14. Corey

Ispot Palmer’s truck the moment I step outside the airport. He meets me at the tailgate, and without saying anything, he hooks his arm around my shoulders and gives me a rough hug. I called him the day after Anna insisted I return to Oleander Springs and explained my absence and Anna’s pending health scare. That was a week ago, before Anna’s surgery to remove the lump and lymph node.

Palmer gives me a couple of hard pats on the back before releasing me. “Glad you’re back.”

“Thanks.” I subconsciously run a hand over my hair while eyeing his buzzed haircut. Palmer’s always worn his hair grown out several inches. His blond curls are a staple that girls fall for at every damn game. “Nice haircut.”

He shakes his head. “I lost a bet to Mila.”

I chuckle, the sound feeling almost foreign after the past three days, despite Anna’s attempts to act normal and shoving me anytime she claimed I looked too serious. My eyes are gritty from falling asleep on the plane, and my shoulders are heavy with doubt and regret. I look like hell, but Palmer ignores that and claps my shoulder. “Let’s grab something to eat.”

Once we’re both seated in the cab of his truck, he pulls into traffic. “I bought you a little time and told the others you don’t land until four. I thought you might want to unpack or whatever before facing the firing squad.”

I nod my appreciation.

“But listen,” he says, glancing at me as we hit a straightaway, “we’re here for you. All of us. You don’t have to tell us shit’s fine if it’s not. If you need time off, groceries—you name it, we’ve got you.”

I know it’s not a speech derived from either guilt or obligation.

We stop at a burger place near campus, and I’m about to tuck into my food when my phone vibrates with a text.

Fallon: How was your flight? I saw there were tornados over Kansas. I hope it didn’t make for too much turbulence.

Me: I slept through most of it.

Fallon: Humble bragging?

I chuckle and am about to tell her what kind of a humble brag I’d drop if intended when Palmer clears his throat.

“Your sister?” he asks.

I set my phone down and shake my head. “You remember that girl I met when we went out at the beach?”

Palmer pulls his chin back. “I thought you didn’t get her number?”

“I gave her mine, and she texted me last week.”

“To hook up again?”

An inexplicable wave of defensiveness has me on the edge of my seat and Palmer raising his brows. Before I can brush off his words or my reaction, he grabs my phone.

I curse, noticing my screen hasn’t locked, and mutter a threat that he ignores as he scrolls through the long exchange of texts between Fallon and me, too fast to read any of them.

“Damn.” He glances up at me, still scrolling through the long train of messages. “So, she’s cool?”

I hesitate only a second and then nod.

“Fallon,” he reads her name. “I’ve never met anyone named Fallon. Did you find out where she lives?”

Of all my friends, Palmer would be the most understanding of the nuances of this strange new relationship, but I’m not ready to be heckled, or for him to point out that she might be trying to catfish me. It’s a concern I’ve struggled with a hundred times or more.

“We’re taking things slowly,” I say instead.

The humor in his eyes rescinds as he nods and sets my phone down, and I think he’s going to start handling me with kid gloves when he snickers. “If she’s trying to friendzone you because she actually wanted me that night,give her my number.”

“You’re such a dick.”

He laughs victoriously.

“How are things going with… Sorry. I forgot her name.” I brush a palm down my eyes, trying to rub the sleep away.

He waves away my apology. “She thought I was cheating on her because she didn’t believe we practice in the off-season.” He tips his chair back and drums his fingers across the table. “She ended up trailing my ass—twice—and still wasn’t convinced. It was time to end things.”

Normally, I’d find a sarcastic retort or something to bust his balls over, but I’m too damn exhausted both physically and mentally, so instead, we eat while Palmer fills me in on the past couple of weeks.

Palmer follows me into my place, where I shove the contents of my suitcase into the washer and realize my fridge is empty before Grey, Hudson, Nolan, Mila, and Evelyn Watts, Hudson’s girlfriend and Mila’s best friend, arrive. They ask about Anna, and they share similar sentiments to the ones Palmer had, offering help in any way I need it.

Though I appreciate everything they’re offering, the situation feels too raw. I change the subject to what brought me back: this year’s football season. The pressure we’re feeling has been building over the past three years.

“Has anyone heard news on Peters?” I ask, glancing at Hudson. As the captain, he often hears news first. At the end of this past season, Peters, our head coach, took an involuntary leave after sabotaging a game we lost because his pride is bigger than his brain.

“Nothing,” Hudson says, shaking his head. I read the tenseness in his shoulders. We all have reasons to hate Peters, but he has had to deal with the brunt of his bullshit last season.

They stay long enough to order pizzas, fill me in on the new players they’ve met, and reiterate their insistence on helping. It’s after ten when they leave.

Physically, I’m exhausted, but mentally, I’m dysregulated. I reach for my phone and send a quick text to Anna.

Me: Is the zoo keeping an eye on you?

Anna: They’re on their best behavior, all except for Winnie. She misses you. I’m half convinced you should have brought her with you.

Me: Because she watched me scale a mountain for her.

Anna: She thinks you have the utz.

Me: How are you feeling?

Anna: Good. Vic and I just got back from having dinner with some friends.

Anna started to feel unwell shortly after her seventeenth birthday. Our family doctor believed she had the flu, but when it persisted, our mom assumed Anna was trying to avoid school and the responsibilities that came with being in the Bishop family. Anna was sick for months before she was officially diagnosed, and by then, the cancer had spread so far, she needed to have aggressive treatments immediately to save her life, sending her into a world of side effects that were filled with nausea and bone-deep exhaustion that rarely wavered.

I try to remember that she is feeling fine and allow that to be my assurance.

Anna: Have you spoken to Fallon since you got home?

My gaze catches on the word ‘home’ twice.

Me: My plane landed seven hours ago.

Anna: Time is finite, Core.

It’s a harsh reminder that has me again questioning if returning to Oleander Springs was the right decision. It also has me thinking about Fallon asking me about the concept of time.

Me: It was just my group of friends tonight. We had dinner and talked. They all wanted to hear how you’re doing.

Anna: I hope you told them awesome.

Me: So many sarcastic retorts, so little time.

Familiarity fuels me when I wake up in my dorm. I make coffee while fixing breakfast, then get dressed and meet Palmer in the hall to head for our morning workout. It’s the same routine I’ve had for the past three years. Usually, we train at the facility, which is a short walk from our dorm, but this past spring, we began working out at an MMA gym called Mackey’s, where a couple of Grey’s childhood friends train.

Palmer was the first to acknowledge that the sessions were improving his reflexes. I quickly noted they were honing my agility and speed in a way the field and gym hadn’t. I’m relieved it’s Sunday, and we’re heading to Mackey’s, a place where we focus on our individual workouts and conversation is generally sparse.

Evelyn and Hudson are already inside when we arrive, along with Grey’s buddies, Abe and Cole. They’re assholes, most of the time, but they’re also good people, and they stuck their necks on the line when we needed them.

“Hey, motherfuckers,” Abe calls from where he’s doing a rep of uppercuts. “Don’t forget to warm up.”

Here at Mackey’s, you’re not allowed to do anything before you stretch and jump rope.

“One of these days, I’m going to just start reps and see what he does,” Palmer says, but before anyone can remind him that Abe has a decade of boxing experience on him paired with a short fuse, Mila and Grey arrive.

“No food or drink,” Abe yells.

“Relax,” Mila says, draining the rest of her coffee.

“Next time, I’ll make you mop the floors.” Abe grabs a towel and heads for us.

Palmer straightens, squaring his shoulders, but it’s Grey who stares daggers at Abe.

“Why does our relationship have to be so thorny?” Mila asks, shoving a paper bag at Abe’s chest. “We brought you breakfast. You’re welcome.”

He slowly moves to accept the bag. “That doesn’t excuse you from following the rules.” He nods to the list of rules posted by the door.

“There are always exceptions,” Mila says, winking at Grey.

Abe groans. “Don’t do that winky, flirty shit here.”

“Are you going to make that a rule, too?” Evelyn asks.

Mila cracks up.

Abe points at Evelyn. “You’re the only one I like. Don’t fuck that up.”

“You love all of us,” Mila sings. “Go eat your breakfast. You’re hangry. And share with Mackey and Cole.”

Abe walks away with a raised middle finger directed at us.

We’re finishing our jump roping when Nolan finally shows up.

“You’re late,” Hudson calls.

“Hadley called. You assholes are lucky I’m here,” Nolan says. His girlfriend, Hadley Foster, left to visit her family in Las Vegas for the summer and isn’t due back for two months. “Listen, I need you guys to help me with something.”

“If it involves pranking the men’s soccer team, it’s a hard pass,” Hudson says. “Krueger will put my balls in a vise.” Krueger, our interim head coach, is a man we trust and like, but he has no patience for bullshit.

“You missed it,” Palmer says, turning to me. “They filled our hall with water balloons last week.”

“Amateurs.” Nolan shakes his head. “But no. While Hadley’s gone, I want to turn the basement into an apartment. I already spoke with the owner, and he said he’ll cover the cost of materials and some of the labor so long as we file for permits and everything meets building codes.”

“You want our help creating a personal sex cave?” Palmer asks.

Nolan’s stare turns icy. “Picture my girlfriend naked, and I’ll kick your ass.”

Palmer raises both hands, but a smirk covers his features. “The only thing I picture when thinking about your girl is lasagna.” Hadley and Nolan began dating last fall, and she seamlessly joined our group of friends. She’s one hell of a cook and baker, a skill we all gladly reap the benefits of.

Nolan stares at him for another beat and then turns to give us a collective glance. “The basement is big enough to build a decent-sized bathroom with a full shower and tub and a nice walk-in closet as well as a kitchenette.”

“Your girlfriend’s a culinary genius, and you’re going to give her a kitchenette?” Palmer asks, enjoying how fast Nolan raises his hackles again. Hadley is his bruise—his only weak spot—and we all know it. “That’s like giving Gordon Ramsay an easy bake oven.”

Laughter seeps through our group. Even Nolan smirks.

“It will be for making coffee and popcorn, shit like that. Katie suggested it.” Katie is Nolan’s younger sister and one of his roommates. Last year, Nolan discovered a loophole in our team rules that allowed him to move out of the dorms, where we’re required to live, as long as it was with a relative. He moved in with Katie and her two roommates, Hadley and Hannah, and it wasn’t long before Hadley became his sole focus.

“I’m in. Hadley hates the basement. She says it creeps her out,” Evelyn offers.

“When do you want to start?” Grey asks.

“Tomorrow,” Nolan says.

Grey nods and glances toward the office where Abe and Cole disappeared with the food. “We’ll need to measure and get everything mapped out and probably order supplies. We should get Abe and Cole to help.”

The two continue discussing the construction plans as I lean into this idea of an additional distraction.