breath—moving on. I tugged the sheet up, like a hood,
and hurried the rest of the way to Wyatt’s room.
I thought about knocking, but a clap of thunder changed my mind. I opened the door and slipped inside, leaning against the closed door to get my bearings. The digital alarm clock on the bedside table cast everything in a pale glow. Pickett was curled up in the corner, snoring. And Wyatt—Wyatt was sleeping on his stomach, shirtless, his sheet draped low around his waist.
I could breathe easier. He was here. He was safe. He was wearing something underneath that sheet, wasn’t he?
Oh. Good. Lord. Now my heart was thumping for an entirely different reason.
17 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I stood there, frozen, staring. Seriously? He should be a model. An underwear model…or something.
He rolled, flipping onto his back and throwing his arm over his face. I held my breath, but the sheet stayed in place.
Now his chest was on display…his beautiful sculpted chest. Not breathing. I almost lost my hold on my sheet. How could someone so wonderful be so gorgeous? Lightning lit up the room, jolting me from my staring session, and making me move, quickly, to the edge of his bed. I sat by his feet, the springs on the bed squeaking loudly. Great.
“Allie?” He moved, leaning off the side of the bed. A light came on…from under the bed?
“I-I needed to know you were…back safe,” I whispered. “Sorry I woke you up.” I was lying. I wasn’t sorry I’d woken him. If I hadn’t woken him, he wouldn’t be looking at me, scooting closer to me, making me forget about the storm. It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamed about being with Wyatt…in bed…up close and personal…half-naked, even. But this time I’m not dreaming. He’s here. I’m with him. I smiled at him. “So, hi,” I whispered.
“Hi. You okay?” His voice was pitched low. He slid closer, one long leg sliding around me.
“Yeah, sure,” I murmured. It was so hard to breathe.
He cocked an eyebrow.
“I always run around the house with the sheet over my head.” I tried for humor, but my voice was tight and quavering. “You have a flashlight under the bed?”
“I’m used to power outages.” Which made perfect sense. “Miss me?” he asked softly.
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