His chest thrums against mine, like a big purring cat. It’s infuriatingly soothing, damn him. Micah’s eyes are bright when he recovers, and he winks.
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Exactly. Dangerous, not funny at all,” I agree and then climb to my feet so I can stand over him, needing to be closer. I’m already warmer now that I’m wearing his shirt as well as the towel, but this is more than just feeling cold. I need to feel our bodies touching at every possible point. “I know what we said, but I also know what I feel.” I cringe and reach out quickly to cover Micah’s mouth with my hand.
“Shush! I really like what we have. Not just the sex, the…I like sleeping with you. And…and I like you. A lot. But I don’t want to push you into any commitment! As I said, I'm way too tired to be talking about this. Hell, I probably don’t even make sense. And after what happened tonight, we both owe it to each other to not jump into anything without really thinking about it.” I swallowthickly, shaking my head. “I don’t want…I don’t want to hurt you. But I also…right now, I don’t know if I could take any of this, so I really—” I take a deep breath, then groan when I realize I have no idea what to say next. “God, if only they covered this in that damn book too!”
“No,” Micah hums quietly, gently, his lips pressing against my palm. His hands, first a soft pressure, then a reassuring presence on my thighs, settle against my lower back. From there, they find their way under the big shirt until they’re fanned out, warming my naked skin, like two heating pads. “Sounds way better coming from you.”
“Okay, good, because that’s about as much talking as I can do right now.” I sigh, letting myself fall forward to bury my face against Micah’s shoulder. I have no idea if that’s even appropriate after what I just said, but I couldn’t care less right now. If Micah doesn’t feel the same for me, at least I’m sure I don’t make him uncomfortable. He’d tell me.
“You weren’t even finished.” Micah laughs, but he still hugs me, so maybe he doesn’t mind that much either.
“That was kinda it,” I mumble into his chest. “Need my bed…if you want, we could go together? Just sleep,” I clarify, although I probably don’t have to. If he let me, I could fall asleep right here against his chest, stiff neck and cold feet be damned.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Micah says, then does just that—gets up and simply takes me along with him.
I yelp, both in surprise and protest. The sudden movement makes me dizzy, and thankfully, he lets me slide down slowly until my feet are back on the floor.
“Show-off,” I grumble fondly when he just smiles. I still take his hand as we make our way across the hallway into my room.
Micah, August 17th
The sun is too bright for this early in the morning. It sits low over the field, blinding and unforgiving, turning the dew drops on the grass into sparkling diamonds. The air is humid from last night’s rain, the heat already pressing down on us, making the atmosphere thick and unbearable. Sweat gathers under my pads from the moment I step out onto the field, trying to locate whether the heaviness in my chest and limbs comes from outside or inside of me.
I’ve barely slept since Friday night, not even with Linden’s body curled up beside me on the mattress, his breath ghosting over my skin, one of his arms draped over my stomach, while I stared holes into my ceiling.
Olli was released from the hospital on Sunday. Vince picked him up while we all hovered awkwardly in the living room, trying to be there for each other and pretending nothing life-altering had happened at the same time.
Afterward, we spent an excruciating hour in silence, Olli disregarding me completely while I kept glancing at his face—one eye swollen almost shut and adorned by a dark bruise, hislip busted, his nose still crusted with some dried blood—until his parents rolled into our shabby driveway in a dark green Bentley. All of us retreated to the kitchen while their clipped murmurs filled the house, only disrupted by his mother’s clicking heels and Tibia’s tiny meows. When they left, the Nook felt five degrees colder.
“Man, you look like shit.” Evander trots over to me, helmet tucked under his left arm as he greets me with a fist bump. By now, the story of what happened to my roommate has made the rounds. So far, no one has asked me any questions, but I’m aware they're talking about me; I noticed earlier how their voices dropped when I passed them at the weigh-in.
“Charmer,” I snort as I drop onto the grass to start stretching. Evander copies me, hunching low, our cleats digging into the soft ground.
“How are you? And how’s Yardley?”
“Terrible, I guess. He didn’t speak to me at all after being released and then left with his family almost immediately. Linden says he’ll be staying with them while—” I break off before I can mention anything about the police investigation. It’s all up in the air for now—whether Olli will press charges, what will happen, and who was even involved. Linden, Sasha, and Vince went to the station on Saturday to give a complete statement of what they witnessed, while Marisol and I stayed behind, feeling useless. So far, no one has asked me about my account of Seb and Olli’s public fallout, which is probably secondary to everything else. We weren’t there for the attack after all, so we don’t have anything valuable to contribute except anger and helplessness.
“Fuck, man, I can only imagine,” Evander huffs, then ducks his head to look at me. “I just want you to know that we’re taking this shit seriously. Kappa Nu, I mean. The moment we know for sure who was responsible, those bastards will get kicked outon their asses. I already raised the issue with the prez and the board. It’s just that so far, no one has seen anything.”
I nod at that, murmuring a soft “appreciate it,” but inside, I’m less hopeful. I’m not involved in frat politics other than what I hear from my friends, but I doubt any of the guys involved will give up their identities voluntarily. So our only hope might be the girls’ video material. And even then, most of these kids have loaded parents, ready to lawyer up in an instant.
Our conversation is cut short when Coach Wagner steps through the sliding doors of the training facility, ball cap drawn deep into his face, clipboard in hand. For a moment, his gaze—hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses—wanders over us, then he raises two fingers to his lips, letting out a sharp whistle. The sound cuts cleanly through the low conversations around us, immediate silence falling over the field.
“Morning, gents,” Wagner says, and his greeting is met with a chorus of mumbles and murmurs. “Hope you all had a nice and restful weekend because we’re about to grind today.”
I almost snort at that—so the news hasn’t reached the school’s training and teaching staff yet. Or maybe what happened simply isn’t important to them, just a brawl between college kids. I wonder if that’s how they’ll explain it;ifthey have to explain anything at all. Maybe between classes starting back up and games looming over our heads and the general weight of the world in a constant state of crisis, no one will fucking care about what happened at a college beach party.
“Mahoney?!”
I’m so zoned out that I only react when Evander elbows me in the side. Everyone is staring at me expectantly, so I guess Coach’s been trying to catch my attention for a while.
I clear my throat, sheepishly rubbing the back of my neck. “Yes, sir, sorry. I—”
“Where’s Davenport?” he interrupts my apology, and my heart sinks immediately, a shiver running down my back. Turning my head, I peer over at the sliding doors as if expecting to see my best friend jog out of them, but they’re firmly closed. By now, I’m so used to Seb running late and sneaking onto the field just in time that I didn’t even notice his absence.
“He…I don’t know, sir. Probably stuck in traffic,” I answer lamely, my palms sweating when I think back to the dire warning Coach Wagner gave us the day I left with Linden for his parents’ farm.
