Chapter 9

"Ihave no idea what the hell I'm doing."

Today is the first road game. It's been three weeks since the dreadful day when I was assigned sports. After a lot of thought and a lot of self-pity, I've accepted this new challenge.

It's fine. Everything is fine.

This is a new journey. It's a plot twist in the story that no one saw coming.

Am I being forced to spend time with a boy who never leaves my mind? Yes, but that's okay. I won't let him distract me. Especially when he and I will never work out.

And I mean never.

The only boyfriend I want can be read in black ink, found between the pages, and is fictional.

I'm Chloe Mariano, and I've been faced with nothing but challenges since I was six years old.

I spent way too much time last night going through my closet weeding out outfit after outfit. I have no idea what I'm supposed to pack, what I'm supposed to wear, and where I'm supposed to be during the game.

Am I going to be in the locker room? A press box? Or in the stands? Each scenario called for a different outfit.

Finally at a quarter till midnight, I grabbed my laptop and typed out an email to my professor hoping that she would be able to give me insight on what is expected of a sports reporter. When I cover lifestyle or interview restaurateurs I never have to worry about these things. I show up in a dress or skirt that is professional but still my style while interviewing the band, the chef, or whatever the assignment calls for. I never have to second guess myself like I am right now.

There was a reply in my inbox when I woke up this morning. It simply said that I'll need to touch base with the coach and see what he prefers. So here I am at seven-thirty, showered in a silk robe and staring at a mess of clothes and a semi-empty suitcase.

At least I can pack my pajamas. Three pairs line my suitcase. One white lace short and tank top set, one lilac linen long-sleeve and pant set, and one light pink and white pinstripe shorts and button-up short-sleeve top set.

"What happened?" Brynn gasps from the doorway.

Turning her way, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth while shrugging. I let my arms drop with a smacking noise against my thighs. Moisture gathers in my eyes, and I feel the need to start crying.

Brynn's expression softens and her shoulders relax as she strides into my room with two mugs of coffee. "Chlo, what's wrong?"

"I have no idea what to pack. I have no idea what I'm doing. Maybe I should just drop the class. I have enough credit hours…who needs the newspaper experience for a resume?"

"Take a drink." She thrusts the mug of coffee toward me, and I take it from her, bringing the warm liquid to my mouth. Blowing on it a few times, I take a sip. Rich coffee greets my taste buds which is followed by an overwhelming taste of vanilla, chocolate, and the fruitiness of Irish Whiskey.

Swallowing, I turn my attention back to my roommate, who's sitting cross-legged on my bed with a smile as big as the Cheshire Cat. "Baileys?"

She shrugs. "Figured you could use some before your trip."

I laugh and take another long drink of the hot deliciousness.

"Okay so since you avoided my questions, I guess it's safe to assume you are not doing well, but we'll come back to that. For now let's solve one problem and figure out what you're wearing."

"That's the thing. I don't know where to start because I don't know where I'll need to be to cover this assignment."

"Just tell Coach Weber what you need. Where do you want to be?"

"In the dugout. I want to get a feel for the game. I want to feel the energy that radiates off the players and buzzes from the field. I want to listen to the guys and watch how Weber coaches."

Standing from my bed, I watch as Brynn heads to my closet. Girl is on a mission as she slides hanger after hanger searching for a particular item. Too bad Macy doesn't live here anymore. Having a fashion major in the townhouse made outfit decisions so much easier. "If you'd tell me what you're looking for, I can help you find it faster."

She ignores me and continues her search. While she's looking for whatever it is, I carry my mug across the hall to my bathroom. Brynn is the only one who has an attached bathroom. I used to share a bathroom with Macy, our old roommate. She abruptly moved out, and we ended with an explosive fight. It was a mixture of both of us being wrong and taking things out on each other that never should have happened. Needless to say, our friendship is severely rocky.

The dynamic in our townhouse since Macy moved out and Brynn started dating Quinton is off. It's weird. I'm beyond happy for my friends, but I miss the days of just being the three of us.

As I set my mug down on the counter, I pull out my toothbrush, toothpaste, and face wash. After I'm done brushing and washing, I rummage through my drawers to gather all my makeup and start my daily process. Fifteen minutes later, I'm making my way back into my room and hoping that Brynn figured out a game plan.

Brynn stands over my light yellow hardshell suitcase as she zips it close. I stare at her wide-eyed because not only did she get me packed in fifteen minutes, but she didn't even try to get my approval on the clothes she packed. I mean, there's honestly nothing in my closet that I would be against. Throughout the years, I've really homed in on my style, and I've been very conservative with each piece I bring into my wardrobe. Whatever Brynn chooses will have to do. Tapping my phone screen, I glance down at the time. And whatever Brynn picked will really have to do because I've got to be out of the house and on the bus in forty-five minutes.

"There's still a variety in here, and you'll like them all, but there's no reason to stress about what you wear. Chlo, you are the best-dressed girl on campus. You always dress cute with your flowy dresses and skirts. Own that. Don't change who you are just because you are covering sports. If you feel like the straps make the dress too revealing, throw on one of your cardigans."

She stops and makes her way over to me. Reaching up, she grips my shoulders, gaining my entire attention. "Just don't stop being you, babe. I know this is out of your comfort zone, and we both know how much you hate being out of your happy place, but don't let this change you. You're going to fucking crush it."

Blinking rapidly, I try to keep the moisture from escaping my eyes. Leave it to Brynn to go all hype girl as I try to keep my makeup from running. She really is the best friend ever. I wish it was possible to get just a small percentage of her boldness.

It's not that I'm not confident. I carry myself well. I know who I am and what I like. I dress with confidence, especially since my style of clothing isn't typical. When it comes to clothes, I'm all about dresses and skirts. There's nothing better to me than having my legs free and not being confined in pants. I mean I obviously wear jeans, shorts, and leggings, but they aren't my go-to. I'm a girl who loves flowy, feminine, floral pieces. Give me a flared-out dress that hits above my knees, sneakers, and a cardigan or jean jacket, and I'll rock that look all day every day.

But when it comes to my internal thoughts, yeah, I struggle with being confident. I've never been the girl who is chosen first. There's always someone better. A prettier girl, one who's easier, one who's smarter.

In grade school, I wasn't the girl who was chosen first in gym class. I wasn't popular, I wasn't part of a clique of girls, I wasn't anything special. Instead, I was the girl who walked the halls with eyes and whispers pointed at her, the little girl who just wanted to belong and make friends, but while everyone was playing together, I was sitting alone. I was the little girl labeled the "cooties" girl.

Kids were cruel and instead of being sensitive and comforting, they made fun of me because my mom left. The unlovable little girl who lived in the "dirty" apartments who couldn't even keep her mom around.

And that's when I turned to books. Each time I was left out of an activity at school, each time I wasn't invited to a birthday party, each time a school dance would come around and I wasn't asked, I turned to the love stories that filled the pages. Books were my escape, and to this day, I would much rather get lost in a book than face reality. But life doesn't work that way. I keep my books close, but I've also been trying to work on myself. To gain the confidence that I've been lacking for so long.

And Brynn knows my story. She keeps me going when I want to curl in on myself. Her pep talks are her way of reminding me that I'm enough. I'm who I'm meant to be, and I need to stop letting others dictate who I am.

Of course, it's easier said than done. Especially when the only boy that you've ever wanted never gives you the time of day. You're just the girl who hides in the corner—he doesn't see me.

Dammit, Chloe. Stop with him.

Pulling Brynn in, I wrap my arms around her giving her a tight hug. "Love you, B."

"Aw, I love you too," she pulls away and plants a quick kiss on my cheek. "Now get dressed. I can take you to the complex so you don't have to catch an Uber."

"Thanks." I watch as she leaves before striding over to my closet. I grab a black midi dress with mini yellow flowers printed throughout the entire dress. Removing the hanger, I let my robe fall free and slide the dress over my head. Fluffing my hair out of the back of my dress, I adjust the bubble sleeves that hit at my elbow. This dress is the perfect combination of sweet and casual. It'll be comfortable on the long bus ride to Louisiana, but still gives the essence that I'm here for business and not to mess around with the team.

Slipping on a pair of white sneakers, I quickly plait my honey-blond hair in a single loose braid. I pop in a pair of white floral stud earrings before I do a final scan of my outfit. Hair and makeup, simple. Dress and shoes, cute and casual. With one last nod, I grab the handle of my suitcase and my brown cross-body.

Phone and charger. Check.

Toiletries. Check.

Clothes packed by me—make that Brynn. Check.

Kindle and AirPods. Check and check.

It's time to stop procrastinating, Chloe Girl.

"Coach Weber."

The tall, very attractive baseball coach turns to me. He's wearing navy sweatpants, a CTU Baseball long-sleeve shirt with a CTU Baseball cap, and aviator sunglasses covering his eyes. Coach's attire is a lot more casual than I was expecting. He takes a moment before responding, and with his dark lens, I'm not sure if he's appraising my appearance or if he's struggling to remember who I am.

Assuming he can't remember who I am, I reintroduce myself. "Chloe Mariano from the newspaper. I'll be joining you this season." My voice wavers in my introduction over concern that he doesn't remember me and concern that he's going to be frustrated that I'm standing before him.

"Of course," he begins. "I remember, Ms. Mariano. I'm just surprised to see you this dressed up for an almost seven-hour bus ride."

"Oh," I falter. "I wasn't exactly sure what I should show up in so I went with my usual outfit. Is-is this okay?"

"There's no dress code here. Feel free to dress in whatever makes you comfortable. If anyone ever gives you any hassle don't hesitate to come to me or one of the other coaches on staff. We have a few other women on the training staff, and all the guys are to treat you with the same respect as anyone else."

I smile. Coach Weber's response was not one that I was expecting. In high school, the girls were forced to abide by archaic dress codes in order to keep the pervy high school boys from getting too excited in class. Shoulders covered, shorts past our fingertips, and absolutely no low-cut shirts because heaven forbid, girls were a distraction.

"Thank you, Coach. And please call me Chloe." He shakes his head in acknowledgment. "Sorry, I'm new to all of this. Where would you like me to put my bag?"

"You can take it to the side of the bus and the equipment team will make sure it is loaded in the storage compartment. Feel free to sit wherever you want on the bus. When we get to the hotel, the coaches will all gather for a debrief in the conference room. Please join us, and we'll go over all the details."

I nod and begin walking in the direction Coach instructed me to take my suitcase. I don't make it very far before Coach Weber calls my name. "Chloe," he starts as I turn my head over my shoulder. "I forgot one thing. Have fun. But not as much fun as the last two guys did."

A wide smile stretches across my face. "You've got it, Coach."

"Oh, and you can call me Callan."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen, Coach." He chuckles, and we both go about our way.

Maybe this isn't going to be so bad after all. I thought for sure Coach Callan Weber was going to be a hard ass who took everything seriously. I mean, isn't that how all the coaches in movies are? They're gruff, never smile, don't take any crap, and are all about being focused. Callan is not what I would've pictured at all.

Handing off my bag, I climb the stairs and enter the charter bus, and my feet stall when I reach the top stair.

Holy smokes. This is nice.

Definitely not any old-school bus. I've never been on a charter bus, and this is not what I was picturing. Inside are rows of black leather seats that look insanely comfortable like mini recliners. Each row has four seats: two on each side separated by the aisle. Above the seats are temperature vents and gauges, individual lights, and TVs in the back of the headrests. If it were possible, my jaw would be on the ground like in cartoons.

There are a handful of guys on the bus. Toward the front, there appear to be a few members of the coaching staff while some of the seats toward the back are occupied with players staring at me. And that niggling of self-doubt is crawling up my spine. Forcing the thoughts that are fighting to break free, I put one foot in front of the other and began walking toward an empty seat.

A few of the coaches turn my way, and we give the typical tight-lipped smiles and head nod greetings. Ignoring the eyes coming from the back of the bus, I leave a few rows open before sliding to a window seat on the opposite side of where people are dropping off their bags.

I am so out of my element.

Anxiety starts to creep in, inviting that element of self-doubt that I'm not good enough to be covering sports. Not to mention, the idea of seeing Cody after our awkward night together. Is he going to be angry that I didn't tell him I would be along for the season? I was really hoping I could convince my professors to find someone else. But karma wasn't on my side.

Deciding on being anti-social, I take a few minutes to make myself comfortable. Reaching inside my cross-body, I pull out AirPods and my Kindle before depositing my purse on the floor at my feet. I'm stuck between wanting someone to sit beside me and wanting the seat next to me to be open.

Scrolling through my phone, I click Spotify and find my go-to reading playlist: Noah Kahan Radio, which is filled with a mixture of genres ranging from alt-country, indie, and folk played by some of my favorite artists. Their voices are so soothing and their songs are good, but the beat never pulls me out of my reading, which is hard to find.

Switching on my Kindle, I open the latest novel by Elsie Silver. I'm back in my small town era, and I couldn't be more excited to spend this bus ride devouring her words. I've been dying to read Jasper and Sloan's story since I started the Chestnut Springs series. Who doesn't want to read about a damaged hockey god who ends up on a road trip with his childhood crush?

Players start to file onto the bus, but I keep my head down and focus on the words in front of me. The idea of making uncomfortable eye contact as we do the weird smile/nod combination makes me cringe. I'd rather come off as completely standoffish than awkward.

I'm only a few pages into my book when the notion of looking up completely encompasses me. It's like I physically feel him before I even see him. My eyes find him immediately. Only the beautiful golden hazel eyes are staring back at me completely cold. His eyes pin me with anger and frustration while his facial expression is completely blank. Cody Jacobs stares back at me with zero emotion, and I feel myself shrink in my seat. He brings a paper cup to his mouth, and I watch his sharp jaw and Adam's apple bounce as he swallows. Cody passes me with no acknowledgment that I'm even sitting on this bus.

Hurt courses through my body. I'm not naive enough to think that our night spent together during the ice storm would change our relationship. It was just Cody being Cody. He can't help but insert himself into being the hero in every girl's story.

A light touch on my shoulder startles me to the point I jump about a foot out of my chair dropping my Kindle on the ground in the process. Grabbing my heart, I rip an AirPod out of my ear with my other hand.

"Oh my gosh," I say breathlessly.

"Shit, Chloe. I thought you heard me." I hadn't realized Ty Billings slid into the seat next to me. "Mind if I sit with you?"

I just stare at him confused as to why he is choosing to sit with me out of all the empty seats on the bus. Ty and I have been in the same room together many times. He frequents Sunday dinners at the house, and of course, we all party together, but I can count on one hand the times we've talked one-on-one.

"Uh, sure."

"Thanks." He plops down in the seat next to me, a huge grin stretched across his face. "Oh, this is for you."

A paper to-go cup is put in front of me, and I smile at the gesture. "Thanks, but I'm really particular about my coffee."

"It's a honey lavender latte."

My eyes open wide as I stare at him in complete shock. Honey lavender lattes are my favorite, and I have no idea how Ty would know that.

Taking the cup from his outstretched hand, I gesture it toward him. "Thanks."

While Ty sits in the vacant seat next to me, I watch him get situated in his seat. The warmth seeps through the sides of the cup instantly warming my hand, and I smile. I'm such a coffee snob, and I only like certain flavors. The fact I have my favorite drink and a new book is making this day much better.

Ty pulls his phone from his front pocket while removing his AirPods from the opposite pocket. His fingers fly over the screen of his phone, and I try not to be a creep and read over his shoulder. People who do that to others who are sitting next to them are the worst. The two of us get situated as the bus starts moving.

I'm taking this as a sign. A sign that I'm going to be okay.