35. Fallon

“Tell me it was a bad dream,” Lexie’s voice is broken glass as she rolls over in her king bed to face me. I’m lying beside her, reading on my phone, which is still in airplane mode. I haven’t felt brave enough to see if Corey has messaged me.

“I didn’t really tell Asher to go to hell, right?”

“Not to his face and not until we made it to the parking lot where no one could hear,” I assure her, scrubbing a hand over my eyes.

“The parking lot? What parking lot?” Confusion mars her brow. “Wait. Were there waffles? Did we…? Was Corey…?” She peeks at me through squinted eyes. “Why can’t I remember chunks of last night?”

“Because you apparently drank your weight—or close to it—in champagne while Chrissy told me Westfield is better off without me.”

Rage flares in her eyes before she squints again and rubs at her temples.

I almost feel bad for her, but embarrassment is still stamped on my skin this morning.

“I hate her. I hate them all,” Lexie croaks. “Do I want to know what else happened?”

“Probably not.”

She groans. “Am I going to be able to show my face in public?”

“Yes, but you should definitely shower and change your sheets because you walked barefoot around the Waffle House and parking lot.”

“Oh, God. I did. I remember carrying my shoes. Why’d I carry them?”

“You hated a lot of things last night, your shoes included.”

She scoffs. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts to laugh.”

I grin. “I need to go. I have homework, and I’m out of clean socks.”

“Did I tell Corey you love him, or did I just think it?”

“You heavily alluded to it.”

She grimaces. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I’m never drinking again.”

“You might change your mind. After all, we still have to endure Thanksgiving and Christmas with the whole family, Asher included.”

“In that case, I’ll be drinking for both of us. Make sure Corey’s on call.”

I flip off the covers. “I’m borrowing your clothes.”

“I’m sorry you had to babysit me last night and that I spilled your secrets like a cracked teacup.”

I pull in a sigh. “It’s okay. He and I need to talk anyway; you just lit the tinder box.”

“Hang on,” she says, raising a hand as she reaches for her phone. She scrolls for a couple of seconds and then stops. “Your horoscope says you’re going to find yourself torn between taking the safe route and indulging in the thrill of uncertainty.” She looks at me to ensure I’m listening and then glances back at her phone and continues reading, “It’s important to make informed decisions, but don’t be afraid to embrace chaos and a greater chance.” She drops her phone. “Chance—chance encounter. The freaking universe wants you to bone him, Fallon.”

“Or maybe it’s telling me to eat ice cream for breakfast.”

She falls back with a growl and covers her face with a pillow. “Call him, or I won’t speak to you for a month.”

“Soccer starts soon, and I’ll barely be able to speak to you for a month.”

She flips me off and buries deeper into her blankets.

I get dressed and head for the kitchen to grab some ibuprofen and water that I take to Lexie. “I’m setting water and medicine on your nightstand. Drink the full glass and try and get a little more sleep.”

“Call Corey.”

I kiss her through the pillow. “I’ll see you later.”

“Call him,” she says again, like a broken record.

Once I”ve had breakfast, showered, and started laundry, I take my phone out of airplane mode and hold my breath as notifications start popping up.

I have a dozen text messages, but not a single one is from Corey. They’re from my family, including pictures from the wedding, tags from social media posts, and several emails from prospective and current clients for work.

I make another cup of coffee and start replying to work emails. I’m on my last reply when someone knocks on the door.

My heart beats defiantly hopeful as I cross to the door and unfasten the half-dozen locks.

Corey stands in the hall, holding two cups of coffee and a paper bag. He flashes a smile that is all confidence and swagger.

Relief is already trickling down my spine, and he hasn’t even stepped into my space to confirm he’s going to stay.

“Hey.”

“Want to come in?” I ask.

His smile grows as he enters my dorm. “Your table arrived.” He glances at the corner where the rectangular dining set now fills the space.

“Yeah, it was delivered Thursday.” My dorm still feels sterile, lacking the personality and warmth I hope to inject into it eventually, but that likely won’t happen until the season is over.

Corey hands me one of the coffees—a caramel mocha—my favorite. He knows, just like I know he’s drinking an espresso macchiato. Over the past couple of months, I”ve learned just as much about myself as I have him, largely from the constant questions we still exchange. “We have some things we need to discuss,” he says.

Because I still don’t have a couch, he walks over to the table and pulls out a chair. “But first, I’m hoping you’ll tell me more about what in the hell’s going on with soccer. Last night, Lexie alluded that Becca’s not the only one giving you a hard time.”

I remain by the small island, preferring a room between us rather than just a table. “I was their rival for the past two years.”

“And they were yours.” Corey rubs a hand across his brow. “How bad is it?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s not what I asked. Just because you can handle it doesn’t mean you should have to. I’m done with things being vague between us. I like you, Fallon, and you can try to pretend to be unaffected, but I know you like me, too.”

“They hate me, Corey.” Saying it aloud isn’t freeing or even cathartic. Instead, my throat constricts, not wanting to admit this to him or even myself, but instead, I clarify so he can understand why this is so hard for me. “They all hate me, and they’ll hate me even more if I cross this line with you, and I hate that. I hate that it feels like I have to choose between soccer and you. I hate having to choose between being happy and my one friend on the team.”

Corey stands and crosses the room, and though I want to shake my head and assure him I’m fine, I don’t. I can’t because whenever I’m around him, my heart pleads a little louder for him to be near.

“You don’t have to make a decision. I won’t force you to choose. We’ll figure this out.”

“How?”

Corey’s soft gaze shifts between mine. “I saw Kelly this morning and told her I don’t have feelings for her, that I like someone else.”

My heart accelerates and swells as it trips over guilt, relief, and happiness. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m leading you on or that I’m not prioritizing you. I know what that feels like, and you don’t deserve a relationship like that.”

He slips his hands down the length of my neck and tips my chin up with his thumbs. I study the melted honey color of his eyes as he stares back at me with patience and so much determination, I feel his resolve steeling me. “Are you safe at practice?”

“Yes. They’re just jerks.”

He doesn’t look relieved. “Are you happy?”

I swallow. “I’m happy when I’m with you.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss against my forehead. It’s not at all where I want to feel him kiss me, but my heart races all the same.

“Next week, we’re going to the beach for the team builder, and then two weeks later, our coaching staff will be back, and I’m hoping things will change.”

Corey strokes his thumb across the right side of my jaw. “Becca’s role as captain isn’t to safeguard positions for her friends. It’s to make tough decisions that benefit the entire team.”

“But sometimes it’s not about the best player, but the best player for the team. If they play better with Zoe… I don’t know what will happen. That’s why I’ve been pulling extra practices and workouts.”

Corey shakes his head. “They wouldn’t have sought you out and found a way for you not to redshirt if you weren’t a badass. Becca has to know that. What she’s doing is bullshit. Have you tried meeting with her one-on-one?”

“Not yet. That’s my next step, but I’m hoping to win over a couple of others on the team and warm her up first.” I press my face against his shoulder, immersing myself in his warmth and scent. “What does this mean for us?”

“When my sister told me she was sick again, it really fucked with my head. Getting close to someone—to you—and knowing there’s a chance one of us will move, that someone could get hurt, or…” He swallows the words, but I hear them in my heart, fearing I could get sick like Anna.

My heart stutters, wondering how he’d feel to know I’m diabetic, that I have one of the rarest and most high-risk autoimmune diseases that increases my chances of a list of long-term complications that include blindness, kidney failure, stroke, and an early demise.

“But, it’s too damn late. You’re so far under my skin that I couldn’t get you out if I wanted to.” He drags his thumb over my skin again, and I feel it along my heart.“And, the truth is, I don’t want to. I want you to bury even deeper. Want to be completely immersed in you.” His eyes are so intense I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think of anything but the memory of him kissing me.

He swallows. “Whenever you’re ready for this next step, I’m in. I’m all in.”