I lean in, tracing my finger up the side of her jaw and—
BANG!
Peyton jerks back, falling into the sink, body going rigid. My eyes snap to the door just as it slams shut behind Indie. My pulse batters my ears.
Did she see me? Did she seeus?
A breath catches in my throat.
There was nothing to see. Just a trick of proximity. Bad timing.
So why am I still on fire?
Indie doesn’t look at us. I don’t even think she notices we’re here until Peyton calls her name, and her head snaps up.
“Rose?”
Her hazel eyes dart between us before her mouth pulls into a tight, forced smile. It’s an expression so brittle it could shatter with a breeze.
“Hey, Cap,” she manages, her voice hoarse. She shifts her eyes to me and forces another smile, just as broken as the first. “Hey, Coach.”
Peyton and I exchange a concerned look, but she doesn’t hesitate another second before stepping toward her.
“What are you still doing here? Didn’t the bus leave already?”
Indie nods, averting her gaze. “Yeah. I was just going to catch city transit.”
Peyton pats the bench, collapsing onto it in unison with Indie. Watching them, watchingherknow exactly what to do, almost stings as much as watching her on the ice. I don’t know Indie well. I don’t know exactly how to be there for her in the way she needs. And the sudden realization that I haven’t been doing my job either plagues me.
Swallowing the dry ache in my throat, I cast Peyton one last, useless glance. But her gaze stays fixed on Indie, like I’m already gone. Wordlessly, I step into the hallway, the florescent light washing over me. I smooth out the wrinkles on my jacket where her hands used to be, and I pray, to whoever might be listening, that Peyton will pretend this never happened. Like I plan to.
This job was never going to work. It’s like trying to mix oil and water. We’re always going to clash. I keep getting pulled in, invested in something I’ll never have—what she has, what I lost.And if I let her keep dragging me into this, let her make me care, I’ll never move on.
Andgod, I really need to move on.
Fifteen
Darcy
“Fuck!” I lift my foot, cool air rushing to my skin as my sandal slips off, revealing a sore patch of heel where they’ve been glued to me for far too long. Squatting down, I yank the damn pine needle from the small hole it’s made in my compression socks. “Fucking trees,” I mutter, scowling at the offending plant.
I don’t mind nature in small doses. Mostly when it’s framed on a calendar or viewed through the safety of a car window. But trekking through it? Mountain climbing? Walking through a forest that looks like it was designed specifically to test my patience?
Not exactly my idea of fun.
My skin starts itching the second I step out, my eyes swell at the mere existence of the breeze, and this sounds childish, but I fuckinghatedirt. I can’t stand it. The gritty, powdery texture it leaves on my skin, the way it clings to my socks and stains my gloves.
No thanks.
“You good?” Bailey’s voice breaks through my irritated thoughts. She’s walking beside me, a giant mastiff—Mr. Bubbles—lumbering along at her side, drool spilling from his mouth and staining his custom green Greenrock University bandana. Bailey’s brows are furrowed, her brown eyes flashing with genuine concern.
Despite my confusion over the fact that she’s even talking to me at all, I force a smile and lower my foot back down.
“Yeah. Just a pine needle.”
Bailey scrunches her nose, eyes darting to the towering trees surrounding us like something out of a horror movie. “They’re the worst kind of tree,” she mutters, still eyeing the pines. “Seriously, why do trees needneedles?”
“I’m pretty sure the scientific answer is water retention, but I’m going to stick with ‘to make us miserable’.”
