He grunted as a response, turning left onto one of the busy roads. For someone who survived a major accident, he didn't seem hesitant about driving. I still had nightmares about the night my leg got crushed, but they weren't as bad as they used to be.
Plus, no one died in mine.
I just had an absent father.
“Want to meet at the coffee shop tomorrow after your class? I might need some advice cleaning up my resume if I’m going to seriously consider next steps. It’s been a long ass time since I’ve made one. And I'm shit at writing fancy emails. Can you help?”
Then, he dropped a bomb that went straight to my sad, pathetic heart. “I trust you. I don't know when or how it happened, but I don't talk about this stuff with a lot of people.”
That swooping, dancing feeling began in my lower abdomen as I took in his words. “Yeah. I can help. We can meet there tomorrow. But I require ice cream.”
Pretty sure we had a weird, semi-date set up. Did he realize that? No, there was no way the thought crossed his mind. He wanted help with the application. That was it.
“Shit, ice cream sounds good. I'm a sucker for sweets.”
And, then, suddenly we had official plans to hang out that wasn't a date or a work-related function. I wasn't going to overthink it. Nope. Not at all.
There was no reason to worry or sweat or panic as I planned my outfit for the next day.
* * *
My class flewby while it also seemed to take forever. It made no sense, and I blamed Brock entirely for it. I couldn't focus on the discussions and presentation. I always answered questions and participated, but all I could think about was the coffee shop meeting. I refused to call it a date even though we agreed to eat food and hang out together. That had date-potential, but he was my boss, and he said nothing would happen.
Screw this. I was an idiot. We were friends. Colleagues.
“Grace, are you still with us?” my professor asked with a stern look on his face.
“Yes. I'm sorry.” I shook my head, hoping the thoughts would leave. My face flooded with shame as other students stared at me. “I've had a long day.”
“Haven't we all?” he said, not politely. “Anyways.” And he droned on about the application of athletic training into the real world. I’d already submitted the midterm project for the semester—a breakdown of all the injuries I had to do with the internship. It was real world, met all the guidelines of the assignment, and had to be the coolest project in the class. My confidence in the class was pretty strong until the end of the class when my professor said my name.
“Grace, can you stay after for a couple of minutes?” the professor said while the rest of the class was still present. It was so quiet you could hear a pin could drop. I swallowed to wet my painfully dry throat. This couldn't possibly be good.
I took a calming breath, biting the hell out of my lip so much it chapped. The students left, and I slowly approached the front table. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, it’s about your midterm project that you submitted last week. The file is corrupt. It won't open.” He pulled out his laptop, opening it and going into his email. “You don't strike me as a lying student from what I can tell. But, you were distracted today, and I can't help but feel this is a trick.”
What? No way. “Excuse me, did you say it didn't work?”
“Look. I'm trying to open it right now and nada.” He clicked the link I shared with him to my google drive. It came up blank. Nothing was there. “I know you've been working the internship and must have multiple experiences you could present. I thought this was odd.”
“I swear to you sir, this was an accident. I saved it. I know I did.” My eyes began to sting, small sobs trying to escape my throat. If I lost that fifty-slide presentation, I would cry. I would cry so hard. “What do I do?”
“Don’t panic. Take a breath. You have full marks in everything here. I know your work ethic.” Mr. Davidson smiled, patting my hand in a fatherly way. “I spoke with Mr. Anderson about you, and he had nothing but raving remarks. Take until Thursday, try to email it to me again, or bring it on a jump drive.”
“Okay,” I said, breathless. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll go do it right now.” I swallowed the tears back, the pit in my stomach growing at an alarming rate. I needed to work, right freaking now. “I'll be here Thursday.”
I waved, running out of the room with my backpack and anxiety. The file. It was on an external hard drive. It was at the apartment. That was at least a thirty-minute walk. Shit. Deep breath. Nothing too serious happened, just the potential to fail a class needed to graduate.
No freaking big deal.
My phone dinged as I started my route home, and I completely forgot about the coffee date with Brock. I stopped walking as it hit me—he had a car! I could beg him for a ride home. I took off toward the quaint coffee shop.
I chose to wear simple skinny jeans and a funky sweater. It was so different from the athletic gear I normally wore. Brocks eyes about popped out of his head when I opened the door. To be fair, it also could've been the sweat on my face and my wild eyes.
“What happened?” he asked, standing up and looking around like I was being chased. “Grace, what's going on?”
“Can you drive me homerightnow?”
