Page 6 of Spring Tide

Outside of her graduate courses, Taylor bartends at a nightclub in the city. She’s a true Reynolds, through and through. What can I say? The two of us were born into a hardworking family. With six siblings total and two blue-collar parents, it’s simply in our bones.

As soon as I hear the heavy slam of the front door, a deep breath escapes my lungs. I nearly collapse onto the couch, but one last thread of restraint stops me in my tracks. I need to ice this shit, pronto.

After retrieving a gel pack from our freezer, I carefully hobble back into the living room. With shaking hands, I shimmy out of my jeans until I’m limping along in my boxers. Then I brace myself into a sitting position, hoist my leg onto a pillow, and cautiously unwrap the ACE bandages holding me together.

Oh, fuck.

My left knee is purple, swollen, and stiff as hell. This shit looks bad, but maybe I overworked myself today. Maybe, if I can manage to take it easy for the next week, then everything will be just fine.

Yeah, I can take care of this shit on my own. And nothing, not even a busted knee, can keep me from playing the field. I don’t have that luxury anymore, not as a senior. I need to keep this momentum going if I want a fair chance at the draft.

This is my last collegiate football season—my last shot at proving my worth—and I’m not gonna give it all up over a little bruising.

3

HARPER

It’sthe first day of term, and I’m officially running late. Or late for me anyway.

Typically, I prefer to be at least fifteen minutes early for each lecture. Prompt and punctual. This way, I can mingle with my classmates, prep my supplies, and potentially catch my professor’s attention. I’m not a teacher’s pet, per se, but recognition is important in any major.

At a large school like Coastal, much like in real life, you have to make an effort to stand out. Otherwise, you may as well be lost in the crowd, swept up in an endless sea of faces without a name.

With three minutes to spare, I hastily stumble into the lecture hall and scan the room for my friend, Eden Levine. She’s sitting front and center, as per usual, only three rows back from the professor’s main podium. Her dark hair is tucked neatly behind her ears, two large clips holding back the thick strands.

I shuffle into my seat beside her, grinning as our eyes meet.

“Hey, girly,” I quietly murmur. “Thanks for saving my seat.”

“Of course,” she whispers back, eyes wide. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss out on our first day with Professor Gill.”

She presses a flat hand across her lips, barely suppressing a giggle. “You’re obsessed.”

Eden’s accusation is spot-on.

Professor Ainsley Gill is my official teacher crush—strictly in a professional sort of way. For the most part. She’s highly intelligent, well respected, and she’s also one of the most approachable faculty members at Coastal U.

Last year, she came to Biology 270 with a fully dislocated shoulder. Apparently, in a rush to head out the front door that morning, she popped it out of place. Instead of canceling class, Professor Gill called in a guest lecturer to assist with a readjustment. According to her, it was the perfect opportunity for a “live demonstration.”

The woman is my actual hero.

“Hello, everyone,” Professor Gill greets, her assertive tone cutting through the hushed murmurs. “Welcome to SPME 495: Fieldwork in Sports Medicine.”

Her introduction is met with reverential silence. It’s not necessarily the norm here at Coastal, but we all know how lucky we are to be sitting here today.

“Class will be short and to the point,” she continues. “Please refer to the roster posted on our course website. You’ll find your assignments listed, as well as the contact information for your team supervisors. I’d like for you to reach out to them at some point today.”

Following her announcement, I boot up my laptop and sign in to Canvas. There’s a loud shuffling as my classmates eagerly search our assignment roster. Once I’ve loaded it myself, my gaze trails across the page in search of my placement.

Please be baseball. Please be baseball.

And there I am:Harper St. James—Men’s Sports, Football under the supervision of Senior Associate Athletic Trainer, Jaqui Nerrie ([email protected])

Well, screw me sideways. That’s certainly not what I was hoping for.

Of course, the odds of a baseball placement were about one in twenty. But still, I’m usually a fortunate girl. And Harper plus baseball,man, that would’ve been the perfect catalyst in operation Date Nate™?.

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