by McKinley May
Not only that, he was like a broken-record of Lexie when it came to working things out with Vaughn. I swear those two conspired behind my back because it was the exact same speech. But I didn't waver on that, either. I tried to explain that I screwed up and it's too late, but—just like my roommate—he didn't see it that way.
“Whoo!”
A cheer as Emily spikes the twenty-fifth and final point over the net snaps me back to the game at hand.
I jog to the fold-out chairs on our sideline and take a seat with my team. Grabbing my water bottle, I take a huge gulp as we rest up for Set Three.
I'm rearranging my left knee-pad when I hear the heavy thud of the gym doors opening. I don't give it a second thought as I shift to adjust the opposite knee.
“Em, you're a rockstar out there,” I say as I give the knee-pad one last tug and straighten back up. “Seriously, without you we'd be—”
My sentence falters when I notice Emily's focus is elsewhere. In fact, all of my teammates are completely distracted. Each one is staring in the direction of the bleachers, eyes glued to the source of their odd fascination.
Wondering what the hell could be that interesting, I follow their gaze.
And I so wish I hadn't.
Because the moment my eyes land on the familiar subject walking towards the stands, my body goes crazy. Cheeks burning like molten lava, heart threatening to go into cardiac arrest, legs jittery and restless as I get a glimpse of Vaughn for the first time since we broke up.
I've tried to convince myself on numerous occasions that I was fine without him, that I was over him and everything we once had. But seeing him here, climbing up the metal bleachers in his stark-white soccer jersey, that's just not true.
It's not true in any sense of the word.
I snatch my water bottle back off the ground and pull it to my dry lips. I'm sipping on it—concentrating on blocking my red-stained cheeks and giving my hands something to do besides shake—when I realize it's freakin' empty and I look like a raging idiot.
And then I see something else that makes me feel like even more of a fool—there's a girl following him.
My heart plummets to the floor.
But before the angry, jealous thoughts can zip their way to the surface, the duo turn down a row and I get a good look at the girl's face. Relief washes over me as I immediately recognize her: Sydney.
I feel a twinge of pride as I watch them interact, body language and facial expressions indicating there's no bad blood between them. Sydney was a tough one to crack, but it looks like I managed to get through to her.
A tiny smile fights its way onto my face. At least something positive came out of all this.
The ref signals for us to return to the court. I run out there, ignoring my teammates who have now switched their unrelenting attention to me and my reaction to Vaughn's presence.
I tell myself to pretend he's not here. Yep, no ex-boyfriend in sight. The stands are still occupied with our usual fans—Warrior Gym's janitorial staff and the occasional student who stumbles in by mistake in a study-induced exhaustion.
My pupils, however, refuse to comply with my little game. They involuntarily drift towards his face, and of course he's staring straight at me.
The moment those electric blue eyes pierce mine, pangs of sadness strike like miniature bolts of lightning in my body.
I miss you.
The thought flies through my head before I can stop it. I swallow and try not to react, but then he smiles. It's the same adorable grin I've seen on his face a hundred times before, but this time it's different.
It hurts.
It hurts because it's not mine anymore.
I break eye-contact and abruptly bend down to tie my already-tied shoelaces. Bailey jogs up, nudging my shoulder to get my attention.
“I thought you two broke up?” She vocalizes what the rest of the team is obviously thinking. Her eyes flick towards the bleachers in confusion.
“We did,” I mutter.
“Could've fooled me. My ex never looked at me like that...Never showed up at my games, either.”
She jogs off as I think about it. She does have a point.
What is he doing here?
The ref blows her whistle to start the set, and I refocus on the game. Vaughn may have put a slight hitch in my concentration, but I don't let that affect me. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's tune out my surroundings. I zone in on the court, blocking out everything except my team and the ball, and then I just play.
I play like it's the freakin' Olympic try-outs and I'm gunning for a spot on the squad. I make some nearly-impossible digs, I serve up more than a few aces, and I lead my team to a 25-10 match-winning set.
The moment that ball hits the ground with the game-winning point, I'm already half-way off the court. I shove my water bottle, phone, and keys into my bag and hastily wave goodbye. Pretty sure there's a post-game trophy celebration since we ended up third place in our division, but I'm not sticking around to find out.
I take a stealthy glance up in the stands, relieved when I see Vaughn mid-conversation with a red-headed woman in business attire. I estimate I have less than a minute to make a surreptitious getaway if I want to avoid any face-to-face interaction.
I still don't know what he's doing here, but I'm not sure if I want to know. Because if this is some attempt at closure, a final “goodbye” and “have a nice life” for his peace of mind, I'm going to breakdown right here in this smelly gym. And I can't handle that yet.
Because even though I told myself I was, I'm not ready for closure. Nowhere near ready to admit things are truly over.
I'm speed-walking towards the exit, a few feet away from the double doors, when Sydney steps out from under the bleachers.
Damn.
Caught red-handed in the midst of my escape.
“Rayne! Hi!” Her almost-black hair tickles my cheek as she yanks me into a huge hug. “It's so nice to finally meet you in person. Talking on the phone and emailing wasn't enough!”
She releases her grip and I put on a smile. “It's nice to meet you, too.”
And I really do mean that.
Vaughn was spot on when he speculated we'd get along well. The moment I got her on the phone, it was like chatting with an old friend. After a few more conversations, I was already starting to think of her as my own sibling. Unfortunately, I don't know how well the whole “BFF with my ex's sister” is going to work out.
I gaze up at her, not surprised to find she's even more stunning than her social media profiles let on. Her face is angular and structured—almost statuesque—just like her brother's. Seriously, the Steel's genes are out of this world.
I inch slowly to the right. I know the longer I stand here, the higher the chance Vaughn's going to pop up from around the corner.
“I hate to cut this short, but I actually need to head out. I have a ton of work to do. Finals coming up and all that.” I take a step forward, trying to appear apologetic as I bail.
“Wait.” She holds a hand out like a crossing-guard, refusing to let me by. “Vaughn needs to talk to you.”
“I don't know if that's a good idea,” I mumble.
“Why not?”
Because I'm a coward who's terrified of what he's going to say! I want to scream. Because I want to fight for him, but I’m scared to death his mind is made up.
I merely shrug in response.
“Look, you convinced me to talk to him when things between us were rocky. Now it's my turn. This is important, Rayne.” She places her hands on my shoulders, dark-blue eyes shadowed in perseverance. “Give him five minutes.”
I let out a frustrated breath, the outcomes of this encounter flashing through my head.
What if this turns into me begging him to give me another chance and he refuses? What if he wants to let me know he’s moved on and has started dating someone new? What if this attempt at an amicable parting hurts even more than the first?
I snap myself out
of the ridiculous worst-case scenarios. Whatever happens, happens. If this is what he needs to move on, then I respect that. The least I can do is hear what he has to say. If anything, this is my last chance to tell him how truly sorry I am.
“Okay,” I give in. Sydney smiles and straightens back up.
“I’ll go get him. He was busy talking to—well, you'll see soon enough. Stay right here!”
She takes off in another direction and I take a seat on the bottom bleacher, staring as people brush past. A few moments go by before I hear his voice to my left.
“Rayne.”
Jesus.
My heart's a drippy mess, melting into a giant puddle just hearing his sweet, buttery vocals. It's been so long since I've heard him speak. I can't imagine there's anything better than that in this entire world.
But I'm 100% wrong about that. Because when I stand up and he wraps his arms around me, I'm dangerously close to bursting into happy tears at how perfect it feels.
When I'm in his embrace, it's like nothing's changed, no time's passed. Fingertips lightly dance over my thin shirt as he tugs me closer. I nuzzle my nose into his chest, breathing in that comforting, masculine scent.
I don't want him to let go, but eventually he pulls back, gently cupping the back of my hair with his hand as he does. He tilts my head up so I can see the gentle smile that breaks across his face.
“You're damn good at volleyball.”
“Thank you,” I say politely, doing everything I possibly can to remain composed in his vicinity. I nod to his attire. “How was your game?”
“Good. Won two to zero.”
“That's great,” I say, not the least bit surprised at the victory.
His eyes go solemn as he lowers his hand from my head. I swallow nervously, preparing myself for whatever's coming my way.
“I miss you, Rayne.”
Ugh, why does he have to make this so hard?
“I miss you, too.” I take my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down mercilessly as I try to rival the pain shooting through my system. “God, I really miss you.”
He opens his mouth to say something—no doubt the incoming “but” that threatens to crush my soul—but the dam that is my lips has broken, and my apology comes pouring out in a tumble of relentless waves.
“I’m so sorry, Vaughn. You don't know how sorry I am. I realize it won't change anything, but I need you to know how much I regret everything, how bad I feel about the entire situation, and—”
He shakes his head and stops me. “I read your article.”
“What? What are you talking about?” My brows scrunch in confusion. “How?”
“The 'how's' not important. What's important is that I read it, it's fucking amazing, and you owe me an explanation. Why the hell didn't you tell me you didn't put any of that shit in there?”
“I don't know,” I explain with a sigh. “Because I was going to put it in there, Vaughn. And to me that's just as bad. Just as wrong.”
“Dammit, Rayne.” He threads his fingers through his hair in anguish. “That makes zero sense. Considering doing something and actually going through with it are two very different things.”
One side of his mouth turns up. “Here's an example: almost every day I consider suffocating Weston in his sleep with a pillow, but I don't act on it.”
I try to muster up a smile, but it falls flat. “That's not the same and you know it. Can you seriously tell me you can trust me again, Vaughn? You have every right to be mad at me. To be furious with me.” I look down at the floor. “I understand.”
“Rayne, look at me,” he commands sternly. My eyes slowly rise to meet his. “Yeah, I was mad at you. I'm still a little frustrated with you, but not because of that. Because you should've just told me the truth. Because you shouldn't hoard all this guilt inside when it's not even fucking necessary.”
He reaches out, brushing a hand against my cheek. “And I already do trust you, Rayne. You know why? Because despite what you continue to tell yourself, you didn't do anything wrong. If anything, you stood up for me when you quit the paper. You did the most loyal thing you could’ve done in the situation—you protected my past. I need you to see that, okay?”
My heart pitter-patters as I nod in response.
It's funny how everyone around me can tell me the same damn thing, but when he says it, it's like I finally get it, like his words have some penetrable, magic touch that allows me to get out of my head and examine it with a clear mind.
“And I forgive you, Rayne. I forgive you for the emails, for whatever plans you had, for everything.”
“Are you sure?” I question.
“Positive.” He tilts his head. “But I need you to forgive yourself first.”
He raises his eyebrows, waiting for my response.
I take a deep breath in, lungs filling to the brim with cold air. When I let it out, I try to release everything that's weighing on my shoulders, everything that's bogging down my mind and causing me to drown in guilt.
It's not gonna all happen right this second, but I can slowly let go as time goes by.
He seems satisfied and leans in to hug me again. “I just want to put all this behind us, babe. Let's forget about everything and pick up where we left off.”
“I want that more than anything, Vaughn,” I mumble softly as I pull back.
“Me too.” He grins. “Just think. If you'd only let me read the special early edition of the article, we never would've had this problem to begin with,” he says with a teasing smirk.
“You should've pushed me harder for it!” I laugh, but my face quickly darkens as I think about the feature. “This entire thing was for nothing, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, none of it matters anymore. I'm not going to be a sports journalist.”
“Yeah?” Vaughn's mouth curls into an amused half-smile. “And what exactly are you going to do instead?”
I clear my throat. “Uh, accounting.”
“Accounting?” Deep laughter erupts from his chest.
“I don't know what you find so funny.” I cross my arms defiantly. “I’ve got an appointment with my advisor this week to switch my major. I want to be accountant.”
“No, you fucking don’t,” he states in a bemused tone.
“Yes, I do.”
He snorts. “You despise anything that has to do with numbers and math. And you suck at it. Not the best combination for a future accountant.”
“Not true. I'll have you know I'm getting an A in Calculus, you big jerk!” I frown as I consider his other comment. There's really no denying that I hate the subject, but that's not gonna stop me. “And I'll learn to like it.”
He blows out a puff of air and rolls his eyes as I start listing the reasons why accounting would be a suitable career choice for me.
I'm on bullet point number six when I notice that same red-headed woman Vaughn was chatting with earlier gazing at us with eager eyes.
My voice trails off and Vaughn turns around to follow my puzzled stare. He catches her eye, and—to add to my complete confusion—begins waving her over.
He turns back to me and grins. “As interesting as your reasons are for the career change, I get the feeling you're about to reconsider your options,” he says confidently. He shoots me a cocky wink before pivoting and strolling off.
As Vaughn saunters past the woman, she smiles and nods, almost as if she's confirming something.
I have a strong inkling that conversation in the bleachers wasn't their first.
When she walks closer and I can make out her facial features, I realize I've seen her before. Was she on a sitcom? Maybe a reality TV show? I definitely recognize her from something.
She approaches and sticks a hand out in introduction. “Hi, Rayne. It's a pleasure to meet you. I’m—”
“Georgia Barnett!” I blurt out, finishing her sentence for her as it clicks in my mind. “I remember watching you in the Women's College World Series when I w
as younger. You were the best pitcher Florida's ever had.”
Georgia's jaw drops in surprise. “Wow. You do know your sports. I'm impressed. I haven't played softball since nineteen—” She stops herself with a small laugh. “Well, in lieu of aging myself, let's just say it's been a long time.”
I sit there slightly star-struck for a moment before the confusion comes rushing back in. What is she doing here? And how does she know my name?
It's like she can read my mind because she immediately begins to explain herself. “I’m the founder of On the Court sports news. Have you heard of us?”
I slowly shake my head.
She nods. “Not too surprising considering we haven't launched yet. We're an up-and-coming sports media network made up of former collegiate and professional athletes.”
