25

 

 

 

I've been on a serious running kick the past week.

Jogging up and down the streets of Windhaven for hours on end, blasting '90s country in my headphones, come rain or shine. My heels are blistered, my legs are sore, but I can't stop.

No, I don't particularly enjoy the activity.

And no, I'm not training for one of those gimmicky 5K's, the kind where they attack you with colored powder the entire 3.1 miles for "fun". That rainbow shit goes up your nose and doesn't wash out of your hair for weeks.

Been there, done that.

Never again.

So why exactly am I following the routines of a collegiate cross-country runner?

Because of the constant restlessness I've been experiencing since Halloween. Torturing myself with long-distance mileage seems to be the only antidote to the antsy feeling.

All I can think about is Sydney. Morning, day, night...she's on my brain 24/7, our midnight conversation playing through my mind on repeat.

"Because you are mine, Sydney."

"It doesn't feel like it."

 

Damn.

It cut deep when she whispered that to me five nights ago. Still hurts when I hear her voice in my head saying it now.

Another thought that continues to haunt my sleep—the one telling me I'm a fucking idiot for not asking her to be my girlfriend from the start.

Yeah, the whole thing with Vaughn makes it complicated.

And then there's the fact that I'm about to graduate and she's still got three and a half years to go, but those are moot points.

I don't give a flying fuck what obstacles present themselves. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make this work.

I've been itching to tell her all of the above for the past week, but timing has been shit and we haven't had a chance to see one another. Waxing poetic to her over the phone is too impersonal, and hell no am I gonna send her a 'will u b my gf' text like we're socially awkward 5th graders.

I wanna do it in person, and I've been waiting, somewhat impatiently, for the perfect moment to lay it all out on the line.

Apparently, that moment is right now.

It's Saturday afternoon and the wind is killer, so I decided to run 5 miles instead of the usual 8+. My watch vibrated just a second ago, alerting me the run was over, and I happen to be directly across the street from Sydney's dormitory.

Crazy coincidence or divine intervention?

I'm gonna go with the latter.

I shove my earbuds in my pocket and head towards the freshman dorm. I've got tunnel vision as I jog straight past a "Ban Banana Bread!" protest and blatantly ignore the R.A. in the lobby asking to see my student I.D.

I'm not even sure if Sydney's here. She had a game this morning and I haven't heard from her since last night. There's a decent chance she's out with her team, chugging margaritas and feasting on chips and salsa at Mas Mantequilla.

Doesn't matter. I'm still gonna check and see. If her roommate's around, I may just chill with her until Syd comes back. She can analyze my birth chart or read my palm or some shit while we wait.

Endorphins are buzzing as I sprint up the stairwell, chest squeezing in anticipation.

When I hit Floor 5, I push through the door and jog down the hall. I knock on the wooden door, a small dry erase board reading Crimson and Sydney's Room shaking with the impact.

"Sydney." I lean close to the doorframe and call out her name, unbothered by the pair of freshmen giving me perplexed looks as they saunter by. "Baby Blue? We need to talk."

The door slowly squeaks open, revealing a familiar head of dark hair, striking blue eyes, and sharp bone structure.

But it's not the face I'm expecting to see.

"No, dude," Vaughn spits out. "I think we need to have a little chat."

Fuck.

Wrong Steel.

His eyes are narrowed, his jaw clenched so tight his back teeth could probably grind diamonds into dust. In all the years we've been buds, through every twist and turn and wild ride we've been through with this team, I've never seen him look so pissed.

He knows.

Double fuck.

"What's up?" I ask, tone slightly cautious. "What are you doing here?"

A sharp, unamused laugh flies past his lips.

"What the hell are you doing here is a better question. Wait, no. Don't tell me." His nostrils flare. "You're here for a hook-up. With my freaking sister."

"Vaughn," I begin, trying to reason with him. "It's not like that. Before you go all Hulk on me, hear me ou—"

"Oh, I'm way past Hulk, Collins," he interrupts, his boiling blood evident in both voice and body language. "You have no fucking idea."

"Let's talk about it, man," I say calmly. "Let me in."

He tightens his grip on the doorframe.

"Nah. I don't think I will."

I lower my shoulder, taking him by surprise as I shove my way inside. He grabs the collar of my shirt, jerking me backwards. I hear the harsh sound of fabric ripping, and that does it.

Now I'm pissed.

"Don't touch me."

"You need to get the fuck out," he threatens.

"And you need to chill the fuck out," I retort.

We're standing chest-to-chest, air thick with aggression.

We've never gotten violent before. Shit, we've only had one or two verbal arguments in all these years at Windhaven, but things are getting heated. I don't want to throw down with him, but if he thinks I'm just gonna sit back and take his bullshit, he's got another thing coming.

His fists ball up, mine do the same, and just as things start to escalate further, a voice calls out to us.

"Stop! Don't fight. Please don't fight."

I follow the voice to Sydney. She's sitting cross-legged on her bed, wearing gray sweats and a baggy white t-shirt. Her face is red, eyes glassy and puffy, cheeks tear-stained.

She's been crying—all day by the looks of it—and I get a strong inkling there's more going on than I realize.

Anger at Vaughn gives way to concern for the girl I'm crazy about.

"What's wrong?"

She worries her bottom lip. "At the game...Coach told me..." Her voice cracks, face crumpling as she fails to get the words out.

She's so upset she can't even speak, and it breaks my fucking heart to see.

"Sydney." I take a step forward, eager to comfort her, but those sad, tear-filled eyes plead with me to stay put. "What's going on? Tell me."

She gives her brother an expectant look and I follow her gaze. Vaughn expels a heavy breath.

"She got kicked off the team."

"She what?" My pupils bounce between the two of them as I stand there in shock. "When?"

"This morning."

"For what?"

"Failing a drug test."

"Two tests," Sydney amends in a small voice.

My brow furrows, complete confusion taking over. I'm about to ask for more explanation when Vaughn huffs.

"And this is exactly why I didn't want her getting involved with any of you guys. Nothing but trouble."

My head slants. "What are you tryin' to say?"

"Nothing, bro." He casually lifts his shoulders. "Just that she starts fucking around with you and suddenly she's testing positive for pills and destroying her future. Seems like the two are related."

"Don't even go there, Vaughn." Red floods my vision at his insinuation. "You know I don't mess with that shit. And if you think I'd ever encourage Sydney to do anything that would jeopardize her soccer career, you're out of your goddamn mind."

"You think I'm gonna believe anything you say anymore?" he asks with contempt. "You've been lying to me about sleeping with my sister—I'm not gonna listen to another word that comes out of your mouth, dude. Not one fucking syllable."

Suddenly, we're both shouting at one another. Voices rise, insults are flying, and after a few heated seconds, Sydney's had more than enough.

"Oh my God! You two are making this day a thousand times worse. Quit!"

Silence settles over the room as we turn her way.

"I want y'all to leave," she says. "I just—Crimson's going to be back any minute, and I promised her I'd help out at Midnight Massacre tonight. I need to get dressed, wash my face. I need to get my head straight and you guys being here isn't helping."

"I'm not going anywhere, Syd," Vaughn states with a firm shake of his head.

"Yes you are."

"Not until we figure this out."

"Vaughn." Her voice is sharp, unyielding. "Leave. We can't do anything about it right now, so just go. Please."

He pauses, opens his mouth to argue, but thinks better of it and emits a sigh. "Fine. But I want you to call me if you need anything. Anything at all. Alright?"

She bobs her head up and down.

"'Kay." He drags a hand through his hair and heads for the door.

"V, I—"

"Don't talk to me, Collins," he fumes. "Don't waste your fucking breath."

His shoulder slams against mine before he exits the room.

I listen as his footsteps fade down the hallway. I'm frustrated as hell with him, but I can't focus on that right now.

My attention is solely on Sydney.

She gets off her bed and starts digging in one of her drawers for clothes.

Her eyes flit up to mine, a remorseful look on her face. "You too, Cam. I'm not just trying to kick you guys out; I really do have to leave soon. It's the last weekend of the haunted house and they need extra help, so I told Crimson I would go and—"

"Sydney, it's fine. No need to explain. I'll head out. But first..." I motion her towards me. "C'mere for a sec."

She doesn't hesitate to bury herself in my arms. There are so many questions buzzing in my mind, so many things I wanna know, but I remain silent as I wrap her in an embrace. She squeezes me tight and lets out a drawn-out breath, like she desperately needed this.

"This sucks," she mumbles against my chest.

"You sure you don't wanna talk about it?"

I pull back, glancing down at her with an inquisitive look. She quickly shakes her head.

"I don't even wanna think about it for the rest of the night. Because tomorrow I'm going to wake up and reality's going to hit me like a brick wall."

Her voice breaks with emotion and she swallows. "I'm just hoping I can keep it together tonight. If my mind starts to roam, I'm gonna end up crying all over again and I'm pretty sure I'm fresh out of tears. Plus, bawling like a baby probably isn't going to scare the customers. I don't want to single-handedly ruin Midnight Massacre's reputation on the very last night of the season. Crimson will kill me."

When she lets out a sob-laugh type of sound, I quickly halt her train of thought.

"Hey, whoa. Then don't let your mind go there," I say. "Okay?"

"Okay." Her answer is uncertain, her pupils darting to the floor. "I'll try."

Suddenly, an idea pops into my head and I tilt her chin up.

"If you need distraction, I want you to call me. Or text me, or whatever you can get away with while you're working. I'll keep you occupied with stories."

Watery blue eyes blink up at me. "Stories?"

"Yup. Fucking hilarious stories about the guys. Like when Victor got his entire body waxed 'cause he was convinced it'd make him run faster. Or the time Diego lost a bet and had to ride a toddler-sized tricycle to class everyday for a month." I grin. "Just give me a name of one of my teammates and I've got a tale for you. You'll be laughing so hard, no way you'll be able to dwell on anything else."

"That might do the trick." She chuckles before slanting her head. "But is that really how you wanna spend your Saturday night? Keeping me distracted on the phone?"

I nod. "I'll talk to you as long as you need, babe."

"I wouldn't be so quick to commit to that; I'm gonna be there for a while."

"When do you get off?"

"Crimson says they won't be finished until 2 a.m. and since she's my ride..." Her sentence trails off.

"Then I'm gonna be distracting you until 2 a.m.," I state matter-of-factly. "I've got plenty of stories, Syd. Hundreds of 'em. Shit, maybe even thousands."

A small smile appears on her face.

"You'd do that, Cameron?" Her tone is vulnerable, a hint of surprise in her question. "Stay up just for me?"

"For you, Baby Blue?" I cup her face in my hands, running my thumbs across her cheekbones as I press my lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. "I'd stay up the whole damn night."