Page 104 of Fighting Spirit

“But-”

“No. No, you can’t talk me out of this, not this time. I’m done with his shit. Unless he’s gonna apologize, and he promises he’s gonna stop talking down to me and criticizing every one of my choices, then we’re done.”

“Sweetheart…”

“I still want you in my life, Mom, even though I’m really mad at you. I just need some space.”

The silence in the truck cab is almost oppressive as I wait for her answer, but I feel a kind of calm I hadn’t expected. I know that whatever she says, I’ll be okay.

“I don’t know what to say.” I can hardly hear her over the traffic. She must be holding the phone away from her face.

“I’m gonna go now, but you can call me any time if you just want to talk.”

“Rowan-”

“I love you, Mom.”

I hang up.

My head hits the steering wheel as my body buckles under the weight of the adrenaline crash. I can hardly recognize this version of myself, but even as I’m freaking the fuck out, there’s a glimmer of pride somewhere in my chest. It’s never even occurred to me to speak to my mom that way, and now I’m blowing off family dinners? Where did that come from?

I pull myself up and maneuver the truck back into traffic. I need to get this God damn computer so I can get back to my girl. She’s like a lighthouse guiding me back toward someplace safe, like as soon as I’m around her, all this churning anxiety will just wash right off and I can feel okay again.

I need her, she’s home.

Chapter Forty-Three

RUTH

Idon’t know how I ever thought summer was the worst. Every time I perform in the heat, I’m thinking, ‘Oh, yeah, this is literal hell.’ But as soon as I’m trying to do a cartwheel in the rain wearing fifteen pounds of waterlogged faux fur, I realize how foolish I once was. I want to go back and give my past self a little pat on the head, because she has no idea what’s coming for her.

We haven’t had a rainy game all season, and I’d forgotten how shitty it is to try and move in this thing. Maybe I need to start practicing with a weight vest on or something? It’s twelve minutes into the mandated lighting-strike delay, and everybody’s tucked into one of the tunnels, hoping another flash won’t restart the clock.

Every time I move, the fabric of the costume gets stuck to a different part of my body, creating the feeling that I’m wading through mud as I try to find space in the crowded tunnel. Somebody stumbles into me from behind and the force knocks me into the wall, the fur squelching uncomfortably as I press against the cement, trying to make myself as small as possible.

There’s a lot of anxious muttering as we wait for news. The score was close before we stopped, Allbreck only up by three. Ifwe win this game, we head into the conference finals, and we can finally put to bed the rumors that the program’s past its prime.

I wish that Rowan was here. The thought of falling into one of his all-encompassing hugs makes me practically itch with wanting it. I want to bury the tip of my cold nose into his neck and breathe him in. He’d hum one of those growly, satisfied sounds, and I’d just squeeze into him harder until I could feel his heartbeat against my sternum.

In the weeks since I had my freak out in his room, he’s still not been able to make it to a game, given how his schedule conflicts. It’s never bothered me before, but I guess it’s catching up with me today.

When we finally get the all-clear to resume play, everyone in the tunnel shuffles out, the rain seriously appealing after being cooped up like sweaty cattle. I work up to a run, cringing at the way everything feels, but happy to be moving. There’s a good-sized crowd who’ve stuck it out, and I start making my way across the sidelines, trying to get some excitement going before the players come back on.

I squelch my way through the moves as the guys warm up. They’re obviously feeling the adrenaline drop that comes from an unexpected delay. Coach Robson goes down the line, saying something to each player. As he walks away, they all seem fired up, an infectious zap of power running through the team. They’re jumping and grabbing each other’s helmets as they yell and head into position. It’s like magic, the way that Coach gets through to them, transforming each slumped figure into a man ready to do battle.

I wonder if that’s what Rowan is going to be like. He’s told me a little about how his team already relies on him, and how he thinks his final year as a player is slipping away. But, if he’s able to inspire the team half as much as he inspires me, then it would be a waste for him to do anything else.

Just as I’m thinking of him, I spot a figure about fifteen rows back. It’s as if I willed him here with the force of my desire. Even with a baseball cap pulled low and dark glasses obscuring his face-probably trying to fend off the rain-I would recognize the set of those shoulders, the way that his russet hair curls around his ears, and the motion of his hand as he reaches to scratch at the juncture of his neck.

My chest is glowing. What the hell is he doing here? He’d texted me good luck and that he was sorry he couldn’t make it.

Seeing him is the best surprise, the absolute best. I don’t know how he knows I’m looking at him from under the head, but it’s like he senses it. He drops his chin down in a nod and throws me one of those endlessly sexy two-finger waves. I want to climb over these benches and right into his lap.

I get through the rest of the game with my head on a swivel, peering at him every few seconds to check that he’s still there. It’s not that I think he’d leave, I just keep wondering if I maybe imagined him there, if he’s going to blow away like mist on the wind.

It takes a tremendous effort not to run to him as soon as the clock runs out. Allbreck manages to scrape a win, and the fans rush to the field. I have to work not to get knocked over in all the chaos. Everyone’s slipping around on the grass and bodies are tumbling everywhere. I try and keep to the edges, not wanting to get sucked in. If I go down in this outfit, I’m not getting up without help.

Inching my way toward the tunnel, I look back and see that Rowan’s gone. For a second, I wonder if I did imagine him after all, but then I spot that red cap bobbing up the steps toward the exit. Is he leaving? The need to get back to the changing room intensifies, and I start weaving through the crowd, trying my best not to shove into anyone. When I make it back to my stuff, I’m breathing hard, feeling like I’ve just run a gauntlet.

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