5. Chapter 5

" M om?" I gasp, eyes widening as I scan the room.

Shit! Shit! Shit! This cannot be happening.

I knew I'd have to have this conversation with my mom, but I couldn't imagine having this chat like this. Both my parents are at the apartment I share with three guys. As she storms in, her anger is palpable with all of us in limited clothing.

Standing from the couch, I take tentative steps as I navigate the tight space between the couch and the coffee table. Mom stands before me as I'm rounding the edge of the sofa.

I inherited my height from both of my parents. While Dad and Grant are around the same size, my mom and I are similar in height. She is about an inch shorter than me, meaning we are practically at eye level.

Shock crosses her features as she takes in my new appearance. "What have you done to yourself?"

My shoulders sag as the disappointment weighs heavily in her voice. Looking past her shoulders, I see both Crew and Dad standing in the small opening next to our dining table. Dad's arms are folded across his chest while Crew's are tucked in the pockets of his athletic shorts. Meanwhile, I can feel the gaze of my other two roommates watching everything unfold .

"Your beautiful hair? Tattoos? And are those nipple piercings?" she whispers the last words in disgust.

Shuffling sounds from around us as an uncomfortable mood settles in the room. "Can we please have this conversation in my room?"

Mom must realize we are far from alone because her eyes bounce over my shoulder to where JP and Tyler are sitting. "Hello, boys. I'm sorry to interrupt your"—she glances around the space—"game night, but imagine my absolute shock when I was informed that my daughter drove across the country to transfer schools and didn't bother to tell her mother."

"Emily, let's take this to her room," Dad says from behind. I give him a small smile, hoping the look in my eyes portrays my thanks. He gives me a tight nod before quirking his brow at Crew.

"It's that one," Crew answers, pointing to the room directly to Dad's right as if he knew what he was asking. I guess that's part of what makes my dad a good coach, his ability to read his players and their ability to read him.

I move to step around Mom, and that's when she must see more tattoos on my skin. She sucks in a small breath, and I swear I hear her heart breaking. No words leave her mouth as she follows me into my room.

Crossing the room, I sit on the bed with my legs folded underneath me, and my back resting on the headboard as I pull a pillow into my lap. Dad leans against my dresser while my mom sits at the foot of the bed. Silence falls over the room, and I instantly feel like a little kid again.

"Mom—" I start before she cuts me off.

"Bret, what's going on with you?" The anger from earlier has disappeared, and only concern laces her voice .

Inhaling deeply, I look through my lashes and find tired, kind eyes much like my own staring back at me. "I wanted to be closer to home."

"Sweetheart," she begins, as her shoulders relax, and she reaches for my hand. "You know we want nothing more than for you to be home near us, but this isn't how you do those things. Can you imagine my shock when your father asked me how you were settling into the move while we were eating dinner with boosters?"

Warily, I turn my attention to my dad, who still hasn't moved from his spot near my dresser.

"I'm sorry you were blindsided, but I was going to tell you. It's been a busy couple of days trying to get settled."

"I can imagine. Can you also picture my shock when I walk in and find my daughter's appearance nearly completely changed?" She pauses, looking over my body. "Tattoos, Bret? You know how much I hate them."

One thing my mom despises more than anything is tattoos. She doesn't understand why anyone would want to mark their skin permanently. While I know her feelings on the matter, it's one of our generational differences. And at the end of the day, I need to live for me. Every single one of the designs I've had inked into my skin means something to me.

"Are we going to ignore the fact that I walked into this apartment to find my daughter and her roommates half naked?" Dad glances at me, his face laced with concern.

With a heavy sigh, I fiddle with the pillow resting on my lap. "Dad, please, we were only playing video games. I refuse to be fully dressed when it's socially acceptable for men to walk around without a shirt on. It's not like I was topless. Besides, you know these guys. You know they're good people."

"Yes, they are, but you're— "

"No, buts," I interrupt. "This is my home, and I refuse to be uncomfortable in it."

"Sweetie." Mom's voice cuts through the tension that is starting to build. "I think it's great you wanted to move home to be closer to us. Your room is still yours at the house, and I think it'd be best for you to come home—clearly, something isn't right in your life. Dad has to be on campus early every morning so you can commute with him. Or better yet, move into Grant's extra bedroom."

"No, absolutely not." My eyes bounce from my mom to my dad. "I appreciate the offer, I truly do, but I'm twenty years old. I'm not moving home with my parents. And there's no way in hell Grant and I are living together again. As much as I love my brother, we'd kill each other."

"Bret," Dad starts, but my glare cuts him off.

Standing from my spot on the bed, my chest heaving with the overwhelming sense that they are about to force me to move home. "I signed a lease, and this is where I want to be. I want to live here. I love you both, but right now you're treating me like a child."

"And we love you, sweetheart." Mom's voice wobbles as I watch moisture gather in her eyes.

Unlike most kids, I have an incredibly healthy relationship with my parents. Some days they're overbearing, but it's only because their love for me and my brother runs deep. At the end of the day, they only want us to succeed in life.

Are some of their views on life a little old school? Yes, but I don't fault them for that. Growing up, we were fortunate to never go without. Our life wasn't extravagant, and even though my dad has been a high-profile coach, they taught us the value of money. We moved around a lot—it was the hazard of my dad's job. But no matter where we went and the people we met, our family was the most important. It was the one thing in our life that would never change. It's why Grant and I are so close. We were each other's best friends because finding and keeping friendships was tough.

Even now, I know their concern stems from love, and if I'm being honest, I didn't put their feelings first. If I had, I would've given them the heads-up that I was transferring and moving in with a group of guys. But there are some things I need to do on my own. I need to make adult decisions and live with the consequences.

"I promise I'm okay, or at least I will be. Life is hard, and I'm learning that. But you both raised Grant and me right. We know the difference between right and wrong, good and bad. You just need to trust that the lessons you've been teaching us along the way will get us through life." I pause, giving them a small smile. "Besides, I know if I need anything, your door is always open."

"Always, Bretster." Dad crosses the room and pulls me into his chest. "I love you, kid."

"I love you, too, Dad."

Lifting his head, his voice grows louder. "And I'll kick anyone's ass who hurts my baby girl. I don't care if they're on my team or not."

My chuckle is smothered by his chest. I have no doubt the boys heard him from where they're probably eavesdropping in the living room. The walls in this place are ridiculously thin.

Mom sidles up next to us, and I pull her in for a group hug. "We know you're a big girl, but it's hard for us to wrap our heads around it sometimes. We trust you, Bret, and want you to be safe. There are days and moments when I'm hard on you, but I hope you know you don't have to keep things from us. We'll always support you, sweetheart."

Popping a kiss on my mom's cheek, I squeeze her harder.

Our hug breaks, and everyone takes a step back. Swiping underneath my eyes, I gather the tears that have started to pour over my lids .

"If you're sure you're good, we'll get out of your hair." Dad assesses my face.

With a reassuring expression, I nod. "Yeah, I'm good. I need to get ready for bed anyway. You know, big first day tomorrow."

"You've got this, Bretster," Dad muses, rubbing his hand on my head like he did when I was a kid.

I grumble under my breath, and he chuckles. Mom gives me one last hug before they turn to leave the room. I follow behind, watching the guys startle and try to make it look like they weren't eavesdropping.

With a knowing smirk, I watch as they all try to hide their grins. Harris is in my direct sight line and gives me a smirk with a wink.

"Take care of my girl, or you'll be doing burpees every practice for a month." Dad's stern coach voice comes through as he threatens my roommates.

All three of them nod and say in unison, "Yes, sir."

I watch my parents slide out the door, and with my arms crossed across my chest, I sigh. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I can do this.

Junior year in a new location is what I needed.

"There she is," comes from my side. Turning, I notice all the guys are watching me.

Quirking my brow with confusion, I tilt my head. Harris speaks first. "Happy looks good on you."

I feel my cheeks heat, and the smile he just complimented me on softens. "Good night, guys."

"Night," they say in unison, and I turn my attention to Crew, who has been surprisingly quiet. Only when my eyes snap to him do I find him already watching me. "Thanks for organizing the game night. I needed it. "

And with that, I turn and head to my room.

The blaring sound of my alarm wakes me from sleep. How can it possibly be morning when I feel like I just fell asleep? Last night, like every other night, was filled with restlessness, leading me to my two a.m. bowl of cereal.

Factor in the nightmares and the night before the first day of school nerves and I was wired.

Even starting my third year of college, I still experience that dreadful first day of school nerves. Something about starting a new school year, especially at a new school, sends my nerves on a wild ride. The anxiety creeps in, and my stomach flutters with the unknown.

Silencing my alarm, I toss the covers off and let out a long yawn. My back feels stiff, and I'm in desperate need to stretch out. Making my way from my room to the bathroom right outside my door, I pop my head out to the main area and notice that no one is home. I'm not surprised since the guys usually have a six o'clock practice.

Running through my morning routine quickly, I head to the living room for a few morning stretches on the workout app. After the quick ten-minute video, I find a morning meditation. Reaching for a pillow off the couch, I use it to sit on since I need to order myself a new bolster. Back in Arizona, my roommate and I shared one, or we'd use the supplies from the yoga studio we frequented.

Living with Olivia was the best decision I made for our sophomore year. She taught me the importance of self-care. Where I thought a good workout and shooting hoops was all I needed, she showed me the importance of talking to my inner self through meditation. I was the biggest skeptic and thought meditation was silly, but I'm glad to say I was wrong.

We've been taught that eating a well-balanced diet and exercising are vital parts of living a healthy lifestyle, but struggling with inner suffering makes you crazy, or we're told to just get over it. Somewhere along the way, someone deemed mental health was a taboo topic. But it couldn't be further from the truth.

I learned that the hard way.

After an extremely hard day, I found myself seconds away from a mental breakdown. The thoughts racing through my mind were thoughts no one should ever have to deal with, let alone by themselves. Olivia found me in the bathroom with a pill bottle in my hand as I stared at the mascara-streaked girl before me.

She saved me that day in more ways than one.

Mental health is a war everyone battles at some point in their life. We're not crazy. We're not making it up. We're not making a bigger deal out of something that shouldn't be.

Olivia didn't leave my side the rest of that day, and the next morning I attended my first yoga and meditation class. During the final few minutes of Savasana, I couldn't fight the sobs any longer.

Shaking my head from the thoughts of the past, I focus on the red-headed instructor on the TV. A calming melody fills the screen, and I follow her instructions on how to get myself comfortable on my pillow. It's not long, and she's instructing us to focus on the first word that comes to mind and use that word to focus on throughout the session.

Peace .

My mind instantly connects to the word peace, and it couldn't be a better word .

There's nothing more I want in life right now than that. I want to feel like my life is mine again. No more looking over my shoulder, no more nightmares controlling my sleep, no more fear. I'd give anything for calmness to enter my life and erase all the fear.

Focusing on the word peace, I allow the instructor's soft voice to infiltrate my mind while shutting out everything around me.

"The world outside can be filled with chaos, but within you is a space of tranquility. Focus on your word as you allow the distractions to melt away. Trust in your word and allow it to help navigate you through the noise."

Slowly, my shoulders start to relax as the tension evaporates. My back stands taller as I let in a long inhale before exhaling. There's a heaviness in my limbs as I ground myself while keeping my focus word at the front of my mind.

"As we come to an end of today's practice, take a moment to feel gratitude for this practice and for allowing yourself time to work on your true selves. May your word continue to bring you focus and tranquility, not just in meditation but in every moment of your life. Carry it with you, and let it be a constant reminder of the calm within."

The video ends as a sense of tranquility falls over me. I've learned that starting my morning with fifteen to twenty minutes of meditation makes all the difference.

Now let's make today my bitch.

Lunch rolls around, and my stomach is growling. Even though I left the athlete life in high school, unlike my brother, my body still prefers to be on some sort of training schedule. This means exercising and eating with a routine is a must.

Walking through the quad, I let my gaze wander over the passing students hustling to and from class. The updated buildings still have the original design and the cobblestone walkways. Central Texas University has a gorgeous campus. Even being 150 or so years old, the campus feels modern and like you've stepped back in time.

Jogging up the steps to the Union, I smile and thank the guy who held the door open for me. Inside, it's loud and chaotic, as crowds of hungry students walk through the cafeteria, searching for food or tables to sit at. With a quick scan, I realize most of the tables are occupied, but that's fine. I don't have a problem finding a bench outside to eat at.

Even if it's a hundred degrees.

Taking my time, I make sure to walk all around the cafeteria to see what my options are. There's a grill in the back with burgers, sandwiches, and fried sides. A sub station and pasta bar are on the opposite corner. In the center of the cafeteria is a stir-fry bar where you can create your own concoction, not to mention a variety of other food options throughout the space.

I'm standing in line for the sub station, minding my business, scrolling on my phone, when someone shouts, "Campbell." Seeking out the voice, a confused look passes my face, and that's when I see my brother standing a few people in front of me.

Grant gives me that typical guy head nod as he greets me. "Little sis."

"Big brother." I smile at him. I still can't get over the fact that I'm living in the same state as him.

Once I make it through the line, I turn and find Grant standing off to the side, waiting for me. He throws his arm around my shoulder and lets a sports drink rest on my shoulder. "How's your first day of class going?"

"I can't complain." Setting my food on the counter, I wait for the cashier to ring me out.

"Hi, dear." The cashier has a warm smile with an even more welcoming aura. She has a personality that can turn any bad day into a few minutes of good.

Reaching into my backpack, I search for my wallet. My fingers brush against it, but my brother's arm comes into view before I have a chance to grab my student ID, which is loaded with money.

"I've got both of ours, Tina."

The cashier smiles.

"That's sweet of you, Mr. Campbell. I thought you might be together. It's not very often I get to see a real Grant Campbell smile."

Grant chuckles. "Please, Tina, you only ever get my smiles."

I roll my eyes as my brother innocently flirts with the older cashier. "I'm Bret, his sister."

Her eyes widened, and I didn't think her smile could get more expansive. "It's so nice to meet you, Bret. I'm Tina. If you ever need anything, swing over to my line. You two enjoy your lunch."

With a smile and a thank you, I leave the line and turn toward the exit.

"Where do you think you're going?" Grant asks, pausing with his food in hand.

Pointing over my shoulder, I shrug. "I was going to try and find a bench outside."

Grant rolls his eyes at my comment, which only stirs something inside me. "You're sitting with us. "

I scoff. Who does he think he is? The last time I checked, I was my own person, and if anything, the last few months have taught me that I am capable of being on my own.

"I don't need your handouts."

"Stop, come sit. It's hot as fuck outside." If there's one thing Grant and I share, it's that we both want to be in control. As the oldest, he always wanted everything to be his way or the highway. The older I got, the more I tried to push his buttons and how he constantly needed to be in control. It used to drive our mom crazy because I would continuously torment him for the fun of it.

Shoulders deflating, I turn on my heels and follow him to the tables in the back corner. Heads turn as we walk between rows of tables. No doubt everyone wants to get two seconds with the hot-shot football player. But as I'm walking past a group of guys, I make awkward eye contact and get a wink in return. I swear I hear my brother growl from in front of me. The grump typically only communicates in caveman sounds.

Large, athletic guys surround three long tables. A few girls are in the mix, most of them on the laps of guys, and I can't help scrunching my nose up at them. It's the cafeteria, not a bar, so why not sit in your seat? Scanning the table, my eyes stop on a girl with honey-blonde hair, her nose stuck in a book as if she can't even be bothered with the group of rowdy athletes. She looks like my kind of person.

"Campbell!" some of the guys greet my brother as he goes to sit in a vacant chair. There's an empty seat next to him, and he pushes the chair out for me to sit in.

With a glance, I realize it's the last one left, leaving me no choice but to take it.

"Little Campbell," the guy across from me greets.

With a tight-lipped smile, I correct him. "It's Bret. "

"No, right, of course," the guy begins to backpedal his choice of name, and all I want to do is be alone. There's a chill that runs through me as anxiety creeps in. I hate being the center of attention, and right now, I can feel eyes scanning me up and down. The girls are eyeing me skeptically as they try to figure out where I fit into the group. I can't handle it. I've spent months in practical isolation, and this is all too much.

"Can you not be such a brat?"

My head snaps in the direction of my brother. "I'm not being a brat. I'm just letting him know what my name is."

"Yeah, and you were pretty fucking rude. What's going on with you? Our parents are worried. Mom called me in hysterics last night."

"Hysterics is a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"No. Their only daughter decided to move across the country. On a fucking whim without telling us." His nostrils flare, and I know from experience he's not letting up anytime soon.

"I thought you were fine with everything. Why would you help me move my things if you had a problem with me being here?" I grit the words between my teeth as I notice the attention he's bringing to us.

"I don't know, Addy. Maybe I had time to finally wrap my head around you moving here. Something has clearly happened, and I want to know what's going on with you."

"We're not doing this here."

"Then when?" he demands.

"How about fucking never? You know what, I think I'm going to go." I begin to gather my things and feel Grant eyeing me. If I'm not careful, he's going to figure out that something bigger is going on with me, and all the months of hiding and healing are going to come crashing down.

"Hey, roomie. "

I startle as seats shift next to me. From the corner of my eye, I recognize the figure who sat down beside me.

"Hey, Tyler. I was just heading out." I direct my words to my brother and start to stand. Tyler's eyes lock on mine, freezing me in my seat as I feel him trying to work out what he just interrupted.

With a quick nod, he gives me a small smile. "Okay, see ya back home."

Quickly grabbing my stuff, I don't waste any time. I'm up and out of my seat, leaving that conversation behind, but the words from Tyler's mouth stick with me.

"We've got her, man."

And if anyone will crack the layers I've been building up, it'll be my roommates. Even though our game night was interrupted by my parents, the four of us were having a breakthrough. Everyone might think that I'm an idiot for moving in with three guys after my history with men, but there was something about these guys that I knew I could trust.

I only hope they don't let me down like all the others.

Slamming my backpack down on the kitchen table, I have never felt more relieved to be home in my apartment. Today has been the first day of hell. Navigating campus was a challenge. I managed to get myself lost and turned around not once, not twice, but three times. Not to mention, I had to explain my name no less than ten different times.

I'm exhausted and starving. I should have grabbed something on campus because I'm a horrible cook. I feel bad for my future husband because I'm definitely not one of those women where cooking comes naturally.

"Hey." I startle with a small scream at the voice behind me. "Shit, Bret. I thought you heard me open my door."

"I was lost in my head." The words tumble from my lips sheepishly.

Tyler's eyes never leave mine as he closes the distance between us. My heart races, and my breathing stutters as he gets near.

He's not him. He's not him, Bret. You're safe.

Tyler's arms wrap around my shoulders as he pulls me into him. My arms dangle at my side as my face presses into his shoulder. His hand rubs circles on my back as his fingertips graze the skin exposed by my tank top.

"What's this for?" I question, my face pressed into his collarbone.

"You look like you needed a hug." The softness in his voice is enough to break me. Before I can stop them, moisture is gathering and spilling from my eyes. Tears coat my cheeks, and I work to keep in the sob that is so desperate to break free.

The truth is, I needed that hug. I have needed strong arms wrapped around me for weeks. There's no doubt I'm strong enough to handle anything life throws at me, but there's something about trusting someone else to carry the load, even if it's brief.

And while the feeling of being in Tyler's arms is everything I need at that moment, there's a fleeting thought that he's not whose arms I'm desperate to have wrapped around me.