Ashford Crawford blinks. His smile is gone. I turn and walk toward the gym exit, calling out just as the bell rings.
“That goes for all of you. Jocks, mathletes, artists. Doesn’t matter. You want to pass? You will put the work in; otherwise, you will be sitting on the sidelines of your activities.”
I quickly lock the gym door as I hear the echo of locker doors slamming shut. I scurry between the noisy teenagers yelling across the busy halls to each other about practice. I’m in a rush to leave the smell of sweat, floor polish, and the lingering smell of today's lunch behind.
I am almost to the exit when the pain and memories close around me, suffocating me. I just need to get outside. Just to breathe. A few more feet to the exit, to fresh air, then a blur crashes to the floor in front of me with a yelp.
I look down and see those paint-covered overalls on the ground with her belongings scattered around. She is grabbing at her bags and getting to her knees, trying to stand up. Reflexes kick in, and my hand is wrapping around her elbow and helping her to her feet.
Our eyes lock, and the emeralds in her eyes stare at me, love, loss, and pain reflected back at me. It’s just like the day sheshoved my hoodie into my arms, mascara running, heartbreak written all over her face.
She stiffens under my touch, like it’s burning her. Jerking her elbow away from me, she uses her bags as a shield. She spins and quickly walks away, leaving a trail of fresh strawberry, blood orange, and jasmine petals in her wake. Noises dim around me as the scent awakens my senses. It’s missing the faint scent of turpentine.
“Stella. Wait, please. Can we talk?” I rush out while I lift my hand, reaching for her like I still have the right to. Before my words can even reach her, she is out the front doors of the school.
“FUCK”, I mutter under my breath, and kick at the ground like there is a ball in front of me with a sigh. I exit the building and walk towards the practice facility.
I was planning on going home and working on some curriculum plans that might get the kids involved, but I am suddenly on autopilot. I walk through the heat and change, then head straight to the weights.
Lifting more weights than I have since my injury, it feels almost punishing. I lose track of the reps, and I am sure my playlist stopped a while ago, but I keep pushing myself.
My mind is running rampant, the sound of her laugh echoing through my head. With shaking hands, I drop the weights down and hop on the treadmill for cool-downs. Memories of the beginning and the end of Stella and me flood through my memories for the entire hour and a half that I work out.
My parents went through a nasty divorce my freshman year of high school. It broke my mom, and my dad just lived his life. He secured one of the top positions at a law firm in Agave Hills. I begged him not to make me go, but we both knew my mother was in no place to take care of me. After a grueling summer of5 am workouts and practices to prepare for football tryouts, I started my sophomore year at Cordova Linda.
Making Jr. Varsity meant I had to work twice as hard in football just to be on the field for game days. I was twice as good as any other player, but the coaches made me prove it with my sweat.
Having Stella as a friend was the best part of school. We shared a passion for music and the love of art. She loved painting, and I loved watching her paint.
It was a cloudy January afternoon. The windows and doors in her studio were open. Stella loved days like that.
I quietly walked in, My Immortal drifted from the speakers, the aching piano, an ethereal voice spun from heartbreak.
I stood there leaning against the wall, my arms folded across my chest, entranced by her movements. The way she transformed the song into this hauntingly beautiful still frame. It was then that I knew I couldn’t go another day without her knowing how I felt.
Unease rolled through my body, unsure if she even felt the same for me.
Her hand was elegantly gliding the brush filled with deep purple across the canvas. A chilly breeze blew through the studio, and she stopped with her brush mid-stroke. Slowly, she spun her stool around to face me. She was covered head to toe in paint. I can still picture the deep blue streaks across her face and the canary yellow in her hair. She had never looked more beautiful.
I knew if I didn’t tell her right then, I would chicken out, and it would never happen. I closed the gap between us in just a few strides. She stood up just as I was in front of her, and looked up at me with that smile. The one that always made my knees weak.
I tucked a piece of yellow-covered hair behind her ear, my hand resting on her face. I leaned down and cupped her face with my other hand, and our lips met.
She sucked in a quick breath, but didn’t pull away. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me closer. Without saying a word, we both confessed that love was building between us.
We spent the next year and a half sharing our darkest secrets and wildest desires, which led to a whirlwind, once-in-a-lifetime kind of love.
It’s been two years since Stella ended it all over the biggest miscommunication. My feelings for her haven’t changed. I’m still madly in love with her. She is the only person who knows me inside and out.
I have to prove that I am not the failed athlete, the broken son, or the man who hurt her. I will prove to her that I am here to love and support every dream of hers.
The first step is getting her to talk to me.
Stella
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck,” I mumble as I sprint through the hall and crash through the front entrance of the school.
I don’t look back. I’m not sure if I could handle seeing a broken look on Donovan’s face. I am just not ready to talk to him, to tear open these old wounds.
