Holy shit. Itisthe football team. They’ve taken over the last couple of rows, loud and proud in their Waverly jerseys. And they have signs. The homemade kind. With glitter.
It’s an amazing show of support from our teammates. Actually, no, it’s sweet as hell. And I know without a doubt this is Austin’s handiwork. Is he here? Now? I try to locate him in the crowd, but it’s hard to see their faces from this distance, so I scan the signs, my chest warming as I read the sappy messages. My heart skips a beat when I spot one that says:Kennedy Carter: #93 on the field, #1 in my <3!
He came, and he brought the whole damn team. My throat begins to close up, and tears build at the corners of my eyes. Austin lifts the sign over his head, reminding me of that old movie where the guy rocks a boom box to try and woo the girl he loves. But unlike the guy in the movie, he’s not down and out. He wears a brilliant smile. Which I guess makes sense since he refused to acknowledge the fact that I broke up with him.
Cocky bastard.
I laugh in spite of myself, a spark igniting low in my belly.
He came. For me.
Despite everything. Despite the fact that I broke up with him. Despite the fact that I called him a coward when it was my own fear talking. It’s impossible to focus on the closing ceremonies, so I don’t bother to try. I keep my eyes locked on Austin. I can feel his beautiful blue eyes boring into me, so I’m not surprised in the least when he stands for the remainder of ceremony, declaration held stubbornly over his head.
When the emcee finally wraps up, I’m down the steps like a shot, fighting through the sea of bodies to get to the back of the auditorium. Because Austin’s right about one thing. We have unfinished business.
49
AUSTIN
The seaof people exiting the auditorium makes it damn near impossible to get to the stage. Which is ridiculous. At six-four, I should be able to shoulder my way right on through, but fighting against the tide of bodies is no easy feat. Especially with the giant poster board I’m toting. The thing’s massive, but no way was I leaving it behind. It’s part of my grand gesture.
I’m halfway to the stage when I spot her.
Kennedy.
She floats toward me, caught up in the mass exodus, determination burning in her eyes. She’s beautiful and fierce and she’s meeting me halfway. That has to be a good sign, right?
My heart beats double time as the distance between us closes. This is right. I can feel it in my gut.
We meet midway up the aisle and there are so many things I want to say to her, but I’m not sure where to start. I’ve given hundreds of speeches—to the team, in class, at fundraisers—but it’s hardly the same as pouring my heart out. Fact is, I suck balls when it comes to expressing my emotions. Probably should’ve practiced at home, but it’s too late for that now.
“Kennedy.”
“Nice sign. Love the glitter.” She gives me a tentative smile, but her arms are crossed over her chest. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out her guard’s up. Doesn’t matter. She’s here. I can work with it.
“Thanks. I made it myself.”
“I can tell.” Her lips begin to quiver and she presses them flat like it’d be the worst thing in the world to share a laugh right now.
I hate this distance between us. I sit the sign on an empty chair and take a step closer to her. She inches back like she thinks I’m going to go all caveman and sling her over my shoulder. Which is ridiculous, because that would totally be a last resort. “I know you said we’re over, but the thing is, I can’t accept that. I’ve never given up on anything in my life, and I’m sure as hell not going to give up on us. Not without a fight.”
She arches a brow, but I plow ahead before she can argue.
“The last couple of months have been some of the hardest of my life, but they’ve been made easier by having you at my side. Whether we’re fighting or playing ball or kissing, it doesn’t matter. You bring out the best in me and you make all the insanity—the press, the pressure, the speculation—easier to bear. Because it’s just static. None of it matters. Not when I’m with you.”
“Austin—” Whatever she’s going to say, the words die on her tongue and she bites her lip as if she can trap the rest inside. Fine by me, because I’m not finished yet. Hell, I’m just getting warmed up. My blood’s pumping fast and my skin’s hot and the desire to take her in my arms is so fucking strong it requires all my self-control not to act on it. As desperate as I am to touch her right now, she’s made it clear she needs space. I can respect that.
For now.
The last of the crowd trickles out of the auditorium, and I’m vaguely aware of the team gathering around us with their sparkly signs, but it doesn’t matter. They should hear what I have to say. Because with all the fanfare around the game, it’s easy to lose sight of what’s important, what really matters.
“I get it. I screwed up. I put the game before you, before my promise, and I broke your trust. I hurt you. Even though it’s the last thing I ever wanted to do, it doesn’t change the fact that I did it. I’m sorry. For all of it.”
She blinks up at me, her big dark eyes covered in a glassy sheen. Fuck. She’s going to cry. It’s probably not the first time. And it’s my fault. The knowledge is like a knife jammed between my ribs.
“You broke your promise and missed the competition for a meeting you didn’t even care about. How exactly do you think I should feel about that?”
“You should be angry. So be angry. Throw up your hands. Rage at me. Tell me I’m a selfish bastard. Just don’t walk away from me. Please.” I pause, my breath coming fast and hard. “We both know you’re not breaking up with me because you don’t care about me. You’re breaking up with me because you care too much. You’re afraid I’ll hurt you again, like your father did. But I’m not him, Kennedy. And if you give me the chance, I’ll prove it. Over and over. Every day. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust.”
