Player (What Happens on Campus Book 1)

by M L Sparrow

  “Hiya,” Riley chirped, “what ‘ya doing?”

  “Just reading while I wait for Parker.” Reflexively, she glanced down at her mobile, which was laying next to her, and saw that there was only fifteen minutes left until her next class. Frowning slightly, she checked to see if there were any texts waiting for her; it wasn’t like Parker to be late. Maybe he’d forgotten? But that wasn’t like him either.

  Typing out a quick text, she slid her mobile into her pocket and stood, packing all her things back into her bag, before saying goodbye to Riley and heading towards her class. Worry niggled at the back of her mind, but she pushed it away; he’d probably just gotten distracted and lost track of time.

  In class, she sat in the fourth row, not right at the back, but far enough from the front that the teacher wasn’t always picking on her to answer questions. This was her least favourite class – Creative Writing. Unlike Jet, she wasn’t particularly creative; though she loved reading and exploring others work, she never knew where to start when asked to write something of her own. However, her teacher was enthusiastic and fun, which made the class bearable.

  Having been set a task to begin brainstorming ideas for a short story, which they’d have to write next lesson, the class set to work, heads bent over notebooks or laptops. Chloe was chewing at the end of her pen, trying to think of something to jot down, anything really, when an image on the laptop belonging to the girl in front of her caught her eye.

  Looking up, she leant forward for a better look. Something was playing on the screen, it looked like the News. There appeared to be a pile-up at a cross-road somewhere in town. In the middle of it all was a bright red car, one side crumpled like a tin can. It looked like Dawson’s car… Oh God…

  She shot up. “Toilet, Sir.”

  Startled from whatever he’d been doing, sitting at his desk at the front of the class, Mr. Clarke looked up. Chloe was already scrambling past the others in her row, as he said, “Yes, yes, Chloe. Go ahead.”

  Rushing down the stairs, she didn’t even care about all the eyes that were watching her as she shoved open the door and all but ran out into the corridor. As soon as she was away from prying eyes, she fished her mobile from her pocket and dialled Parker number. Out in the fresh air, she paced back and forth in front of the building as the phone rang.

  Her heart was pounding against her ribcage so hard that it actually hurt. There was no answer. Hanging up, she tried again.

  “Hello,” a voice answered and finally she could breathe again.

  “Parker, where are you? Are you okay? You weren’t there at lunch, then I saw Dawson’s car on the News… at least I think it was Dawson’s car. I was probably just jumping to conclusions.” Now she was rambling. With a conscious effort, she forced her mouth to close and remain closed so that he could get a word in edgeways.

  “I’m fine, sugar,” he assured her, “but it was Dawson’s car you saw, some asshole rear-ended us, then some other dickhead crashed into the side. The car looks like it’s been run over by a steam-roller, but neither of us were hurt too bad.”

  “Where are you?” she choked out.

  “The hospital.”

  “Okay,” she took a deep breath to calm herself, “I’ll be right there.”

  “Sugar, you don’t need to come, they’re just gonna stitch me up and I’ll be out.”

  Stitch him up? Oh God, how bad was he actually hurt? Knowing Parker, he could have all the bones in his body pulverized and still insist he was fine.

  “I’m coming,” she repeated, “see you in a minute.”

  After saying a quick ‘I love you’, Chloe hung up and put her mobile away. For a moment she just stood there, wondering how the hell she was going to get to the hospital. She didn’t have a car so she couldn’t drive and even if she could she hadn’t driven since the accident, plus she didn’t know where the hospital was. She supposed she could call a cab. Even better, she remembered seeing Jet going into the classroom opposite hers as she was walking to class; he’d lifted a hand in greeting and smiled over the heads of the other students crowding the hallway.

  Determinedly, she headed back inside, stopping outside his classroom. Under normal circumstances she’d never have the confidence to do this, but her stomach was twisting itself into knots and all she could think of was getting to the hospital. Lifting a hand, she knocked on the door, before opening it and sticking her head inside. The teacher turned to look at her, as did the rest of the class. Immediately, her cheeks flamed, but she stood firm.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but could I see Jet for a minute.” When the teacher looked like he’d deny her request, she added quickly, “It’s really important.”

  He sighed reluctantly and nodded his head.

  Rising from the second row, Jet shot her a confused look as he gathered his stuff together and descended the stairs towards her. She’d left her bag in the classroom, she realized, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now; she’d just have to come back later and hope it was still there.

  “What’s up?” Jet asked as soon as the classroom door shut behind him.

  “Parker’s been in an accident and I need to get to the hospital now,” she said in a rush, “will you drive me?”

  “Jesus, yeah, of course. Is he okay?”

  “I think so, but I just need to get there.”

  “Okay, come on, my cars not far.”

  In the car, Chloe twisted her hands together, jamming them between her knees so that Jet wouldn’t see them shaking. She watched the scenery whizz past, but she wasn’t actually taking any of it in and, for once, she didn’t find herself analysing his driving, or cringing whenever he took a corner.

  All she could think about was Parker and the fact that she could lose him so easily, the crash was proof of that. Life was so short and, Riley was right, she didn’t think Jack would want her to be unhappy; he’d want her to live life to the full, with no regrets.

  They stopped at a traffic light and Jet reached over to squeeze her knee, making her jump. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she tried to smile, but failed miserably, “just worried.”

  The light flicked back to green and he returned his grip to the steering wheel, saying rationally, “If he answered his cell he can’t be hurt that badly.”

  That’s what she kept telling herself, but logic didn’t apply when pure panic ruled, old memories rearing their ugly heads.

  By the time they finally reached the hospital her chest was so tight that she felt like she was about to hyperventilate. She supposed she was in the right place if she did have an asthma attack. Jumping out of the car before Jet had finished parking, she slammed the door shut and left him to straighten-up as she rushed inside. The automatic doors were painfully slow, grating on her anxious nerves, and she slid through as soon as the gap was big enough, almost bumping into a man on the other side.

  The waiting room was packed with people, screaming children and moans of pain – one woman sat with her hand lifted, wrapped in a bloody towel and, as Chloe passed, a nurse came over and led her away. At the reception desk, she fidgeted impatiently as she waited for the harried looking receptionist to put down the phone and notice her.

  “I’m looking for Parker Mitchell, he was in a car crash,” she blurted as soon as the woman turned her eyes towards her.

  “Are you a relative?”

  They wouldn’t let her in if she wasn’t family. “I’m… his fiancé?”

  The other woman didn’t look convinced, but after a moment’s hesitation she sighed, glanced at the computer screen in front of her and then waved a hand over to the curtained off cubicles at the back. “Over there, last one on the left.”

  “Thank you,” Chloe called over her shoulder as she hurried away.

  It was impossible for her feet to get her there fast enough. Pulling back the curtain, she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Parker sitting on the edge of the gurney, his hat, of all things, beside him. There was a bump the size of a
n ostrich egg on his head and dried blood around his nose, but he smiled when he saw her and jumped down.

  “Bloody hell, look at your arm!” she exclaimed, examining his forearm, where a deep, angry red cut had been neatly sewn up from wrist to elbow.

  “Doc says I can’t play Saturday,” he frowned, by way of an answer.

  “Well yeah, you’d open it up and bleed to death.” She glanced around, realized he was the only patient in the cubical. “Is Dawson okay?”

  “He looks worse than me, but apparently it’s mostly cuts and bruises. Broke his arm though, so he’s not gonna be able to play for a while either. Coach ain’t gonna be happy.”

  “He should be glad you’re both alive,” she huffed.

  “Oh, he will be… once we’re both playing again.”

  Half laughing, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leant her head against his shoulder, holding him tight in case he slipped away. “I’m just glad you’re not seriously hurt.”

  Awkwardly, his injured arm went around her back and his other one lifted to stroke a hand through her hair. Dropping his head down so that his warm breath was against her ear, he murmured, “Sorry I scared you, sugar.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she spoke against his t-shirt, her words muffled by the material. Tipping her head back, she lifted a hand to touch his stubbled jaw. “Actually, it’s kind of made me think… Life is short and precious, and Jack wouldn’t want me to dwell on the past, so I need to stop feeling guilty. I’m not saying it’ll stop overnight, but I’ll try.”

  Open pride on his face, he kissed her lips. “We can make this work.”

  “Yeah,” she sighed, “we can.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Just as he’d thought, Coach was not happy to have both his first and second string quarterbacks out of action, but he’d found a replacement. Parker was pretty pissed off about missing the game too; there were going to be scouts there and he needed to get noticed if he wanted a shot at the NFL. On the bright side though, while his teammates were hot and sweaty, getting tackled by the beefy Mississippi team, he was getting tackled by someone with an entirely different build.

  Stretched out on the grass beside him, Chloe’s soft hair tickled his neck and he stroked the waves over her shoulder, smoothing them down her back. Skin warm from the sun, and slightly sticky from the gallons of sunscreen she insisted on wearing, she lay on her side, with her head resting on his good arm, drawing patterns on this chest through his shirt. He considered taking it off, so that he could feel skin on skin, but was too lazy to move when he was being petted so sweetly.

  There had been another nightmare last night, a bad one, but for some reason it didn’t bother him as much as it did before, probably because now he had her word that she was going to work through it. He no longer felt as if he would lose her to the guilt which spurred her nightmares. Now he knew she wouldn’t let it win, he knew she wouldn’t walk away.

  He knew she was just as committed to their relationship as he was, she showed him every day in the way that she touched him, but up until the other day he’d always had the strange, unnerving feeling that if things got bad, she would be the one to end it. Not because she didn’t feel the same things he did, but because she was stronger than he was.

  “What you doin’ for Thanksgiving?” he asked out of the blue, intending to ask her out for a special meal with him. Not the pizza shack, or Jenkins’, or the burger place, but a proper upscale restaurant. It would probably bankrupt him, but still, he wanted to do something nice for her.

  “I’m English, we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

  Pinching her butt in retaliation, he growled, “Well, I’m American and I do. So how about it? Dinner?”

  “Actually, Riley’s invited us both to go home with her for the weekend. I meant to say something last night, but you distracted me.”

  Groaning, he thumped his head back on the grass. “A whole weekend with Riley. She’s like the Energized Bunny on Crack.” Though he had always wanted to meet her dad; Troy Murphy was a legend in the footballing world and he was a little excited to meet him – like a kid on Christmas day! However, Chloe’s next words pulled him out of his thoughts and made him sit up and pay attention.

  “I’m kinda worried she might be on actual Crack.”

  Propping himself up on his elbows, though his arm screamed in protest, he frowned. “Seriously?”

  “I don’t know. She’s acting really weird, she’s even more manic than usual and she sleeps even less than I do. I don’t want to accuse her of anything in case I’m wrong, but something’s not right.”

  “Just go through her stuff.”

  “I can’t do that,” she said, aghast.

  “‘Course you can. I go through Jet’s stuff all the time.”

  “Why?” she gasped, before quirking one brow and asking seriously, “You’re not a kleptomaniac are you?”

  He laughed. “No, it’s just when I need stuff.”

  “That doesn’t make it right,” she shook her head, but she was grinning.

  “I go through your stuff too,” he informed her bluntly, smirking at the scowl on her face. “Mostly when I need to borrow a hairband.”

  “Hey, I wondered where they’d been going! Why can’t you return them when you’re done?”

  Shrugging, he lay back down. “I’ll buy you some new ones.”

  “Damn right you will,” she grumbled. “You know, when you start needing to borrow your girlfriends’ hairbands, it’s probably a sign that you need to get your haircut.”

  “I will.”

  “You better,” she said sternly, levelling a glare at him, “and before Thanksgiving too, I don’t want Riley’s parents thinking I’m dating the Mountain Man. Also, it wouldn’t kill you to shave a bit more often, whisker burn is not a good look on me.”

  “Yes, dear,” he teased, received a punch to the stomach in return, before she lay back down beside him.

  After spending the day relaxing in the sun together, his skin had darkened several shades, whereas hers had turned bright red, something she complained wholeheartedly about as she examined the strap marks that her dress left revealed.

  “I don’t want to go out looking like a lobster,” she groaned, slumping back onto the bed, one arm flung over her eyes.

  “Sugar, this was your idea,” he reminded her patiently, buttoning up his shirt, “I’m all for stayin’ here and keepin’ you all to myself.”

  “But I want to dance.”

  Sprawling out beside her, he traced a finger over the white lines her tank top had left on her shoulders, her skin slippery from all the moisturizer she’d slathered on herself in an attempt to stop her skin from glowing. “I’ll put some music on and we’ll have a private party.” Unable to help himself, he leant down to follow the path of his finger with his lips.

  Sighing softly, she relaxed beneath him for a moment, before her fingers curled into his long hair and pulled his head back. “Don’t try to distract me,” she scowled.

  Laughing, he shook his head to free himself, before standing up and pulling her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go. It’s already dark so no one will be able to see.”

  At the door, he waited as she slipped her feet into a pair of heels, before taking her hand in his and heading for another Beta party. Parker swore it was all the fraternity ever did; when they graduated the only thing they’d be qualified to become were party planners.

  When they got there he left Chloe chatting to some people from one of her classes and went to get their usual drinks. As he was pouring OJ into a cup for her, he felt a hand slide across his shoulders and smiled. “That was quick, sugar.”

  Nails scratched lightly against the back of his neck, making a shiver roll down his spine and not the good kind. Definitely not Chloe.

  Jerking around, juice sloshed over his hands and across the counter. “What the fuck, Karla?” he snapped. Standing behind him, she pursed her glossy lips in what was supposed to be a seductive s
mile. He just found it annoying.

  “Come on, Parker,” she purred, “don’t be like that. We used to be friends, didn’t we? I heard about the crash and just wanted to make sure my friend was okay.”

  “We were never friends,” he growled, batting away the hand that tried to trail down his chest towards the front of his jeans, “and I’m fine.” Grudgingly he added, “Thanks for asking,” as he turned away, swearing at the mess in front of him.

  A wet sniff made him glance back around. No fucking way was Karla crying, the girl had a heart of ice. “What are you doin’?”

  “There’s no reason to be so mean,” she sniffed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with one finger, before it had a chance to ruin her makeup. “I was just trying to be nice.”

  “Hey, stop that,” he snapped as she lifted her hands to hide her face and began sobbing in earnest. People were turning to look at them. He didn’t embarrass easily, but he could feel the back of his neck beginning to burn. He felt like a dick for making her cry, evil or not she was still a girl.

  Grabbing her elbow, he steered her out of the room and onto the back patio, which was thankfully quiet for the moment. Leaving the door open, he tried to step back but Karla wrapped her arms around his waist like an octopus and hung on.

  Awkwardly, he patted one of her shaking shoulders, “Come on, Karla, there was never anythin’ between us, you know that. It was just sex.”

  “Great sex,” she put in, face still pressed against his chest. “It was great sex admit it.”

  Sighing, he gripped her bare shoulders and pried her away, but suddenly she pushed upwards and her mouth collided with his, slim arms wrapping around his neck.

  It only took him a second to react, pushing her away as his other hand lifted to wipe his mouth, but even that was too long.

  “Fuckin’ hell, Karla!” he yelled, but she wasn’t paying attention to him. Miraculously dry eyed and with a smug smile on her lips, she was looking at someone in the doorway. Turning to see who it was, his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw Chloe standing there, a mask over her features as she surveyed the scene.