Of course, she was.
It felt like a mini ambush, in a way. Best friends were supposed to support each other; not spring shit on them that could throw off their whole day.
Or week.
Or month.
Hell, it’s probably going to change the trajectory of my whole life, and all we had, was one, measly conversation over lunch. Forty fucking minutes.
I could picture the look on Bea’s face the moment Cassandra walked into Bridie’s. Smug as fuck, with her plan already in motion.
She meddled immediately.
I guess she was just making up for lost time, considering she didn’t get the chance to meddle in school.Very on brand for Bea.
While I’d admired Cassandra as she sat across from me, I didn’t miss the sadness all over her face—which she tried to disguise with a smile—and the size of her tiny frame.
She spoke briefly about the work she’d done over the last few years, but I was too focused on trying to read her. Trying to figure out if she was okay. Trying to get her to tell me what happened with Austin without outright asking the question.
When she finally said the words, "Austin and I broke up," I could tell there was more to it, but I wasn’t in a position to pry. We might have been friends years ago, but now we’re practically strangers.
Plus, she would have told me if she wanted to.
I would’ve loved to just sit in her company, listening to her soft, husky voice as she spoke for hours, but my phone had other plans for me. It beeped three times to remind me that my next meeting was quickly approaching, so I had to watch her leave.
Again.
Only this time, I knew that her leaving would be temporary and I wouldn’t have to wait years for her to come back.
When I was sixteen, I thought I knew what it meant to be in love. I thought Cassandra Herring hung the damn moon. She was so special to me, but my priority was always football and getting a scholarship to a good school, and I watched as Austin snuck in to get the girl.
When I went to college, I moved on.
I’d never fallen in love or had my heart broken. I never even came close. Because just like high school, football and getting drafted was my priority, and I don’t regret it.
I achieved more than most, and my career was only just getting started.
I was the youngest person to ever win MVP and be submitted into the Hall of Fame, setting records upon records.
But now that Cassandra Herring is back in Grangewood, it almost feels like the universe is giving me a do-over, in a way.
Testing me to see what I would do now, given I’m more confident in myself, no longer focused on football, and don’t have a giant roadblock in my way by the name of Austin Anderson.
Even sitting with her for lunch was a test.
She had a way of making even the most mundane things sound interesting. She could have spent two hours detailing a park bench, and my attention never would have strayed.
Thankfully, she’d written her number down on the back of an old receipt, and I’d clutched it in the palm of my hand before copying it into my phone.
I saved her number under the nameHerringand placed the receipt in my pocket.
Just in case.
Staring at my lock screen, I decide to text my best friend to thank her for my unannounced, but very welcome, visitor.
Me: Really, Bea?
Bea:Happy to help, stud. Shoot your shot, or whatever the kids say these days.
