Solace had always been what grounded me, which was exactly why it was fucking with my head that lately, she was the reason I couldn’t think straight.
I pulled my hand back, clearing my throat. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. Put it on before someone walks out here.”
“Turn around, then.” She spun her fingers in the air, eyes narrowing.
I switched spots with her, cornering her into the sliver of privacy the open car door allowed, and gave her my back.
I almost turned back around—then caught myself before I could do something stupid. Like seeing my best friend in nothing but her skirt and bra.Fuck.Yeah. I needed help.
“All finished. You can turn around now.”
I did. And—yeah, that was also a mistake. The jersey hung loose on her frame, the hem brushing the top of her thighs and swallowing her skirt. I wanted to turn her around just to see my name and number stretched across her back.
Friday night stadium lights flashed uninvited in my mind. Her in the stands, wearing that jersey. Correction,MY jersey. And not as a favor or because I’d begged and she was my best friend so “of course.”
A slow, crooked smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it. “See? Not so bad. Now you’re dry and won’t flash the whole school.” I was, distantly, aware that Taya still hadn’t texted me back or returned my calls. I didn’t mind—and that was kind of the problem…
Still, it didn’t stop my stupid mouth from moving without my consent. “You should wear it to the game on Friday.”
She was close enough that the backs of her knuckles brushed my stomach, but her gaze dropped to our feet. She was silent for a second before severing the tie. “I am going to prom with Gabe, remember?”
Oh. Yeah. Senior prom. Gabe. How could I forget? Fuck that guy.
I dragged my hand through my hair, forcing my expression back into a look of boredom. “Oh yeah, I forgot.” I shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. I reached over her head and closed the door of the Jeep. Locking it, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my wet jeans and started walking toward the building. “Let’s get to class. The bell has already rung.”
3
The Wrong Date
Solace
Jude Ransom. Varsity goalie since freshman year. Untouchable on the field. Untouchable, apparently, everywhere else too. The thing about wearing his jersey, was that it put a target on my back. Even when he had a girlfriend, it didn’t seem to matter, because it washisname acrossmyback. For a while, they (the entirety of our school and our tiny boring town) teased us.
'Us' was so incredibly generous. They teased me. Hardly ever him.
High school was the worst, and it wasn’t lost on everyone that Jude and I weren’t a thing. Never had been, and apparently never would be. Over the years the senseless jabs about our friendship eased as it became less weird to all of them, even if it only grew weirder to me.
When I first told him I couldn’t make it to his game because of prom, he blew the answer off entirely, but after the third time, his voice dropped and his jaw clenched. “You’re going, Solace. I’ll pick you up myself.”
The certainty threaded through his tone settled somewhere deep in my chest. He meant it. I would know, because he had on numerous occasions undermined me, texted my mom telling her we had plans, and his Jeep would roll into the driveway a few minutes later.
On those nights, he’d usher me into the car, drive downtown, and place me in the stands. He often packed a thermos of hot chocolate and wrapped me in a blanket as I watched him warm-up on the field two hours before the rest of the team even showed up. I stayed far past the dimming stadium lights as he changed out of his gear, and the last bodies filed out of their seats.
In the same way, I’d forced him to sit through nearly every piano recital and every play. Sure, he’d grumble about it and complain he didn’t understand the story, but he’d still sit in the front row with the largest bouquet in hand every single time. And that was the end of it, we showed up for each other.
Which is exactly why prom became a ghost between us. Number one: because I was missing his game. Number two: because he hated Gabe.
We talked about everything else—homework, band, practice schedules, college applications, stupid videos he sent at two in the morning—but never Gabe. Never the looming event, and never the fact that every time his name came up in conversation, Jude’s mouth flattened as if he’d bitten into something sour.
As if it didn’t exist at all, like it hadn’t been sitting there between us like a loaded gun, Jude texted me a few hours before prom.
Hey. Game was cancelled due to weather. Can I swing by? Need to drop Milo’s game off.
Wanna grab dinner?
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed. Until my reflection stared back at me—curled hair pinned, makeup half done, dress hanging from my closet door.
It wasn’t even the offer that sent heat crawling up my neck. Which, in itself, was a miracle, considering we never just “went to dinner.”Sure, we went out with friends. Whole groups of us packed into booths, passing drinks across the table. We hung out at my house, playing video games in the basement with my little brother.
