People in the hospital warned me I might get a slightcase of PTSD when resuming normal activity, but the gripping fear in my chest wasn't from my concern that I might tear my ACL again. My ACL got torn because our opponent from Westpoint University kicked my knee out of place.
It was sabotage.
Anger washed over me, and I found my hand forming a fist to control the sudden rage building inside me. I was constantly angry over my situation. I spent the whole last semester and summer angry at the world for my injury.
I thought being back home with my friends would dull that pain and anger, but I couldn't pretend like the last couple of months didn't happen.
They did, and they affected me more than I wanted to let on.
I was always the lighthearted, fun friend. But ever since returning, it was hard to resume that role.
Especially when all I craved was revenge, and I was stripped of the opportunity.
The player who caused my injury, Ander Sanchez, was removed from the team because of other things he did, no surprise there, but I couldn't get my revenge.
I was just supposed to move on.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I fished it out, staring at the address in Google Maps and figuring out where to park on that narrow street if I ever decided to go.
“Hey,” Aaron whistled as he rushed down the stairs, phone in hand, and concern painting his face. Oliver followed close behind as they both approached the beer pong table.
“Yeah, I'm joining back in,” I nodded, pocketing my own phone. “What's up with that?” I motioned to him as he waved his phone around.
“You didn't drink anything, right?” he asked me pointedly, his blue eyes narrowing.
I shot him a dark look. “Unfortunately, no.”
“Great, can you go pick Rosie up?” he asked, and withoutwaiting for an answer, my phone vibrated. “I dropped you the address.”
“Is she at a party?” I asked with a sigh, concern igniting within me. Picking up my teammate's little sister was not on my agenda. Then again, anything is better than not playing soccer or drinking. “Is she drunk?”
“She should be waiting outside,” Aaron said, avoiding most of my questions.
“Is she alright?” I asked pointedly, my heart speeding up. “Did something happen to her?”
“I don't know, dude,” Aaron snapped at me, annoyed, but worry swam in his eyes. “She called me crying. She went to a party to meet up with a guy she liked. I only made sure she wasn't raped before I told her to go outside and that I would send someone to pick her up. So, please stop asking me stupid fucking questions and go get my sister.”
Aaron using the word please cut me, because it meant Rosalie was really upset. Nova gasped behind me, and I felt Ivy's jasmine scent shift closer to me as well.
Everyone was so overprotective of Rosalie, but I didn't blame them. I felt the same way. She was everyone's baby sister and a constant ray of sunshine during my recovery, where all the girlfriends and sisters of the team helped me out. It was infuriating the way they doted on me, but Rosie was the least annoying out of all of them. Plus, she baked for me and was terrible at every card game.
The thought made me smile. We hadn’t talked much over the summer break. It was an understatement that didn't quite capture how much her absence had affected me.
At first, the texts came regularly. How are you? How's physical therapy? Did you try that new coffee place? But somewhere around mid-June, her replies got shorter. Then slower. By July, they'd stopped altogether.
I told myself shewas busy, reconnecting with her old dance friends and enjoying the summer. I told myself not to read into it, that we'd pick up where we left off in the fall.
But I'd missed her. More than I wanted to admit. More than it made sense for someone who was supposed to be just a friend.
“I'll go get her,” I nodded, picking up my keys from where I’d thrown them. “I will be there in ten.”
“Thank you,” Aaron nodded, visibly relieved as his shoulders sank.
I only nodded to him and to the others before I slipped out and made my way to my car as fast as I could.
By the time I arrived at the frat house, dread and worry swirled around in my stomach. Rosalie was a sophomore, and she had navigated the party scene last year. We didn't cross paths at many of them, but I did hear her mention parties in passing.
It was out of character for her to need a rescue.
