Changing Forever (17 page)

I don’t necessarily believe her, but there might be some semblance of truth to it.

“No,” I answer, playing with the frayed edge of my old pink and black comforter.

“Maybe you should call him. Men are stubborn, especially guys like Drake. They don’t like to admit they’re wrong, Emery.”

I sigh, remembering how he acted every time I saw him this week. “He wouldn’t even look at me during class. If he wanted to talk, don’t you think he would have tried to get my attention?” I close my eyes, picturing the disconnected look in his eyes every time I looked at him during class. “It’s over, not that it ever started.”

“You know what you need?”

Lifting my brows, I stare at her. “To disappear to an island with nothing but libraries and coffee shops?”

“No,” she says, smacking my leg. “Let’s have lunch. I’ll call Rachel and see if she can meet us.”

My first instinct is to say no, but the longer I look at her, the harder it is. Plus, I’ve been sitting alone in this room way too much. “Okay.”

“Yay!” she screams, jumping up from the bed. “Okay, you need to get dressed … and maybe shower.”

Rolling my eyes, I throw off the covers, revealing my worn pink sweats. “Yes, boss.”

She ignores me, digging her cell phone from her purse. I grab a pair of jeans and my old Southern Iowa Hawks hoodie from the drawer before disappearing into the bathroom. If this makes her happy, I’m going to do it. Maybe Kate’s happiness with rub off on me.

The smell of smoked barbeque makes my mouth water as we walk into one of those bar and grills that specializes in buffalo wings. Not my first choice, but Kate and Rachel claim it’s the place to be during the football game.

We find one empty table near the bar and order sodas right away. “What have you been up to, Emery? I haven’t seen you since the football game.”

“I had a couple big tests this week,” I answer honestly. I purposefully leave out the part about being a recluse to avoid Drake.

Rachel catches Kate’s eye then looks back to me. “How did things turn out with Drake last weekend?” If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’ve been talking about me.

“Shitty,” I answer as the waitress sets our drinks down. Her eyes fall on me, and I smile. “We’re just talking about a guy.”

The waitress laughs, pulling her small notepad from her pocket. “Well then, that’s the only word needed to describe them. What can I get you ladies today?”

We take turns ordering, each choosing a different flavor of wings so we can share. As soon as our waitress is out of earshot, Rachel starts her line of questioning again. “What happened?”

“Nothing and everything … all at the same time. Things were going okay at first, but then he got pissed off and pulled me into a bathroom where we shared a kiss that was better than any sex I’ve ever had. Oh, and the best part, after he was done with me, he went back to being an asshole. That pretty much sums up the night.”

Her eyes grow wider as she listens. “Why did he get pissed off?”

I scoff. “I was talking to Cole Dillon.”

“He was jealous,” Kate chimes in.

“Then why is he being such an asshole?” I ask, swirling my straw in my cup.

“Because he’s fighting it.” Kate covers my forearm with her hand. “If you really want to pursue this thing with Drake, you have to fight for him. He’s not going to do it himself.”

I know she’s right, and while part of me is drawn to Drake, I’m ready to cut my losses and concentrate on the goals I laid out when I came to school. All of this is just taking time away from the things I should be focusing on.

“I think it’s a lost cause. Besides, I have other things I should be concentrating on. It’s not worth the risk,” I say. My eyes catch a play from the Southern Iowa game on the big screen behind the bar. The camera is on Drake. He’s under center, scanning the defense. As soon as the ball is snapped, he steps back, pumping his arm a couple times before letting it go to his tight end. It’s the perfect pass.

Rachel’s eyes catch mine. “Are you sure he’s not worth it?”

I’m about to tell her he’s not when he’s sacked on the next play. My eyes are glued to the screen as I watch him, silently begging him to get up. When he reaches up with one hand and pulls his helmet off, I watch him grimace. Covering my face with my hands, I make it easy to hide my eyes if I need to. I just want him to get up. Instead he covers his shoulder with his hand and pinches his eyes shut. All I can do is watch as the training staff runs out to the field.

After a couple minutes, he’s able to stand with help and makes his way over to the bench. I watch, waiting to get a glimpse of his face. His brows are drawn together as one of his trainers work on his shoulder. When he’s done, Drake gets up and starts pacing up and down the sideline, trying to do circles with his injured arm.

The camera stays on him as he watches the rest of the drive from the sideline, and when it ends in a punt, he heads into the locker room, a look of anguish on his face.

When the wings arrive at our table, I nibble on one, leaving the rest of the basket untouched. “See, Emery, you care,” Rachel says, looking between me and the television.

“I never said I didn’t. I just don’t know if it’s worth it.”

“Maybe you should go check on him after the game. Make sure he’s okay,” Kate adds.

As soon as she suggests it, I know I want to. But will he want me there?

J
UST
OPENING
THE
DOOR
to my dorm hurts like a bitch. The medical staff confirmed my shoulder isn’t badly injured, and my collarbone isn’t broken, but they said it would be sore for a few days. I wasn’t able to return to the game, but the team was able to pull out a win, keeping us alive for the conference championships.

I fumble with the buttons on my jeans, trying to unfasten them so I can replace them with lounge pants and fall into bed. Just as I finally have success with the last button, there’s a knock at the door. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath as I tug my shirt down to hide my open fly. I don’t want to answer it, but it could be Coach, and if I leave him hanging, out will come the search party.

As soon as the door swings open, I lose all knowledge of the English language. I haven’t let myself look at her since the night we kissed.

“Hi,” she says quietly, her eyes falling on my right shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” It doesn’t come out quite as I intend, but the pain in my shoulder is overriding any common sense right now.

Her eyes pierce into mine, sympathy mixed with anger. “I came to check on you. To see if you need help with your shoulder.”

“It’s fine. I can take care of myself. I always do.” As I reach up to rest my arms against the doorjamb, I wince, grabbing my shoulder in pain.

“You’re not fine. You’re stubborn, and there’s a difference,” she says, walking right on past me. This is my room, and I should tell her to leave, but I can’t … I kind of want her to stay.

“Make yourself at home then,” I say, slamming the door shut with my good arm.

“Sit down,” she says, pointing to my desk chair.

I hesitate, not used to having anyone but Coach tell me what to do. That’s why I play quarterback after all.

“Drake, please.”

Without speaking, I do as she asks. For the first time, I notice the bag she brought with her and wonder what’s inside. She pulls out two small ice packs and a small white tube, setting them on top of my desk.

“I have trainers, you know,” I mumble as she kneels down in front of me.

“Yeah,” she says. “Did they work on it?”

I nod, trying not to move too much.

“Does it feel better?”

It doesn’t. Not at all.

“That’s what I thought. Can you pull your shirt off, or do you need help?”

Admitting weakness is almost as bad as death for a football player. But what am I going to do? Lie to her, and then let her watch me struggle. “I need help.”

“Lift your left arm up.” I do as she asks, and she slowly slides my shirt up my arm until it’s free. “Now, I’m going to try to pull it over your head so I can just slip it down your right arm, okay?”

I nod. I just don’t get why she’s doing this for me. I haven’t done a fucking thing for her.

Her plan is successful, leaving me shirtless in front of her. The annoyance I felt when I first opened the door is starting to subside. She’s right. If she hadn’t come here, no one would have. Coach might have checked on me, but not like this.

“We’re going to ice it for fifteen minutes first,” she says, lightly pressing one of the ice packs to the front of my shoulder. “Can you hold this with your hand for a second?”

I do as she asks, feeling the release of tension from my body with every word she says. I watch as she picks up the other pack and presses it to the back of my shoulder. She uses her free hand to pick up a medical wrap, and before I know it, my whole shoulder is wrapped up, holding the ice packs in place. It doesn’t feel perfect, but it’s taking away some of the sting I felt a couple minutes ago.

I want her here. I want her taking care of me, but it’s a horrible idea. I’ve spent the last week chasing her out of my head, and now that she’s here, I realize I haven’t made any progress.

“Thank you.”

She looks down at the floor, and I’m disgusted with myself. The last thing I ever wanted to do was beat her down so much she couldn’t look me in the eye. If I ever saw one of my sisters like this, I’d want to kick the ass of the guy who made them that way.

I need to fix this.

Standing, I grip her chin between my thumb and index finger, leaving her no choice but to look at me. “Thank you, Emery. You didn’t have to do this.”

She swallows, her eyes glossing over. “I wanted to.”

It’s these moments of truth and honesty that attract me to her. It’s in these moments that I want to be with her. I want her to be the girl I kiss after each win. I want her to be the one who takes care of me when I’m injured. I want her to be the one who I tell everything.

God knows I need someone.

“Emery,” I whisper, running my thumb along the cleft of her chin. It would be so damn easy to kiss her right now. Her eyes are practically begging me to. Hell, my body is begging me to stop fighting it.

It’s an exhausting tug of war, but I don’t see any other way around it.

I let her go, turning to escape her tortured eyes while tangling my fingers in my hair.
Not you, Drake.
She’s worth so much more than you can give her.

I don’t know why I’m so fucking scared. I’ve been miserable for years, but things are different when I’m around her. Maybe I should give us a shot and take my chances on the potential fucking heartache … but I can’t.

“You need to go,” I say, unable to look at her.

“Damnit!” she screams, throwing the white tube against the wall. “Why do you keep doing this? Why do you look at me like I’m the answer to all your problems, and then push me away?”

I turn so fast my shoulder throbs. “I didn’t ask for this!” I yell, unable to control myself any longer. “I didn’t ask for you, Emery.”

Her head shakes slowly as her chin begins to tremble. I’m not just messing with my life … it’s affecting hers, too.

My heart is screaming for me to wrap her in my arms.

My head is telling me to let her go before I hurt her even more than I already have.

They’re fighting each other. I’m fighting myself.

“You know what, Drake. I didn’t ask for you either. I’ve never needed anyone, and I don’t need you.” She picks up her bag and walks to the door before turning back to me one last time. “By the way, after the ice melts, rub some of that cream on your shoulder.”

Her hand is on the knob. It’s now or never. Take a risk or continue to live the way I have been. Either way, I think we’re both going to get hurt; it’s just a matter of when.

“I’ll fuck everything up. I always do, Emery, because the one thing I can’t escape is myself,” I admit, waiting to see how she reacts.

Her body freezes, hand still resting on the metal knob. Maybe I screwed this up so much that it’s not fixable, but maybe there’s a chance she’ll give me one more shot … but at what?