Page 43 of Out of His League

“That’s just it, he doesn’t know. The guard didn’t stick around once he had her outside and the gate locked behind her.”

Our buses pull up to the curb, and the guys start making their way on board. My feet stay planted in place as my gaze stays focused on our coaching staff. Coach Pollard steps away to confer with the others. As I take a step to follow, he shoots me a look, freezing me in place.

With nothing else to do, I pull my phone from my pocket, setting Kassidy’s bags on the floor at my feet. Try after try, the call rings once and then goes to voicemail. Trying one last time, I leave a message, hoping that her phone battery ran out and that she is safe somewhere.

“Kassidy, it’s Brock. Please, please,pleasecall me back. I didn’t realize that you had been left behind at the field. I am so sorry. We just need to know that you are safe and in one piece.Ineed to know that you are safe and unharmed,” my voice is pleading as worry for her wellbeing is almost overwhelming. After ending the call, my eyes drift shut as I bang the end of my phone against my forehead. My body is full of nervous energy with not way to expel it.

“Adams, Thomas, get your asses on the bus…now!” Coach Pollard yells out when he realizes we are both still standing here.

Neither one of us moves. Taking in our stance, Pollard breaks away from the group stalking toward us. Pointing his finger in each of our faces as he speaks, he makes it clear that there is no room for debate.

“Do you want to add more game suspensions to the ones you already have? Keep standing here, and it won’t matter what your grades are. You will be off of my team. Feel me?”

My shoulders fall. Bending to grab Kassidy’s bags, we head toward the bus. Reluctantly, we climb on board. Several of theguys give me encouraging pats on the back as I walk down the bus aisle, making it obvious that the whole team knows Kassidy is missing. Getting to a seat, I stuff her bags in the bins above our heads. Once her stuff is secure, I fall into a seat, leaning my forehead against the window and staring at nothing. My leg begins to bounce up and down, too on edge to sit still. The joy of last night’s win is nowhere to be found, everyone solemn as we worry about the missing girl.

The bus lurches as it pulls away from the curb. Lifting my face to look out the window, my eyes scan every person we pass, hoping that one of them will be Kassidy.

This fucking sucks.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Kennedy and the guys keep their word, arriving to pick me up early in the morning from the hotel. As predicted, my phone battery died during the night. If and when Brock realized I was missing is a mystery. That’s assuming he even tried to find me. So, once we are in the car and heading back to Groveton, Kennedy puts it on the charger. As soon as I am able to power it up, the notifications go crazy. Voicemail messages of all varieties—most from unknown numbers—ranging from concern for my well-being to berating me for disappearing. As if my getting left behind at a baseball field is my fault somehow. Scoffing at the audacity, I delete the remaining messages from any one I don’t know, refusing to get yelled at over something that wasn’t my fault. Just before I power down my phone again, I find a message from Brock.

A soft smile crosses my face when I hear Brock’s pleading voice urging me to call him back. More messages follow his from the coaching staff and the school administration; every one of them goes unheard.

“Gareth, as my lawyer, could or would you field some of these calls. Some of these coaches are getting hostile, like this is a game or something, accusing me of doing this on purpose.”

“Sure, it’s no problem. Took them long enough to realize you were missing,” he snarks.

Me

I am safe. TTYL

I send that single message to Brock, handing my phone over to Gareth so he can handle the rest.

“When you are done, can you please just shut it off? I don’t want to deal with this anymore,” I ask in a tired voice.

Callum is driving Rodney’s SUV while Gareth rides shotgun. Kennedy and I sit in the center row while Ashton and Rodney sit behind us. Kennedy wraps her arm around mine, resting her head on my shoulder. A soft pat on my shoulder lets me know that the guys will take care of things. Leaning my head against the window, the sway of the car lulls me to sleep as a single tear tracks down my cheek.

It’s been a week since the baseball team left me behind. They have been on the road the entire time, giving me a reprieve from seeing Brock. He has sent me text messages that I refuse to respond to, periodically apologizing for the incident.

The school and baseball team have sent flowers, candy, and other gifts to suck up for leaving me behind. Gareth threatened them over the incident and, from what I have overheard, has helped implement protocols so that this doesn’t happen again.

Taking advantage of my scheduled absences, I have not attended classes. The apartment has never been cleaner, as I needed an outlet for my unspent energy. Kennedy and I have done cooking and baking lessons every night, much toher chagrin. While the guys love getting a home-cooked meal, Kennedy groans each night as we discuss the following night’s menu.

It has been a nice break for me, being able to hide from the world for a while. Spending so much time with Brock and having so much extra attention that I’m not used to is stressful.

While avoiding the outside world, Brock continues to blow up my phone with messages that go unanswered. I read them, unable to help myself. Several times, I have started to type a response but have restrained myself from hitting send. I know that freezing him out is only delaying the inevitable conversation we will be having, but I’m just not ready.

Kennedy has been keeping a wary eye on me.Damn Karoline and her big mouth.The worried glances and apprehensive tone of voice are grating on my nerves. Kennedy’s reaction is the exact reason I never told her. People find out what I have done with the cutting, and they begin to treat me differently. Treating me like something fragile and one little thing is going to cause me to break apart.

My phone pings again, flashing across the top of my book. Closing my reading app, I open the text message and heave a sigh.

Brock

Party at the frat house tomorrow, please come.

Everyone is invited.

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