31. Fallon

The sun is kissing the horizon despite it being past eight as Corey and I cross the parking lot at the dorm. I’d expected to find a text with Nolan’s address after practice. Instead, there was an offer to drive me. We’ve known each other for seven weeks, and I’ve never been in his car. The few times we leave the dorm for food, we walk because Camden’s central to so many restaurants and coffee shops. I don’t know if he’s an impatient driver or even what model vehicle he drives. It’s a strange detail that seems deceptively significant.

Corey stops beside a cream-colored Toyota Tundra Capstone. I know because it’s Charlie’s dream truck, which is how I know it’s worth a small fortune.

We’ve never discussed wealth. It’s a subject I avoid above all else, even religion because we all have our biases. I know I have mine from years of playing club soccer and seeing the opportunities that arose for those who could pay for them through connections or doors the rest of us didn’t even know existed. Tobias furthered many of my biases, showing how much simpler life was when you could afford to take risks.

I try not to draw another unwanted parallel between the two as Corey opens the passenger door for me, and I slide inside. The interior doesn’t smell like Corey but of leather and new car. The seats are flawlessly smooth, and the carpets and dash are shiny and dust-free which is virtually impossible living in Oleander Springs.

My uneven heartbeats, shallow breaths, and coiled stomach confirm the tension that had me giving excuses not to hang out for the past two days so I could gain space in hopes of finding perspective about my feelings for Corey. Over the past few weeks, there have been times I’ve convinced myself we could be friends. That regardless of the butterflies, constant exchange of messages, and insistent need to be close to him, I could be happy in this strange definition of friendship we’ve created. But that illusion shattered the moment he confessed to watching me and wanting me that night, even before I proposed our one-night stand.

But then, Kelly appeared, reminding us that her feelings for Corey aren’t a passing crush, and I’ve been eating, drinking, and sleeping with guilt since.

“How bad are things with soccer?” Corey asks as he pulls out of the parking lot, his attention deceptively focused on the road.

I hate how embarrassed and ashamed the question makes me feel. I don’t want him to know they can’t stand me, like their feelings for me could be contagious and change how he views me.

I clear my throat and aim for vague. “I’ve been here before. There are a lot of charged emotions.”

“Fallon, you can’t let them treat you like shit. If Becca’s going after you, you have options. You can talk to the coach or athletic director.”

“It’s not that bad.”

His gaze snaps to mine, his disbelief evident in his pursed lips and tight lines surrounding his eyes.

“Talking to them would make it worse,” I tell him.

“You won’t know unless you try.”

I have to swallow my snicker. “I have two years left to play, and that might be it. Pro teams in the US are underfunded and barely watched, so I essentially have two shots: move to another country to play or get drafted for the US team, which is every collegiate player”s dream and goal.” I swallow, trying to muddle my way through the onslaught of emotions and feelings that reveal what so many women athletes must face: that although male athletes fight for limited positions, there often isn’t even a position to fight for as women. “I can’t afford to take the chance that it will make things worse.”

Corey saws his jaw, and I hate that he might think less of me. See me as being weak or less when all I’ve been trying to prove for the past several weeks is that I’m enough. Good enough. Fast enough. Strong enough. I’m exhausted by it. “I understand what you’re facing. Hell, our head coach is a spineless dick. All he cares about is people kissing his ass. To him, that’s even more important than winning, and he proved that last year. He killed our season and, with it, several players’ opportunities. I get it.”

I lean back. “What did you guys do?”

“We circumvented him and went to some of our more influential boosters, and they benched him.”

I rub a hand across my brow. “I can’t do that. For one, it’s only me that Becca doesn’t like, and secondly, our booster club is barely involved.”

“Kelly made it sound like Becca’s being deliberate about how she’s treating you, and that’s bullshit. You can’t let her continue treating you like shit.”

“I’m not letting her do anything.”

Corey releases a sigh of discontent but doesn’t say anything for the rest of our drive.

When we pull up to a light blue farmhouse, nerves swim freely in my stomach like a shiver of sharks.

What was I thinking? Why’d I offer to come?

Even through the tension and anger, I can answer that question. It’s because I missed Corey, missed him to the point my stomach ached, and I was losing sleep.

An older truck pulls up behind us, boxing us in. I’m trapped with Corey and his friends, who I pray aren’t a bunch of dickheads like Tobias’s friends were, obsessed with their stats, muscles, and conquests.

With my teeth gritted, I slip out of the confines of the passenger seat and watch as a stunning blonde steps out of the other truck”s passenger side. I try to mute the insufferable inner critic who’s taunting me with my inadequacies and chiding me for wearing stained sweatpants and an old tee with a hole in the side. I’m a hot mess, and she is just hot.

Mudding drywall is a messy job, I remind myself. When working with my dad, we wear coveralls or stained clothes.

I instantly recognize Grey as he slips out of the driver’s side from the night Corey was drunk. He gives me a brief nod before turning to Corey. “Hudson and Evelyn are on their way. They just stopped to pick up food.”

“Fallon, this is Mila and Grey,” Corey says. “Guys, this is Fallon.”

Mila studies me for a second too long before smiling.

I stare at her, trying to place why she seems familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She cuts her attention back to Corey, giving him a hard stare that has my brain spiraling and second-guessing what the single look means.

Corey shakes his head. “Let’s get this done.” He leads us into the house, where the air conditioner and pops of orange and teal greet us.

“Hey, asswipe. Check this out,” Palmer says, stepping forward with his phone extended. He looks up and stops. “Hey.” He glances at Corey and then back at me. “I was referring to Corey as the asswipe,” he clarifies. He looks tense.

They all do.

I glance at Mila, and recognition hits me in the chest. I saw her the first night I met Corey at the bar.

I saw all three of them.

Humiliation scorches my cheeks, and doubts twist in my mind, spinning a web of suspicions about what they think and know. My thoughts sink lower, wondering if Corey shared that night with the same vulgarity and detail that Tobias’s friends would.

I didn’t recognize them from the stairs because I’d barely noticed them that night. My focus had been on how drunk Corey was and the heartbreaking news of his sister.

“I’m Palmer,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah. You told me that night that…”

Grey clears his throat. “Fallon let us duck into her room when they got drunk and had to be carried home,” Grey tells Mila.

“I don’t remember much,” Palmer admits.

“You were pretty dizzy,” I tell him.

He laughs like it’s an inside joke. I’m struggling to tell if he’s smarmy and deducing me to be the kind of girl I told Lexie I wasn’t—the kind of girl who can have a one-night stand and walk away. The kind of girl that society has long taught women to bash and be embarrassed about because, as females, we aren’t supposed to crave or enjoy sex. Or if he’s just easygoing and laughing off the awkwardness.

My heart beats so fast and hard it’s painful in my chest as the details of that night and how right it all seemed to be crumble.

I raise my chin and try to appear unfazed, though inside, I’m spiraling.

Fast.

I glance around, searching for the nearest bathroom so I can text Lexie to come and get me the hell out of here while simultaneously considering what I’m going to say to Professor Gaines so I can work on the project alone.

“You’ve been single way too long,” Palmer says, slapping a hand on Corey’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you brought Fallon here.”

“Wait. Who’d you bring?” I recognize Nolan’s dark hair and green-blue eyes from the same drunk night, but I don’t recall him being at the bar that night at the beach. Beside him are two more girls, whom Corey introduces me to as Hannah and Katie.

“Fallon,” Palmer says my name again.

“Let us apologize now,” Hannah says. “We’re normally less feral looking,” she glances at her own stained clothes, covered with dried plaster, and then at Nolan, “and acting, but this project has been kicking us in the ass, and we’re all a little loopy after fighting with mud and sanders all day.”

“Yeah, it can be kind of fickle,” I say.

“Fallon offered to help. Her dad owns a painting business,” Corey explains.

Hannah clutches her chest. “You’re our unicorn.”

My chest thaws slightly, innately wanting to like her and wanting her to like me. Maybe they don’t remember. Maybe they don’t even know. Or maybe, like Lexie, they know but don’t care and aren’t judging me for that night.

As these thoughts run through my mind, easing my muscles, the front door opens, and the barista from The Spiced Chai walks inside, her arms filled with bags of food.

Relief is forgotten as panic burns through me and coats my skin like a painful rash.

Karma clearly hates me.

I pray the barista doesn’t recall overhearing that I slept with the guy my friend likes, or if she does, won’t assume it’s Corey.

Her gaze meets mine and instantly brightens with recognition. “Hey.” She turns, looking at Corey and then at Hudson beside her. “This is her. This is the girl who helped me last week at work with that rude customer.”

“Rude customer?” Corey looks at me, along with half their group.

“The asshole oat milk dude?” Mila asks.

“Asshole oat milk dude?” Nolan parrots.

She nods. “He was livid and yelling because we don’t have oat milk. She came over and gave him twenty bucks and got him to leave.” She turns to me and smiles. “I’m Evelyn, by the way. How did you…?”

“When did this happen?” Corey asks, annoyance cinching his brow.

“Evelyn, this is Fallon,” Mila interjects, stealing my attention from Corey. The two girls exchange a dozen silent words.

“Oh. Ohhh…” Evelyn tries to cover her shocked reaction with a smile, but it’s too late. They clearly know who I am. “It’s so nice to meet you. What a small world.” She looks from me to Mila and then over at Corey again before returning to me. “This is my boyfriend, Hudson.”

I nod but don’t mention we’ve met.

“I owe you,” Hudson tells me.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “To me, it’s a very big deal.”

Awkward silence chases his words. I have no idea how to respond.

“So you’re on the soccer team?” Nolan says, breaking the silence.

I nod as reminders of the feud between the men’s soccer team and their football team pepper my thoughts. I’m probably crossing a dozen lines that I’m not even aware of just by being here.

“I’m starved,” Palmer says. “Let’s eat.”

I stiffly follow the others into the cozy kitchen and dining room.

In another setting, on another day, I’d be admiring the space and searching for inspiration for my clinical and undecorated dorm. Instead, I am a fish out of water, unable to breathe, move, or even think as they unpack a series of containers for a taco and burrito bar.

Mila swats at Palmer as he grabs a plate and approaches the buffet. “Ladies first.” She cranes her neck to look at me. “Here’s a plate for you, Fallon.”

“Thanks, but I already ate.” I haven’t, but I’ve been struggling with a sticky high blood sugar most of the night, unable to get it to lower with water or insulin, and food will only make me go higher and feel worse.

“How about something to drink?” Hannah asks, opening the fridge beside me. Cold air blows across my skin, a blissful distraction. “We have coffee, water, tea…”

I shift and glance at a fridge filled to the brim with drinks.

“Try not to judge us. We eat out a lot when Hadley’s not here.” She looks almost bashful, like this is grounds for judgment.

Maybe she doesn’t know about the proposition I gave Corey.

“Water would be great.”

Hannah flashes a smile as she hands me a chilled bottle of water.

Corey steps beside me, and I note how several of his friends track his movements with varying expressions that make my cheeks flame again. He clears his throat. “Want to come see the mess?”

I nod and follow him down the stairs, where the scents of construction tickle my nose. He’s shown me enough pictures that the space feels almost familiar.

“I’m sorry about that. I…” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck like he often does when discussing Anna or something he’s uncomfortable with.

I don’t know why he’s apologizing, but his discomfort is contagious, making me feel even edgier than I did upstairs. I shake my head and avoid looking at him and instead focus on the walls spotted with light grey areas where the screws have been filled with compound and streaked with lines that reveal past taping jobs. “It’s fine.” It’s not. I want to get this done and leave.

I set my water down where it won’t get kicked over and move to the largest bucket. “Is this what you’ve been using for the finishing compound?” I ask, already grabbing the orange bucket that’s stained with mud. There are tools everywhere, all of them cleaned and in mint condition. Clearly, Corey’s not the only one of his friends who comes from money, which has me wondering why they’re not paying professionals to do the work. I almost ask.

“Yeah,” Corey says, following me to the box of mud.

I open the flaps and the plastic bag inside before grabbing a nearby drywall knife to check the texture. “We need to throw this top layer out,” I tell him. “It’s too dry. Do you have an old box or garbage bag?”

Corey hauls over a garbage can that was in the corner.

“You can go eat. This will take a few minutes.” I tell him, lifting the box of mud. Before I can get the box an inch off the ground, Corey’s there, taking the weight.

“I’ve got it,” I say.

But he doesn’t let go.

I release my grip and grab a second bucket to fill with water. My emotions are too jumbled and too conflicted to remain beside him.

I’m relieved to hear the thud of footsteps on the stairs as I return with a filled bucket that Corey eyes with disdain, likely knowing it’s heavier than the box of mud.

Nolan, Palmer, and Hannah gather around the space as I set the bucket of water down and grab the drill.

“You mix it before you add water?” Nolan asks as I drop the drill into the bucket of mud.

I nod. “The top layer is always drier. Mixing it allows you to see the consistency of the entire box,” I explain.

Nolan watches with intrigue as I mix it until smooth, then listens with rapt attention as I try my best to explain how much water to add. Once it’s added, Nolan asks to mix it into the mud to study the texture. My dad would probably be offering to hire him on the spot. He’s a sucker for dedication and enthusiasm.

With his feet positioned on both sides of the bucket, Nolan turns the drill on. “It looks like frosting,” he yells over the noise.

“You don’t want to—” I don’t finish my sentence as mud flies out of the bucket, spraying surfaces in a four-foot radius, including each of us.

“Oh shit. I…” Nolan looks down at his ruined clothing.

Laughter careens out of me and grows when the others begin laughing, too.

Nolan shoves some paper towels at Palmer and then passes me the roll, his gaze on my wrecked shirt, weighted by the gloopy substance. “I’m sorry. If you want another shirt, we can find you something.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I wore old clothes.” I wipe off the biggest globs and toss the used paper towels into the garbage before cleaning up the other fallen blobs around the room.

Corey moves beside me and helps clean the wall. His gaze commands mine, but I realize it’s actually a plea when I meet his caramel eyes. “I owe you a whole hell of a lot more than cookies and massages.”

I grin. “A couple of weeks ago, my brother spilled five gallons of paint across wood floors. This is nothing.”

His gaze tracks over my face. “Thanks for offering to come. I’m really glad you’re here.”

I want to point out that I’m a little mortified and completely uncertain about everything. That I can’t do moody or unsure. Admit how self-conscious I feel because I still can’t convince myself to regret that night, though all of them might know varying details.

“How do you know if this is enough water?” Nolan asks before I can find the right words to say to Corey and the correct order to put them in.

I grab the drywall knife again and run it through the mud, trying to explain what to look for with the texture.

Once we have the right balance, they crowd around and watch as I run the compound over the seams, then smooth it with a knife. The familiarity eases my muscles and distracts my thoughts.

Corey helps me apply the tape, and Nolan peppers me with questions while Palmer and Hannah point out every difference between my actions and theirs as I cover the tape with another layer of mud.

“You make it look so easy,” Corey says, working on a horizontal line above me.

“I’ve had lots of practice.” I feather out his line and show him how to adjust his angle. Before he can respond or react, I’m silently comparing him to Tobias, expecting him to rebuff my help, but Corey’s warm, amber eyes soak up my words, and when he makes another swipe with his knife, he looks at me for approval.

We’ve completed two walls, sans the corners, when the others join us.

“Damn,” Grey remarks, glancing over my finished work.

Mila laughs. “She’s more productive than all of us put together.” Her gaze sticks to my shirt, which is beginning to dry, pinching the fabric.

“That was Nolan,” Hannah says, rubbing the spot on her shorts where she was maimed.

Mila shakes her head, humor bright in her gaze.

Grey asks me to show him, and I do, explaining each of my movements that I try to slow for him to study.

We complete the last two walls of the bedroom and move to the corners, where Corey holds the ladder as I climb to the top. The others gather around, and once again, I try to explain all the tips and tricks I know as I fill the gaps with compound.

Nolan smirks. “You’re so fucking quick.”

“My oldest brother can do it twice as fast,” I admit, applying the folded tape.

“You get it so smooth,” Grey says, examining the edge. “We’ll hardly have to do any sanding.”

“That’s the hope,” I tell him, finishing the bottom corner.

We spend the next hour finishing the corners, and then half of the group moves into what they’ve explained will be a living room and kitchenette, and the other half of us divide between the closet and bathroom.

It’s not until I maneuver the ladder into the corner of the bathroom that I note who followed me. My stomach is as weighted as my shirt when Evelyn smiles at me. It’s as contrived as my own.

“This is awkward,” I say quietly, acknowledging the elephant in the tiny room that makes me feel flattened against the wall. “I feel mortified.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Why? Because of oat milk guy?”

I stare at her knowingly as thoughts get jumbled on my tongue, wanting to apologize for sleeping with Corey, and for not being good enough for her close friend.

Before I can say any of them, my heart aches, realizing how self-deprecating my thoughts are.

When did this happen?

Have I alwaysbeen like this?

These past few months have peeled away more than just fake friends. My confidence and self-worth seem to be gone, too.

“Consider it forgotten,” Evelyn tells me. “We all have a history and past relationships. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be spending time with Corey.”

Shock has me staring at her for a long second as I realize she has no idea I was talking about Corey.