I never should have let my life fall into the palm of his hands. My heart used to be there, but I retrieved it years ago, only after he shattered it. There are a few bruises on it, a few indentations from where his fingers held it tightly.
I wonder what those fingers would feel like on my body. Where he’d leave bruises if he…focus, Sutton.
Cooper Carmichael has always been attractive. Even as a kid when he hadn’t grown into his body. His limbs long and gangly, muscles pre-developed and softer. Or when he decided he had to have frosted tips, the bleached blond quickly fading to a rusty orange.
He was my first crush, which I chalk up now to being because of how nice he was to me. Besides Meave, no one asked me to play or wanted to be my friend. Being Cooper’s friend was like being picked first for recess kickball every single second.
In middle school it crossed my mind what it might be like to hold his hand.
In high school it crossed my mind what it might be like to kiss him.
In college, apparently, I think about what it would be like to do a whole lot more with him. This isn’t the first time it’s crossed my mind or my dreams.
Because behind my dislike of him, every way that he makes me furious, how he hurt me, or ruined my future, there’s still the six-year-old girl stretching out her hand to the boy with sparkling brown eyes and a friendly smile.
Too bad time machines don’t exist.
I reach for the notebooks I laid out, strewn across the table with sticky notes and highlighted notes circled three times. I pack up my belongings. Shove them into my tote bag and stand from the wooden table in the library study room we had agreed to meet in.
I tap on my phone to check our texts. Yup, says two. It’s now half an hour past that.
Instead of walking home, I take a left out of the building with a gut feeling. Pass between more brick academic buildings and the conservatory before I need to cross the street.
My foot taps mindlessly as I wait for the light to change. I click the button to cross the street again.
“Wait!” it shouts out to me. The robotic voice boils my blood. A taunt. A reminder.
I’ve been waiting. Years worth of waiting, and instead of apologizing, he dug a deeper grave. Chasing me around like a pawn on a chess board. Chased me here.
I was so excited about my signing day. I was the first female hockey player from our high school to be recruited to play Division I. I knew Cooper was being recruited, even someone living under a rock would know. He’s the best.
Mom and Dad hadn’t told me which school he chose. Probably because I was lucky enough that Lakeland even wanted me still. My scholarship and place on the team contingent on my recovery after colliding with another player in a game last season—I should have seen her coming, been smarter about maneuvering around her or passing off the puck, but I was distracted. All I could focus on was what Cooper did, our fight earlier that day.
A silent growl works its way through me as I think back.
I fixed my hair three times. Re-rolled the sleeves of my shirt to the perfect cuff. Made sure none of the patches Meave helped me iron on a pair of overalls were loose..
Walking into the auditorium where my high school hosted signings, my assigned table was set for two. I sat down, confused. Five minutes later Cooper walked in through the same door, a Lakeland hockey sweatshirt on and his brown hair tucked into a backwards hat.
“You did this on purpose,” I whisper-growled when he sat down to my right.
Cooper leaned into me, turning his head so that only I could hear him. “The school had everything I wanted.”
“A spot for a short hockey player?”
Cooper laughed.There was a melancholy to it that now that I think about it, isn’t there anymore.“Exactly,” he said.
“You can’t just let me go, can you?”
“No, I can’t.”
“You don’t know me. I don’t know you. As soon as we get there, you get that?”
“Whatever you say, Dave.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“What should I call you then?” He paused, inched closer. “Mine?”
