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That’s why my stupid ankle couldn’t be injured.
“I’m fine,” I said as Mrs. Mercer ran a concerned eye over my swelling foot.
“Cullen, bring her over here.” Mrs. Mercer directed us to the row of plastic chairs on the sideline. I eyed that chair like it was the enemy. I had never wantednotto sit down as much as at that moment. I wanted Cullen to hold me up for all eternity. I wanted his shirt brushed against me, his hand encircling my waist, to be surrounded by that strangely heady smell of physical activity.
“You okay?” Cullen’s hand slipped away as he guided me into the chair, immediately plunging me into a state of utter desolation. I missed his touch in a heartbeat, resisting the urge to cling to his damp jersey and declare undying gratitude. “Sierra?”
There was something about the way he breathed my name in a whisper. Words evaded me as I was captivated by his steely eyes squinting with concern. Why had I never noticed the varying shades, the silvery hues dancing in the light? I’d always classified Cullen as the stereotypical dreamy blue-eyed blond. Apparently, he wasn’t—he was so much more.
His hand rested on my shoulder as he asked again, this time his throat raspy. “Sierra, are you okay?”
In a split second I remembered the hundred thousand times that Cullen had visited our house over the years, the play dates with Sawyer since elementary school, the sleepover/gaming parties, afternoons watching college football, the barbecues and dinner parties with our families. Yep, I’d always been Sierra, Sawyer’s little sister, and it would do me good to remember that right now. Especially now as his forehead gleamed with sweat and his eyebrows bunched in worry.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I whispered. “But you sound parched. Go get some water.”
There was a chuckle as those blue-gray eyes flickered at me, but a whistle blew loudly in the background, and in a flash Cullen raced away, while Mrs. Mercer went down on her knees to untie my shoe lace.
“I can see the swelling,” Mrs. Mercer said, my pink colored Converse removed and placed on the ground. “Let’s elevate it, dear.”
As Mrs. Mercer inspected my foot, my chin wobbled. I was horrified that I was on the verge of tears. And I wasn’t sure why. Yes, my ankle was sore, but not so badly that it warranted crying. Yet, somehow I was overwhelmed, fighting back emotion.
Which was totally crazy.
The next few minutes were a whirlwind as Millie returned with my water baskets and offered to take me home to ice and rest my poor leg. Mrs. Mercer said she’d take care of the water. With my head in a spin, I limped alongside Millie, the raucous sound on the field making me look over. Cullen was shouting to a bunch of boys and I don’t know why that made my heart pitter patter in a way that had never happened before.
And as the distance between me and Cullen increased, there was a strange yearning deep in my heart, one where I didn’t want to leave.
Goodness, had I knocked my head on the ground when I fell? Did I have a concussion?
Millie talked all the way back to my house. She had an idea to do an article about my position as the Water Girl.
“Hydration Expert,” I corrected her with a laugh. That’s what I called myself, it made me sound more professional, though essentially my job was to run the water bottles onto the field whenever there was a break in play. I constantly had to scout around and check that the boys had adequate water, because often on the field they would become so focused that they’d forget to drink. There had been times that I’d literally squirted water into a player’s mouth.
That’s what I told Millie as I sat on the recliner in our living room, my foot wrapped in an ice pack.
“I can help with the water,” she said, “until you’re back.” Millie had started attending every session just recently, a new recruit to the Chargers team.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be back tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll strap my ankle. It’ll be fine.”
Millie frowned. “Are you sure? There’s a bit of swelling there.”
“I’ll ice it all night,” I said flippantly. There was no way I was missing one day of training. This half session was already a blot on my record.
“Careful you don’t get frostbite,” Millie said with a smile.
I laughed, but truth was, my foot was numb. “Hey, I really appreciate you helping with the bottles,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” Millie said.
“I’m not usually a klutz,” I said sheepishly. “I think I tripped on something.”
“I know,” Millie said. “You’re so fast, running back and forth. I get tired just watching you.”
I smiled. Millie was genuinely kind, insisting on staying with me until Mom or Dad returned home. She’d poured me a glass of milk and brought me the cookie jar too.
“Sawyer’s going to laugh his head off,” I said, knowing that my brother would make fun of the fact that I’d fallen.
“Maybe not,” Millie said.
