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She looks at me through her fingers, and it breaks my heart. She's broken. Tears form, and I watch as they spill down her cheeks. Awaiting more setbacks in a life that's seen enough of them. I won't let her fall.
“Fuck!” she yells out.
Kicking the dash with her foot, she bends over again, resting her head in her hands. Her fingers weaved through her hair, pulling at the roots with white knuckles.
“I'll call him back today and see what he has to say. It might be completely unrelated. Let’s not even go there yet.”
“It's not, Lake. You wouldn’t feel what you’re feeling right now if it wasn’t. This is a big deal. The NFL doesn't take shit like this lightly. I'm done for.”
We pull up to her apartment complex, the tension heavy between us. She goes to jump out before stalling with her hand on the door. She doesn't know what to say. How to feel. She's upset with me, but probably even more mad at herself.
“I'll get to the bottom of it. Go make sure Colin is alright, then call me when you guys are ready.” I nod. “I'll be back.”
She tightens her jaw while looking down. Her face is pale, as if holding back the contents of her stomach is currently a struggle.
I wave her back towards me and she wearily leans across the passenger seat. Wrapping my hands around her soft cheeks, I bring her forehead to mine.
She sighs softly, closing her eyes briefly before opening them. Her gorgeous golden eyes hold her worry as she whispers, “I'm scared, Lake.”
It nearly breaks me, hearing a woman so strong admit to something so real so easily.
“I got you, baby,” I whisper back. “You know this.”
Eyes filled with hesitation and uncertainty peer longingly into mine. She nods once, unconvincingly, before slowly pulling back and shutting the door.
I can take the heat. I'm Lake Decker. But the damage this girl will do to herself for making this choice will be irreparable.
I need to call Coach.
51
Dylan
I'mjuststaringathim, lost in a trance, with my mouth parted and eyes glazed.
“My shirt, Pickle. I need my shirt. My shirt. Cleaned for today. I won't go. I-I need my shirt.”
I blink suddenly, shaking my head to clear my cloudy vision. I'm trying my best to remain calm, but internally, I'm screaming.
“Yes. Your shirt.”
I walk into his bright bedroom, searching the dirty laundry for his favorite canary-striped shirt. Finding it, I immediately toss it into the wash. I'm staring at the dial on the washer with my fingers dangling over it, my mind on the terror at hand.
If Dr. Clark Shelby saw me leaving Lake's condo that early in the morning, there's only one reason as to why Coach called Lake. And that reason will cost me my livelihood.
“Lake likes my shirt. I gotta have my shirt. My shirt to meet his mom,” Colin says in my ear, bringing me back to the real world. “Lake likes it.”
“You're right. He loves this one on you,” I say, adjusting the settings and starting a quick wash. “And I have a feeling she's going to love it just as much.”
I turn to face him with an easy smile, hopeful that the shift in schedule this morning doesn't alter his seemingly cheerful attitude.
“Is Pickle nervous? Scared? Is Pickle worried about Colin today? I don't want Pickle to worry about Colin. Colin will be good with my pop-it. No issues. Good. Colin will be good. Good,” he says, stimming as he paces from side to side.
My poor, sweet brother. I hate that even he can sense my nervousness. He operates on a wavelength above the surface where the rest of us stay perched. He can sense things, feel things differently. Always has. It's one thing I truly admire about him. Of course, I’m worried about how he'll handle today. Having a meltdown over Thanksgiving dinner would really be the icing on the cake, wouldn't it? But since this missed phone call situation, I haven't worried about it at all.
“I'm not nervous about you meeting them, Collie. I can't wait for you to tell them all you know about NASCAR,” I say, wrapping my arm around his shoulders. “You'll have to ask Lake about his Rainbow Warrior jacket.”
“Rainbow Warrior jacket?!” His eyes widen at the spot on the floor he’s fixated on.
