Five things, p.4
Five Things, page 4
Fuck this. I peel off the suffocating helmet and toss it on the ground before moving over to Coach. He stands with his hand propped on his hips, his pot belly popping out of the blue BU Bears polo he’s wearing.
“You wanna tell me what’s gotten into your head today?” he asks when I reach him, his annoyance palpable. “We’ve got a game in a week, Brady. Whatever stick is riding up your ass, pull it out. Or I’ll pull you, got it?”
“Shit, Coach, it’s one bad play.”
“You call what you just did out there a bad play?” He scoffs, scraping his hand through his graying hair. “That was a fucking disaster. And there’s no way I’m having that in our first game of the season. This is the year, Maverick, your first as captain and quarterback. This is the year to really prove to yourself to everyone who doubted you. I stuck my neck on the line to get you here, don’t let me down.”
My jaw tightens, and I bite my tongue, tamping down the outburst that wants to slip from my mouth. The annoying thing is he’s right. I’ve played like shit today, and everyone fucking knows it.
“Everyone clear out,” he calls over the field, the guys stopping in their tracks and an air of relief passes over us as they make their way toward the arch, heading for the locker room. “Seriously, Maverick, whatever’s gotten in your way during summer, get rid of it. Or you’ll fuck all this up. You’ve got a real talent, kid, don’t blow it.”
His large hand claps around my shoulder for a beat, and I nod, placating him enough he leaves me standing there alone.
With a groan of frustration, I stalk toward the abandoned helmet, shoving it under my arm before following the direction the rest of the team went.
They grumble as I push through them, pulling the shirt off my back and dropping it to the bench before moving and flipping one of the showers on.
“You good?” Beck asks, stepping beside me. “Because, I swear, man, that was not great out there.”
“Coach just about reamed me out on the field, so I don’t need to hear it from you too.”
“I’m not here to shout at or berate you, dude,” he tells me, nudging me with his shoulder. “Just checking in. You may be our captain now, but you’re my friend first. And clearly shit is running through your mind. Given you and Nash seem pretty chilly at the minute, I’m just offering my friendship services.”
“Awww, you have a soft spot for me, how cute.”
“Don’t be a dick.” He shoves my shoulder when he passes, shaking his head as he moves across the room.
Stripping the rest of my uniform off, I step under the warm stream of water, letting it wash away the shitty practice. My mood has been sour since Nash and I got into it in my car the other day. Hell, we didn’t even argue, but the bitter taste he left in my mouth won’t fucking go.
It’s not enough to have me rethinking things—if anything, it spurs me on more, knowing that Beatrice being here is already fucking everything up for me.
It doesn’t help that she won’t leave my fucking head either.
The minute my eyes close at night, visions of her swamp me. The sight of her all grown up, paired with all the memories of our past. The day I met her, the day I found her, the day in court. And every day since, missing her but hating her all the same too.
She’s messing with my head, and it’s been a few days. I dread to think the ways she’ll fuck me up if she tries to stick this out.
There’s too much history between us, too much negativity to make this an easy transition, and I’m not sure I can survive her sticking around, knowing how quickly she can worm her way back inside me.
Chapter Five
Beatrice
My hand shakes as I pop the lid on the pill bottle, tipping them into my free palm. Water streams from the kitchen sink, and the radio plays softly in the background, but my mind is overwhelmed with the new day to take anything else in.
When a knock sounds at the door, the bottle falls to the floor, white pills scattering over the linoleum. Closing my eyes, I blow out a slow breath before dropping to my knees and quickly sweeping the pills back into their home.
When I rise, I stand there for a good minute, trying to settle myself while Maisie knocks again and again.
“Sorry,” I say when I finally pull the door open. Her brown eyes soften when she takes in my disheveled appearance, and my old tatty pajamas. Where I’m a hot mess, barely awake after struggling to peel myself off my makeshift sofa bed this morning, Maisie is the complete opposite.
Her hair is fastened into a half-up, half-down style with a butterfly clip at the back, and she rocks a pair of mom jeans and the cutest floral crop. The little makeup she wears brightens her already glowing skin, making her brown eyes pop beneath the gold shimmers brushed onto her lids.
If I were a jealous person, I’d probably feel a little green just looking at her. I envy her easy confidence and the bright smile on her lips at all times of the day, but it’s not a negative thing. If anything, I hope some of that rubs off on me.
“We’re really going to have to work on that apologizing thing of yours.” She chuckles, pushing past me and helping herself to the fresh coffee. “Shouldn’t you be ready by now?”
“Yeah.” I sigh, tucking the pill bottle behind my back as she turns to face me. “I’ll be right back.”
Closing my bedroom door behind me, I drop the pills into a lockbox before shoving them under my bed. The one thing I am grateful for after the mess of the weekend is that whoever helped themselves to my room on Friday didn’t think to look under the wooden bedframe, missing the opportunity to find and exploit all my secrets.
I shove my hair into two French braids that drop down my back before slapping some foundation over my face and slathering my under eyes in concealer, hoping to hide the purple bags lingering there from the lack of sleep since I pulled up to BU.
After dressing in high-waisted black denim shorts and an old Nirvana sweatshirt I stole from Dad’s closet, I slip my feet into a pair of checkered Vans before glancing at myself in the mirror.
My makeup does a poor job of hiding the tiredness lingering beneath the surface. Even after I run mascara over my lashes, I just look a little less tired. And strands of hair are already falling free from the braids, dropping into light waves around my face.
Whatever, I’m not here to impress anyone, I guess.
I slide the strap of my packed backpack over one shoulder, the weight of my laptop and textbooks a steady presence when I walk out my room and find Maisie perfectly at home on the couch, scrolling through my Kindle.
“Unfuck your brain?” She chuckles when I snatch it from her, closing it down and shoving it in the TV cabinet as my cheeks blister with embarrassment.
“Psychology major, remember? Self-help books are sort of my thing, research and whatnot,” I explain, not bothering to tell her not a single one of the books on my Kindle has anything to do with my major. “Now, didn’t you promise to feed me?”
“That I did, and I have a craving for bagels. So, we’ll hit up the coffee shop on campus. I’ve been doing my research, and apparently, it’s pretty good for breakfast, and we can avoid the crowds in the cafeteria.”
She links our arms together, tugging me down to the parking lot. We’re only around the corner from campus, but not having my car with me isn’t something I’m comfortable with.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I let her fiddle with the aux cable and connect her phone to the speakers as I pull out of the space, weaving through the cars dipping out of the parking lot and slipping easily into the early morning traffic on the main road.
It takes less than fifteen minutes to get parked up on the other side of campus, and as we step out of the car, Maisie guiding me toward the coffee shop, my stomach sinks and sweat pools against my skin. My heels dig into the gravel, stopping me in my tracks.
“Hey, you good?” Maisie asks, spinning around until we’re face-to-face. Blinking a few times, I try to get my mouth to open, to answer her question, but nothing comes out. My muscles are locked in place, my vision growing hazy as the bright sunlight assaults me. Shit. Shit. Shit. My throat constricts, and my lungs burn with the need for oxygen, but I can’t pull it in. I can’t breathe.
“Five things”—I hear Mom’s voice, a whisper, at first, pushing through the fog that tries to cloud my brain—“Tell me five things you can see.”
The grounding technique my therapist taught me at one of our first sessions comes rushing to the forefront of my mind. Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.
While it’s not a miracle cure and doesn’t fix the root of the attacks, it’s a good tool in these moments when it feels like you’re drowning. A reminder that you’re okay, you’re here, that you’re not underwater and losing yourself.
I force my eyes to move, to travel over the car park, collecting five items in my mind. A yellow VW bug parked at my side, a football being tossed over the asphalt, the campus gates, a girl wearing bright sneakers, and finally, Maisie.
Maisie, who stares at me, her eyes swimming with worry as she holds her cell in one hand, her fingers curled tightly around the metal casing.
Shit.
I rush through the final four numbers, my breath settling when I reach one. My heart slows to a normal beat, and the sounds of the parking lot flooding back to my ears as I bring myself back to the here and now.
“Fuck.” I sigh, dropping my head forward as tears spring to my eyes. “I’m sorry, Maisie. I think I just zoned out for a minute.”
She doesn’t speak for a long moment, letting me regain my composure. It’s only when we start walking again that she throws her arm over my shoulder.
“I’m not going to ask you to spill all your secrets to me, Bea. I know we’ve only known each other a couple days, and we don’t really know each other well yet. But I want you to know that you can talk to me . . . about anything.”
“I-uh—”
“I know a panic attack when I see one,” she says quietly, squeezing me tight against her. “And the pills you were hiding behind your back this morning? Yeah, you didn’t do the best job, I caught a glimpse when you slipped into your bedroom.”
“Oh,” I say, blowing out a slow breath.
“You know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, right?” She lowers her voice as she tugs me inside the coffee shop on campus.
Bright bean bags litter the floor, the lights a mismatch of bright whites and gold, giving a chaotic ambience to the space. Without waiting for my answer—I’m not even sure she expects one—Maisie steps up to the counter, quickly placing our orders. “Two vanilla lattes, please, two shots of caramel in each, and can I grab two cream cheese and ham bagels also. All to go, thanks.”
She waves me away when I offer her some cash, instead slipping a card over the desk to the guy with a smile and a wink. When we’re all paid and he hands over the to-go cups and two brown paper bags, we take them outside, finding a bench near the campus entrance, and park our asses to eat.
We don’t talk about what happened outside my car—instead Maisie asks about all my favorite things, sharing her answers afterward. My chest warms and my heart softens a little the longer she talks. She’s proving she doesn’t care what my life is like and that she’s just here to be a friend.
Without thinking, I blurt, “Thank you.”
Her eyes soften, and she bobs her head for a beat before lifting her mug silently. Even without a word from her lips, I know in that moment no matter who I am, or what my struggles may be, Maisie James just became someone I’ll call a friend for life.
Maverick
An alarm blasts through the bedroom, pulling me from sleep with a jolt. My eyes crack open, and my mouth feels like a ball of cotton was stuck to my tongue at some point in the night.
When I drop my feet to the floor, my stomach rebels, threatening to bring up what little I ate last night, thanks to the extreme amounts of tequila my friends and I knocked back. With the first game of the season rolling around in a couple weeks, we really should have saved it, but after a shitty practice, it only seemed right to have a few beers in the apartment.
That turned into Gray opening the homemade vodka his brother gave him as a leaving gift and which then turned into heading to one of the many dorm parties raging around campus last night.
Shoving my legs into a pair of sweats, I chuck a Bears hoodie over my head, slamming the alarm off before making my way into the lounge.
Gray snores softly on the couch, his head lolling over the edge, and his jeans unbuttoned. But other than him, there’s no sign of life around the apartment.
“Get up, fuckers!” I pound against Nash’s door, moving on to Beck’s door next, before whacking Gray around the head as I pass him to flip the coffee machine on.
The moment it comes to life, coffee seeping into my waiting mug, I sigh and inhale the bittersweet aroma, hoping to shift the hammer that’s steadily working away at my temples.
“Bro, there best be enough in there for at least two cups each,” Nash croaks, squinting in my direction as he pulls out one of the barstools and settles himself in, his head dropping against the cool counter. “I think I’m dying.”
“I think you’re dramatic as fuck and handle your booze like a chick.”
“You aren’t telling me you actually feel good today?” He scoffs, wincing as the coffee machine whirrs loudly. “We must have gotten through at least two bottles of tequila between us. Shit. Jenkins is gonna freak if we all show up to practice like this later. You better make that three coffees each, minimum. Then we’ll grab one from the Bean Bar on campus too before class.”
“Sure, let’s OD on caffeine, that’s going to help us play well later.” Shaking my head, I slide a mug across to him before lifting mine to my lips and savoring the caffeine that lingers on my tongue as I swallow it down.
“You got any better ideas?”
Gray stalks over next, grabbing his mug before heading back to the couch and sliding into the cushion. “Fuck ideas. We should just bail.”
When Beck joins ten minutes later, already dressed in a pair of black jeans and a plain black Henley, his dark hair brushed back, it’s hard to believe he was up until the early hours with us.
“Come on, fuckers, first day,” he shouts, flipping the radio on and drowning out the groans that come from the rest of us. “Let’s go.”
“How do you do it, Beckett?” Nash grumbles, sliding off the stool and taking his mug with him as he crosses the room to his door. “It’s too early for your shit, I’m going back to bed. Wake me up when it’s time to go.”
Beck lobs a cushion at him. “It’s time to go. We need to leave in about ten minutes. Get dressed. We skip out on the first day and Coach will bench us quicker than you can pull your dick out when you see a hot chick.”
“Speaking of hot chicks . . .” Gray turns to me, raising a brow as a smirk lifts at his lips. “Did I see you leaving with Harlow last night?”
“You did,” I answer, though I don’t tell him nothing happened. Let them think I’m fucking the head cheerleader. Easier than explaining to them I fell asleep with a hard-as-fuck dick, refusing to jack off to the image my brain conjured up for me.
Spoiler alert, it wasn’t Harlow.
I stayed perfectly limp when walking my friend back to her dorm.
“And?”
“And what?” I shrug, heading for my room. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You don’t kiss at all,” he mutters behind me, laughing to himself when I send the abandoned cushion flying back at him.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as we make our way through. Nods and high-fives from the guys, hellos and glances from the girls as we pass. Pushing my hands into the pocket of my Bears hoodie, my Nikes slap across the tile, the lockers in sight.
“Yo, I’m out of here,” Nash says, his hand over his mouth. He rushes away, pushing through the bathroom door at the end of the hall, and I shake my head, a bubble of laughter coming out of me.
Though I can’t really blame him for the dramatics. My head is tender as fuck, my stomach threatening to rebel at any moment, and keeping my eyes open is a struggle as the lingering hangover continues to wreak havoc on me.
“I think he’s got the right idea,” Gray grumbles behind me, the cap over his head shielding his eyes. He wears a black hoodie and sweats, looking every bit as shit as I feel right now. “Back to my original plan, let’s bail. Jenkins can’t bench us all, we’re his stars.”
“Or we don’t,” Beck says, an appreciative whistle following his words as he looks toward the lockers on our left.
Following his gaze, I spot a pair of long legs leading to a perfectly round ass clad in short black-denim cut-offs. When my eyes continue upward, two braids come into view and my dick twitches, not getting the off-fucking-limits message for the millionth time in days.
My eyes narrow, my pulse skyrocketing as her head tips back, laughter falling from her lips at something the girl next to her said. I try to peel my eyes away, to see who she’s standing with, but they won’t fucking move.
Not when her back straightens—as though she senses me watching—or when she presses against the locker, her head dropping for a moment. And especially not when she turns so fucking slowly and those green eyes I know too well widen in shock as they take me in before she dips her gaze to the floor.
Her chest heaves up and down, her hands twisting at her sides, and without conscious thought, I move forward, ignoring Beck and Gray as they call out behind me.
Beatrice stays locked in place, her eyes lifting as they land on my chest. The toes of our shoes touch first, and she sinks against the locker as I crowd her. My hands press against the cold metal either side of her head, caging her in. Her tongue sweeps across her lower lip, those forest-green eyes darkening as her pupils dilate.
