Page 37 of The Rookie's Second Chance

We'll figure it out. Together.

With that thought cradling my worries, I surrendered to sleep, hoping the dreams would be sweet indeed.

Chapter Seventeen

MANDY

Chopping the carrots felt therapeutic, the knife hitting the cutting board in a steady rhythm. I'd chosen spaghetti Bolognese because who the hell doesn't like a good pasta dish? I could do with comfort food and figured Jake could, too, with all this crap going on. The sauce was already bubbling on the stove, filling the kitchen with a rich, herby smell.

I paused, glancing around the empty kitchen. It was just me, which, let's be honest, was both a relief and a knot of disappointment. The house was too quiet, too big for just one person. I shook off the feeling and went back to my task. Focus on the now, Mandy. Make it perfect.

As I stirred the sauce, I let myself daydream a little. It wasn't wrong to want something, right? I knew Jake wasn't mine to want, but shit, the heart wants what it wants, and my stupid heart was practically beating out of my chest for the guy.

I caught myself pressing my lips together, a weird flutter in my stomach as I remembered the way Jake's eyes would linger on Kayla. I had no fucking clue what was going on between them, but I wasn't blind. They had... something.

"A spark," I muttered to the steaming sauce, my hand tightening on the wooden spoon. "But sparks can fizzle out, right?"

I added a pinch of salt, more out of restlessness than necessity. I knew I was playing with fire, staying here, cooking in his kitchen, pretending like I had a place in his life. But wasn't that the whole point? To make a place for myself?

I laughed, a short, sharp sound. It wasn't like I was planning to bunny-boil him into loving me. I just needed to... I don't know, shine a bit brighter when he was around.

I glanced at the clock. Where was he anyway? Probably with her. The thought left a sour taste in my mouth that no amount of culinary success could mask.

"Fuck it," I whispered to the empty room. "I'm not leaving. Not yet." I wasn't a quitter. I'd stick around because the Mandy I knew didn't back down from a challenge. Jake needed to see what he was missing, needed to realize I was right here, and I was fucking awesome.

I took a breath, letting the scent of the sauce calm me. Okay, maybe I was a bit obsessed. But I was here for Lexi, too, right? Right. I could multitask. Protect my friend and maybe, just maybe, turn Jake's head.

I plated the pasta, garnishing it with fresh basil leaves I’d torn with my own hands, making it look as inviting as possible. For a moment, I allowed myself the fantasy of him walking through the door, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the meal, the way they'd light up for her. I'd be cool, casual. I'd say something witty, and he'd laugh, and it'd be like all those stupid rom-coms where the guy suddenly realizes he's in love with the quirky girl next door.

I was elbow-deep in suds, scrubbing the saucepan, when I thought back to college. Freshman year, when Lexi and I were still getting our bearings as roommates and figuring out whether we would be friends or just cohabitants. God, there was this one party…

It was one of those college parties where the music was too loud and the beer too warm, a blur of faces and laughter in a cramped dorm room. I remember feeling out of place, clutching a red plastic cup like a lifeline as Garrett caught my eye.

I'd watched him from across the room, his arm slung casually around Lexi. He had that easy smile, that confident lean-against-the-wall stance that drew people to him. The kind of guy that never seemed to look my way, always laughing with the pretty girls, the ones who didn't try too hard, whose laughs were light and easy. Not like mine, which always sounded like I was trying to prove something.

He and Lexi started seeing each other within days of the semester beginning, and he was always in our room. I couldn’t stop myself from looking over at them, wrapped in each other’s arms, every damn night, wishing those arms were around me instead. Wishing that I could be wanted like that.

I leaned against the counter, letting the warm water run over my hands as the memory played out. I was jealous back then, green to the core, feeling like I was always on the outside looking in. It wasn't about any specific person, not really. It was about wanting to be seen, to be chosen. I wanted to matter.

There was a twinge in my chest, a tightness that echoed that old feeling. I turned off the faucet, watching the water swirl down the drain. It was that same old yearning, twisting up inside me now for Jake. I couldn't help but draw parallels, how history seemed keen on repeating itself.

I sighed, drying my hands on a dish towel, trying to shake off the past. "Get a grip, Mandy," I scolded myself softly. It's not the same. I'm not that insecure freshman anymore.

But the knot remained, stubborn and unyielding, as I remembered the end of that party. How I'd laughed too loud, drank too much, trying to make someone notice me. The details of the evening were hazy, the faces and conversations melting into a smear of insignificance.

I never wanted to feel that way again, like a secondary character in someone else's story. I wanted to be the lead, the one who caught the eye, held the interest. And so I fought against that old narrative, pushed it down where it belonged—in the past.

I went back to my meal prep, cutting the bread and laying out the dishes with more care than necessary. It was almost like setting a stage, each item deliberately placed. I'd make sure this evening would be different. I'd be different.

The kitchen was my domain—a fact that became clear as I navigated it with ease, a dance I'd perfected over the last few weeks. The sizzle of garlic hitting the pan was the score to my thoughts, as they often were when I allowed myself to slip into the past.

College—those years were a mixtape of highs and lows, and Garrett was a track that had been played too often in Lexi's room, our room. I remembered the way she had crumbled when he left, as if he'd taken pieces of her with him. And I, always the reliable one, had picked them up, one by one. It was during those tear-streaked nights and the coffee-fueled mornings that followed I had become her rock, her steadfast.

I shook my head, stirring the sauce with more vigor than necessary. "Not this time," I muttered. The sauce splattered, a droplet landing on my hand, the sting grounding me back to the present. The pain was fleeting, a spark then gone, much like the memory of Garrett.

My bond with Lexi was a tapestry of those moments—each thread a heartbreak, a celebration, a late-night secret shared between only us. It was intimate, exclusive, and damn, it was empowering. I had thrived in that closeness, had basked in the role of the one who was needed, who was essential.

I took a big scoop of the sauce with my ladle, pouring it artfully over the pasta, my mind whirling with a new determination. I wasn't just a consolation prize, a second choice, or a shoulder to cry on. No, I was a fucking prize, and it was high time Jake saw that too.

---