Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chessly

I t was after midnight by the time Finn and I had dressed again and I'd walked him to the lobby. Before he stepped out into the night, he wrapped me tight in his arms and kissed the hell out of me. When I headed past the front desk in the direction of my room, the front desk clerk gave a low whistle, and I flipped him the bird. But my face was so hot, I was sure I could have fried bacon on it.

Too keyed up from my unexpected reunion with the great big guy I didn't see coming, I decided I owed him the courtesy of reading his texts. Flopping back on the bed that now smelled like him and us and sex, I closed my eyes for a minute, gathered my courage, and opened the text screen.

He'd started texting immediately after I left the lounge in the Union that awful day.

Finn: Chess! I'm sorry. I'm so fuckin sorry. I didn't mean it.

Finn: Please believe me.

Finn: Can we talk? Please?

Later that same night he wrote:

Finn: I was a dick. Tell me off or whatever you need to do. I deserve it. But please talk to me.

The next morning he said:

Finn: Chess, you have a right to be mad. I said a terrible thing. I didn't mean it.

Finn: You're not her.

Finn: Please.

For the rest of the week, he'd sent more texts with various iterations of the same message, his desperation becoming more intense as the days wore on. The second week the tenor and content of the messages changed, as though he'd resigned himself to me dumping him, but he couldn't stop hoping for a different outcome.

Finn: I miss you so much.

Finn: I fuckin MISS YOU.

Finn: Guess you're not hanging out in the Union anymore?

Finn: Looking for you in Hillman.

Finn: I can't help it. I look for you everywhere.

Finn: The graduate geek has had your carrell every single day this week.

Finn: Jesus. I miss you so much. Is it possible for a literal hole to open up in your chest? It's a question of physics only you can answer for me.

Every word I read made my heart hurt until I had to check my chest for the bruise that must be covering it. Tears spilled over, blurring the screen as I read the texts that had come in during the afternoon before he showed up at my place.

Finn: The geek stopped laughing at me today. Guess I'm that pathetic now.

Finn: The geek is the lucky one. He's never heard you laugh.

Finn: He doesn't know how you don't like to share your cookies.

Finn: He's never heard you come. Lucky bastard. He doesn't have a clue how good he has it.

Finn: I fucked up in practice again. Coach demoted me to second string. I wish I could give a shit about it.

Finn: I miss you.

By the time I'd reached the last one, I was openly sobbing and wishing so hard that he was back here in my room where I could hold him. Just hold him and show him I'd forgiven him, show him how much I regretted being too prideful to listen to him like my friends had begged me to do. Shit . He'd been playing so poorly in spring ball that he'd been demoted? He wasn't a second-stringer: he was headed to the NFL. He'd been so excited for practice to start again. Had I done that to him—stolen the fire and joy from the game he lived to play?

I was so hurt that he'd lumped me in with a bitch like his ex, but now I had to wonder if he hadn't been right. Who treated a man as soft-hearted and generous as Finn McCabe the way I'd treated him: by ignoring him and not giving him a chance to apologize?

Me: What time do you practice?

Finn: During your lab.

Finn: I can pick you up from Hillman after we're both finished.

Me: I can make up the lab.

A sharp rap on my door at 7:30 a.m. put a big smile on my face that faltered the second I opened the door to find Jamaica on the other side.

"Expecting someone else?" she asked, with a feline grin.

Grabbing her by the wrist, I dragged her into my room and shut the door. "That was a neat trick you pulled, J."

She snorted. "You're welcome." Her eyes sparkled without a shred of remorse. "I take it the reunion went well."

"I think sometimes I can be a bit pigheaded." Deliberately, I didn't look at my friend as I gathered my books and stuffed them into my backpack.

"Only sometimes?" she teased. "You still haven't answered the question."

"Let's just say, I'll be sitting beside you in the bleachers this afternoon watching the Wildcats practice." I slipped my jacket on and went in search of my gloves.

Grabbing me from behind in a hug, Jamaica said into my back, "I'm so happy you two worked things out. It's been hard watching you both suffer for the past couple of weeks."

Facing her, I slipped on my gloves. "What are you saying? You've barely even seen me."

"My point exactly. You've been holed up in here rather than showing up for coffee with the rest of the gang, or dropping by the Sweet Shop when I have a shift, or hanging around to talk after RA meetings." She handed me my backpack. "You're not a recluse, Chess, except for maybe when your heart is breaking."

Gifting my best friend a long look, I finally gave in and pulled her into a hug. "I don't know what led to you dropping Finn off here last night, but thank you." Pulling my door open, I ushered her out of my room ahead of me so I could lock up. "Now you can go gossip about me to Piper and Saylor while I ace a quantum physics quiz."

She laughed.

"And I'll see you guys later this afternoon at the field. Finn needs me to cheer my throat raw for him. You can help."

"What—?"

"I'll explain later."

I left Jamaica in the lobby with a perplexed expression.

When I arrived at the stadium, I didn't quite know what to expect. Though I was an avid Wildcats fan, I only ever attended games. Until I'd met Finn and his friends, I had no idea people watched practices if they were open. Sometimes, coaches closed them, which apparently ticked off certain fans who kind of thought they owned the team—like certain alumni donors.

Jamaica, Piper, and Saylor were already in the stands when I arrived. The day had turned chilly, a threat of spring snow in the air, so I'd stopped back at the dorm after my last class to deck myself out in warm boots, an extra sweater, and my Wildcats beanie. I'd emailed my professor that I couldn't make my lab, which I knew wouldn't be a problem since I was allowed one excused absence that I'd yet to use. After reading Finn's texts last night, the only place I wanted to be this afternoon was here cheering him on.

"About time you joined us again," Piper said as I sat on the edge of the blanket they'd laid over the cold metal seat.

"Hello to you too." I grinned.

"Finn is over there with the subs. Would you know something about that, Chess?" Saylor said, her raised brow emphasizing her censorious tone.

Turtling down into my jacket, I said, "He mentioned something about being demoted. But I'm sure it's temporary." I hope .

"It'd better be. That sophomore who's playing ahead of him is about a half-second slow off the line," she said, returning her attention to the field.

"Who are you here to watch, Saylor? Have you been holding out on us?" I asked.

"I'm here as an annoying fifth wheel to you three and your hot Wildcats. I also happen to be a fan." She sniffed.

Noticing the sparse number of other fans in the stands and the marked absence of noise coming from those fans, I asked, "Are we allowed to cheer?"

"Bad form," Jamaica said. "Callahan says in games it amps the team up. In practice it distracts them, which the coaches frown on."

"But how will Finn know I'm here supporting him?" After discovering his current situation and the probable part I'd played in it, I needed him to know I was here for him.

"Don't worry, Chess," Jamaica said with a grin. "He knows you're here." She gave a slight nod toward the field where Finn stood beside one of the coaches, but his focus wasn't on what the coach was saying. He was smiling at me.

With a discreet wave, I smiled back at him. A minute later he lined up where the sophomore had been and ran the play like a rock star. Instead of smashing the quarterback into the turf, he picked him up and set him gently back on his feet for what obviously should have been a sack.

"I take it it's also bad form to sack your own quarterback." I smirked.

"That's why the QBs wear red jerseys, so our defense doesn't lay them out," Jamaica said in a sage tone that cracked me up.

"Six months ago, you didn't have a clue about football. Now listen to you, Miss Football Analyst." I laughed.

Jamaica stuck her tongue out at me, and I laughed harder.

As practice wore on, Finn continued to play with the second string D-line, popping the happy mood from last night's reunion like a balloon. My inability to listen, to give him a chance to fix things, had obviously messed with his head to the point he truly had stopped caring about his sport like he'd said in one of those last texts. Watching him tear apart the second string offense today, seeing his fire and skill go unchallenged by the other players, did nothing for my conscience.

At least the coaches seemed to praise his play. From where we sat in the stands, I couldn't hear what they were saying, but their body language conveyed appreciation for Finn's efforts. Maybe he'd had a chance to win back his starting position before the team's spring scrimmages. No matter what, I had some apologizing to do.

As darkness descended on the field, the temperature dropped several degrees, which had the four of us cuddling together under a second blanket Saylor had thought to bring. The players' breath evanesced into the stadium lights, which came on as the sun went down. Their sweaty heads steamed in the cold whenever they removed their helmets on a break in play. Right when I thought I'd have to cry uncle and head back to campus and somewhere warm, the coaches called an end to practice. The players jogged off the field in the direction of the locker room, and my friends and I all sighed in relief.

"I'm frozen," Piper announced.

"Me too." Jamaica's teeth chattered.

"I vote the Union and hot chocolate," I said as we descended the stairs to the concession area beneath the stands.

"We're headed to Stromboli's, Chess," Piper said as though I should have already known that. "The guys are meeting us there."

"Oh. I'm out of the loop."

"By choice," Jamaica scolded.

Sliding her arm through mine, Saylor dragged me ahead of our other friends. "Don't mind them. They're just pissy about their front-row seat at the Finn Implosion Show these past couple of weeks, what with how much time they spend on Jock Street." Her tone might have been nonchalant, but she chose her words to sting.

Bruised already from my own conscience, Saylor's words only pummeled my heart harder.

"He compared me to women like his ex-girlfriend—like Tory Miller. If that's the way he saw me, then I didn't see the point of us spending any more time together," I said in my defense.

"But you couldn't give him a pass for maybe reacting to the moment?" Saylor's tone had lost all its previous lightness.

"Jamaica escorted him to my room last night after her shift at the Sweet Shop. He didn't leave until midnight." I left it there, disengaging myself from Saylor's hold on my arm as we neared Piper's car.

"About time."

Yep. I had so much making up to do.