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I frown as Sasha points to empty seats about ten rows up from the fifty-yard line instead of heading to the student section where we normally sit. If there’s anything that will distract my attention from the field, it’s all the noise and antics that take place there.
“You want to sit here?”
This is primo seating for season ticket holders.
Sasha shrugs, nonchalantly saying over her shoulder as she moves steadily up the staircase, “Professor Donaldson had a pair of tickets and asked if I wanted to use them since he couldn’t attend the game this weekend. I thought it’d be a nice change of pace to get away from all the chaos.”
Chaos is right. The student section can get pretty rowdy with all the jostling and yelling. Sometimes, I walk out of the stadium after a game with my ears ringing, barely able to hear myself think. Although, at the moment, that would be preferable. Reluctantly, I trail after Sasha as she scoots past a few people who look old enough to be our parents.
Once we’re settled in our seats, I wind my scarf more tightly around my neck. Even with the sun shining brightly overhead, there’s a distinct chill to the early December air. Nerves flare to life in the pit of my gut as my gaze combs over the players warming up on the field. Rowan Michaels is easy to spot as he windmills his arms before doing a few light passing drills. Brayden Kendricks is standing next to a guy on the sidelines who is decked out from head to toe in Wildcats paraphernalia. He looks too young to be an assistant coach. More like a superfan.
Sasha rises to her feet and waves to Easton before flashing him a big smile. She’s decked out in a jersey with his name and number stamped across the back. There are black smudges under her eyes, and her thick hair is pulled up into a ponytail. There’s no question as to who this girl belongs to, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Easton grins, waving back before giving her a wink.
These two…
They’re way too cute for words.
My gaze slides to Carson Roberts and Asher Stevens. Both are moving through a series of stretches. The only time Asher looks serious is on the football field. Otherwise, he’s kind of a goofball and always horsing around. He plays a ton of video games, smokes weed, and drinks like he’s triple majoring in all three.
He's blond and blue eyed with muscles galore. The girls go crazy for him. And he, in turn, enjoys them with an equal amount of fervor. There’s a revolving door of females in his bed. And if the rumors that circulate around campus are to be believed, sometimes more than one.
I force my attention away from him to scour the field. It takes a few moments to realize what I’m doing. Or rather, who I’m searching for. Irritated with myself, I release a slow breath and reluctantly accept that the next three and a half hours will be brutal. I’ll be hyper focused on him all the while reliving our relationship one painful frame at a time.
I’m almost grateful when Sasha knocks her shoulder into mine, recapturing my distracted attention. Glancing at her with raised brows, I find a smile dancing around the edges of her lips as she points to the turf.
“Check it out.”
Ugh.
I’m trying my damnedest not to do that. The last thing I need is more reminders of Crosby. He’s the one person I haven’t been able to find. Maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll be out for the game, and I won’t have to torment myself with his presence.
I force myself to glance at the field, only to find Crosby standing on the sidelines directly in front of me. Electricity jolts through me as our gazes lock. He holds a thick sheet of white posterboard in his hands.
I’m sorry I hurt you.
My breath catches, becoming wedged at the back of my throat as he drops the first sign. I’m almost shocked to discover another one ready to take its place.
The weeks we spent getting to know each other were the best of my life.
It would be a lie if I didn’t admit—at least privately to myself—that I felt the same. I enjoyed all of it.
The posterboard falls to the turf and is replaced by a third one.
I don’t want to lose you.
Another sign drops as my heartbeat picks up tempo, crashing painfully against my ribcage as I wait to see if there’s more.
Please forgive me for not being honest.
My teeth sink into my lower lip.
I…can’t believe he’s doing this.
Players gather around him as the crowd quiets in the stands. People turn, searching the sea of spectators before pointing me out. My attention stays locked on Crosby. Looking away feels impossible.
