21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Cole

"I thought you were angry with me," Freya says through a yawn.

I narrow my eyes at her. I do feel a bit bad for waking her up, but I need some motivation here, and she's the only one who will get through to me right now. "I am angry with you. I'm angry because you're right."

She yawns again and shifts her phone. Half her face is buried in her pillow, and this might be the first time I've ever seen her without any trace of makeup. Even when she is "casual" and with us away from the public eye, she's always under scrutiny. She can't afford to get noticed by something like Hollywood Hot Scoop when she has a whole country that relies on her. Or soon will.

But tonight she looks like a regular human with bedhead and eye bags who just got woken by an early morning phone call. "What am I right about?" she asks. Before I can say anything, she adds, "A lot of things, yes, but what sparked this call?"

I sigh, checking around me to make sure no one is within hearing distance. A video call while standing outside a bar in Los Angeles is not my best idea, but here we are. "I'm scared."

Freya blinks. "And?"

"And I don't want to be. I did exactly what you told me not to do, and I'm worried I pushed things too far to fix them."

After taking a deep breath, she sits up and turns on a light, throwing her natural face into sharp relief. She looks so different from what I'm used to, like she's aged backward a few years. "What did you do?"

I bite the side of my tongue. "I ignored Carissa all week."

"Coleman!"

"I told you. I messed up." But it's Freya's fault. She told me she could tell something was different and rightly credited the change to Carissa. Then Freya guessed I was starting to let her into my heart in a way I didn't with Sage, and I panicked. I started imagining the horrible things that could happen to her if she loved me. Pictured her getting hurt—or worse. I can try to tell myself all I want that the Evanson curse isn't real, but that doesn't make it true.

"Cole," Freya says gently, "you look miserable."

"I am miserable. This week sucked."

"Then you should know what to do."

"But how? It was hard enough trying to do what Moxie does without adding in everything I'm starting to feel for Carissa."

"Why are you trying to do what someone else does? You are not him."

I am so aware of that. The team actually likes Moxie. They despise me.

"Cole." Freya's warning tone tells me she can read my thoughts clearly enough without me having to say them out loud. "I told you on Sunday. You cannot do the same as someone else because you are your own person. You must do things your own way. "

"And what if I fail?"

"Then you fail. It happens to all of us, and your strength is measured by your ability to rise and try again. You cannot know your potential unless you give it space to spread its wings."

Rolling my eyes, I let her words sink in. It's four in the morning for her, and she still manages to say the right thing. "I hate how you always sound so inspirational."

"I am soon to be a queen, Cole. One would hope my ability to give a speech is greater than most."

"How humble of you."

"Humility is not the absence of confidence." She squints at the screen. "Where are you?"

I glance at the bar behind me. "I'm moments away from making things worse, probably, but you're going to tell me it's a great idea. Carissa went out for drinks with the team."

The sheer excitement on her face is almost enough to get me to turn around and start walking home. "Oh?"

"Don't look at me like that," I complain. "I'm just here to make sure they treat her right."

"Yes, I am certain that is your only reason."

"I know you think we're soulmates or whatever, but Carissa and I barely know each other."

"There is an easy fix for that."

I glare at my phone. "And what is that?"

"Stop talking to me and go inside. You cannot know her if you avoid her."

"That's less inspirational and more common sense."

"And yet I have to tell it to you."

I groan and drop my head against the wall behind me. Even knowing this was where the conversation would likely go, I don't like how simple Freya makes it sound. It doesn't feel simple. "But what if I drove her away? She wasn't happy with me today."

"Nor am I, but I still care for you. If she is as special as you make her sound, she will forgive you for a few bad days. But you must give her the opportunity."

I want to do that. With my friends all busy—exactly as Carissa said—I was either at home by myself or with Dad and Gramps, who constantly asked when I would bring Carissa over next. Not talking to her has been the worst, but I hoped I could concentrate on settling into the role of captain. Not that I made any progress on that front, so this lonely week has been completely pointless.

All it has accomplished is stoking the fire of my interest.

"Cole," Freya says gently, "you need her in your life. You know you do. When will you allow yourself to be happy?"

When I feel like I deserve it.

A text notification drops from the top of the screen, and I glance at it. It's a picture from Moxie, but I can't tell what it is before the notification disappears. Unease settles in my stomach. Moxie's somewhere inside, and I can't imagine any reason he would send me a picture except to show me something I'm not going to like.

"I should go," I tell Freya.

"Yes, you should," she agrees, narrowing her eyes at me. "And do not be surprised when I call you in the middle of the night someday."

I roll my eyes. "You were going to be awake in an hour anyway, Peach."

"That is still an hour of lost sleep, and I have precious little time to sleep lately. So I will be returning the favor."

Her threat makes me smile, and I wish her a productive day despite her lack of sleep and hang up. I got lucky when Derek met Freya all those years ago, and I'm glad I called her tonight. Even if her constant nuggets of wisdom are hard to swallow .

With the call over, I pull up the photo Moxie sent and am instantly put on edge when I see Carissa tucked under Bean's arm as they sit at a table with a few other guys from the team. She's laughing, and Bean is looking at her in a way that makes my skin crawl. He's looking at her the way I do.

Swearing, I shove my phone into my pocket and head for the door, impatiently waiting for the bouncer to check my ID so I can get inside. As soon as I do, I follow the rowdy sounds of the Thunder congregated in the corner by the pool tables. I can't see Carissa anywhere, but I do find Moxie, who must have a view of her from where he's sitting.

"Where is she?" I ask, sliding into the booth across from him and scanning the bar.

"Hello to you too," Moxie says.

" Mox ."

He nods to his left. I see Bean first, sitting at a table just like in the photo, but it takes me longer than I'd like to find Carissa. She and Freddie, the new starting fly-half, are huddled together and giggling over something on Carissa's phone. She's holding the phone, but her hand is resting in Freddie's palm.

"Is the phone too heavy?" I grumble to myself, grabbing the drink in front of Moxie without looking away from Carissa. When I take a sip, expecting something bitter, I'm caught off guard by the ice water in the glass. I look at Moxie, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckles. "What, you think most of us actually come here to drink? Unlike you, a lot of us have jobs with early hours, and it's not worth the risk of a hangover."

I can't decide if I'm grateful for the lack of alcohol or annoyed that I can't distract myself from the way Carissa interacts so freely with my teammates. Mostly, I feel guilty realizing I have no idea what any of these guys do outside of rugby.

Returning Moxie's drink to him, I swallow my pride and ask, "What do you do?"

Chuckling again, he takes a long drink of water before he says, "I'm a vet. Finished school right before you joined the team."

I curse under my breath, trying to imagine going through veterinary school while playing a sport as rigorous as rugby. Moxie has been playing with the Thunder for three years, since the team was formed. "That's impressive," I tell him. "I barely managed two years of college."

"Not all of us can be champion NFL players with million-dollar paychecks right out of the gate."

I snort a laugh and relax in my seat. Mostly. Part of my focus is still on the way Carissa is now arm wrestling French Roast, who is easily twice her size. If I'm going to befriend my teammates, I need to start with the guy I know will talk to me. "I was third string my first two years," I tell Moxie. "Never saw a game."

"Ah, you're one of those underdog stories?"

"Hardly. I was good at what I did, but the other guys cost more so they got to play. If they hadn't gotten injured, I would have gotten my chance eventually. It just would have taken longer." I furrow my brow. "It's weird to have someone not know any of this. Sometimes it feels like the whole world knows my story."

Moxie's smile is half amusement, half sympathy. "I don't know how you do it, man. All those articles posted about you? That would drive me nuts."

I wonder if he's seen the ones with Carissa, though I'm too afraid to ask. We've been lucky that no other stories have dropped—probably because I've kept my distance—but speaking Hot Scoop's name out loud feels like tempting fate. "You get used to it," I say with a shrug.

Carissa's bright laugh rings out across the bar.

Tension fills my shoulders as I look over and watch her dance with Sharkie despite this being a crowded bar, not a club. She looks so…happy. Better than she's looked all week. Maybe she's better off without me.

"So," Moxie says, pulling my gaze back to him. "You came out tonight. Please tell me you didn't come just to talk to me."

"I came to make sure none of the guys bothered Carissa."

"Does she look bothered?"

No, and I hate it. She looks like her worries have melted away in a way I can't do for her because I come with tabloids and baggage and a curse that prevents me from really feeling for someone.

Sharkie spins Carissa right into Bean's arms as he steals the dance, and I feel like I'm watching something designed to poke at all my sore spots. These are good guys, and they're apparently not even drunk like I expected. They're just having a good time and enjoying the chance to experience Carissa's warmth up close.

I can't have any objections except my own selfish wants, and I don't deserve those wants in the first place because I spent a whole week ignoring her. But that doesn't make me want her any less.

Cursing under my breath, I push up to my feet and walk toward the guys before I can talk myself out of it.

Tink notices me first, and his jaw drops as soon as he realizes it's me. "What are you doing here?" His question comes during a break in the overhead music, which means everyone hears it and looks our way.

Instinct tells me to scowl at their shocked looks, but I force my expression to stay neutral. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about," I say and nod at Bean, who stands stiff with Carissa still in his arms. "Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

Bean narrows his eyes. "What are you trying to—"

"He has four younger sisters!" Carissa says, cutting off the angry question. "Apparently they all use him to practice dancing before school dances. "

Matching her smile is easy, even with my confused teammates staring at me. I talk to Bean, but I can't pull my eyes from Carissa and the way she looks overjoyed that I came tonight. "That's really cool of you, Bean. I always wanted a sister, but my dad never remarried after my mom died."

Whispers break out among the Thunder, and I do my best to ignore them. I don't know why I picked the guy who hates me more than most, but now that I've started, I need to keep pushing forward.

"Does your family live here in LA?" I ask.

Bean drops his arms from Carissa, like he's completely forgotten he was in the middle of a dance as he gapes at me. "Yeah," he says after a long time. "Yours?"

I nod. "It's just my dad and grandpa, though."

"His mom died when he was born," Carissa adds. Anyone else, and I might not have loved someone sharing that little tidbit, but there's something in the way she says it. Like that detail is crucial to understanding who I am.

Maybe it is.

"That sucks," Bean says.

I nod. "It does."

Carissa glances between us and reaches out for French Roast's hand. "Grayson, didn't you tell me your dad died a few years ago?"

He nods, meeting my gaze. I wonder if the rest of his family are all in New Zealand or if he's here on his own, but I'm too much a coward to ask. "I got to spend twenty years with my dad, though," he says. "You didn't get to know your mum."

"I don't know if it's harder to know and lose or to not know at all," I say.

"My oldest brother died when I was a kid," Tink says. Noah , I remind myself. His name is Noah. This isn't a conversation for nicknames. "My mom tells me all the time that I'm just like him, but I barely knew him so it feels like I'm just a copy and paste of someone else and not my own person because I only have memories to compare to."

My eyebrows rise, and a few of the other guys seem just as surprised as I am. That's not the kind of thing a guy willingly says out loud. "Hey," I mutter and touch his arm. "You get to be your own person. And sorry about your brother."

He gives me a grateful nod.

A silence settles over the group, heavy but not uncomfortable. I'm feeling a shift among us, not just between me and the team but with all of us. Like some of these guys have never connected this deeply with each other. Of all the ways tonight could have gone, I did not expect a somber conversation about lost loved ones in a noisy bar, but here we are.

"Death sucks," someone says. I don't know who, but murmurs of agreement follow his comment, along with a couple of chuckles.

Carissa, still holding Grayson's hand, looks at me in a way that makes me regret even more than I already did staying away from her. "Well," she says when no one has any other family deaths to add to the conversation, "in an effort to lighten the mood, anyone want to bet on if I can beat Evanson in an arm wrestle?"

The guys chuckle, but to my surprise they actually start placing bets, most of them against me. Either this is a fun way to tell me how they really feel about me, or I missed something from the earlier match with French Roast.

Frowning as they shuffle around to give us both space at the table, I try to read Carissa's expression. Obviously she could never win—her arms are tiny—but I'm happy to allow her the victory if she thinks it will help me break down more barriers between me and my team. I made some strides just now, but I've got a long way to go.

Carissa sets her elbow on the table, hand at the ready, and fixes me with a smug look. "You should know, Evanson, that I've beaten every other guy here so far. Grayson even tried for a rematch and lost, so battle at your own risk."

Is she serious? I glance at the guys, and their barely concealed laughter worries me. "What am I missing?"

"You can take the coward's way out," Wyatt says. "Or you can take the hit to your pride like the rest of us."

He's serious. They all are. Despite the amused looks they're giving each other, they all seem pretty convinced I'm going to lose.

I rest my elbow on the table and narrow my eyes at the woman across from me. "You're looking pretty smug for a woman who couldn't open a jar of pickles yesterday."

She gasps. "You saw that?"

"Saw Gator open it for you? Yes. Also, who eats pickles straight from the jar?"

"I do. Are we wrestling or not?"

Taking hold of her hand, I make sure I'm situated properly so I don't give Carissa any advantages. I still don't see how she could possibly beat me, but the guys all wait without breathing, like they're anticipating the match of the century.

"Ready?" Wyatt asks, standing beside us.

Carissa wiggles her fingers, adjusting her grip, but my focus is fully on the smirk on her lips. "Ready to lose, Rihanna?"

Oh, she did not just call me that. "In your dreams, Paxton."

"Go!" Wyatt says.

I start off easy, worried about hurting her. But when she withstands the pressure, I push harder. She doesn't budge. Worried now, I look down at our hands and realize she's curled her wrist inward, putting my own at an angle that makes it difficult to get the right leverage.

"Clever," I say, shocked when my voice comes out strained .

Carissa's sweet smile feels like a punch to the gut as it evokes memories of a week ago, before I took the idiot route. "You can give up now, if you'd like," she says.

I narrow my eyes. "No way."

"Fine." Next thing I know, she's leaping forward and pressing a kiss to my cheek. My arm goes slack, just enough for her to slam it down on the table. She whoops and high fives several of the guys as they cheer.

I stand stunned. Not only did the feel of her lips send an electric shock through me, but based on the reactions of my teammates, they all probably got the same treatment when they went up against her.

They all got kisses.

What does that mean for us?

Wyatt claps a hand on my shoulder, laughing like he just heard the world's best joke. "Guess you're not as heartless as we all thought."

Carissa scoffs before I can bite out an angry retort. "Are you kidding? You know that fancy car I've been driving?"

Grayson whistles low while Freddie says something about how nice it is. (I don't actually know Freddie's real name, which is something I should probably fix.)

"Cole lent it to me when he realized I don't have a car," Carissa says. She scoots around the table to stand at my side and press her palm against my chest, over my heart. I doubt the guys will like her closeness, but I can't bring myself to care. I've missed her, and it's taking everything in me not to place my hand over hers. "He and Moxie didn't like the idea of me taking the bus to the grocery store and things, so Cole took pity on me." Her eyes lift to meet mine, and heat spreads from where she touches until I'm overheating. "This man has always had a heart, but I don't think he has let any of you see it because his fame doesn't make it easy for him to trust. Not even the people closest to him."

I trust her .

I may not have shown it this week, but I've never trusted anyone the way I trust her. Even when she's talking about me like I'm not here, I want her to know every part of me. And that can't happen if I'm constantly running scared at every hint of trouble.

I look up at the guys, surprised to see more of them have gathered. It looks like half the team surrounds this table now. "I'm sorry," I say, hating how difficult this apology is before I've really started. "I'm sorry I haven't trusted any of you, that I've been distant, that I haven't come out with you in months. Sorry I've been a terrible teammate and friend."

Everyone is quiet for a long time, many of them shooting glances at each other, and it's Wyatt who breaks the silence. "We haven't exactly made it easy on you."

I snort. "No, you haven't."

Quiet laughter spreads through the team, and I meet Carissa's warm gaze just long enough for her to give me a look that says something along the lines of, "I told you so." I don't know how she did it. She's been here for two weeks and pulled down immovable barriers like they were tissue paper, and she has left me completely thunderstruck.

As the guys start chatting about cars, I pull out my phone and send a text.

Cole:

Thank you.

I don't get a reply until several minutes later, when Carissa excuses herself to use the restroom. I've got a Coke in hand as I watch a few of the guys play a round of pool, but I'm content to lean against a wall and keep my focus on my phone for a minute or two.

Carissa:

You're welcome. But this is only the beginning.

Cole:

I'm sorry I avoided you this week.

Carissa:

Does this mean you'll start carpooling with me again?

Cole:

Only if you let me. I was a jerk.

Carissa:

You were, but I like to see the best in people.

Cole:

That's because you're the best.

Carissa:

I know.

Cole:

What's Freddie's real name?

Carissa:

You were right next to him all of practice this week and you don't know his name?

Cole:

We should be glad I've paid enough attention to know everyone's nicknames, all things considered. Cut me some slack.

Carissa:

Just this one. His name is actually Freddie.

Cole:

Huh. Why'd he get to skip the nickname plague?

Carissa:

I've been with the team less than two weeks. You've been here for TWO YEARS.

Cole:

Am I allowed to play the "got dumped" card?

Carissa:

That expires after three months.

Cole:

What about the "team grump" card?

Carissa:

I will admit you play the part well, but I don't think that's an excuse to not know your teammates. There are only 30 of you.

Cole:

How about "I didn't care about this team as much as I should have until you became a part of it"?

Carissa:

I'll allow that. But we should probably make a rule about no flirting over text, or it's going to be really hard to stick to the friend zone with you over there smiling like that.

I look up, finding her watching me from across the room with her bottom lip between her teeth. For the first time, I realize she's wearing an oversized navy Thunder t-shirt with our logo—a rugby ball with a lightning bolt in its center—plastered across the front. Her hair, curly as ever, spills over one shoulder, leaving the side of her neck bare. With her cutoff shorts and worn converse, she looks like she belongs here in California. Far more than she did the day she arrived .

The sight of her leaves an ache in my chest, and I turn back to my phone.

Cole:

Nope. If I can't flirt with you face to face, I'm not giving up my only avenue.

Carissa:

Are we sure it's better for us to stick to being friends?

No, I'm not sure. But something in my gut tells me to be careful. To take things slow.

With the way Carissa's looking at me, that's not going to be easy.