Page 61 of Altius
If today had taught me anything, it was that I was flying too close to the sun emotionally. One life-altering fall was more than enough. I couldn’t risk another.
Even so, I took a photo of my half-eaten snack and sent it to Alijah.
Just what I needed on a blustery day. Thanks.
His response, three heart emojis, took some wind out of my sails. I wavered, staring at my phone, wondering if I should try to reassure him. The arrival of my next appointment saved me from caving.
Focus. I had to focus.
Something I managed for a few hours until a text popped up from Coach Hager, my old gymnastics mentor. The content was frankly unbelievable.
Have a friend on the training staff at Garroway Forest. You left quite the impression the other week. Really appreciated how you helped with their quarterback’s injury. Asked for your CV. Interested?
I was—and yet, I wasn’t. Garroway Forest was three hours from Northport. Three hours from Cal and Wyatt, not to mention my siblings.
And Pack Redmond.
But my dream had never included settling. I wanted a position with the best program possible, and Garroway Forestwas the leader in collegiate omega sports. The opportunity was too good to pass up.
Absolutely. I’ll email it to you in a few minutes.
***
As I walked out the front door of the football operations center, I spotted Cal’s silver truck. I pulled up my hood and hurried down the salted sidewalk in my snow boots, avoiding ice patches, and climbed into the passenger seat.
“Hi,” I said, making sure the door was closed before lowering my hood and leaning over, intending to kiss my boyfriend, only to find myself face-to-face with a smirking tomcat.
“Doc,” Joaquin purred, brushing errant snow off my hair. “How’d you know I wanted to kiss and make up?”
Retreating to my seat, I buckled in.
For all his flirtation, Joaquin was trustworthy—see exhibit one, his mate. He’d get me home sooner or later.
“Are we waiting for Alijah?”
“Nope.” He started the engine and pulled away from the curb. “This is a jailbreak.”
I scrutinized his hawkish profile. “Does Cal know you have his truck?”
“Mhm. But not what I plan to do with it.” Pausing at a stoplight, Joaquin angled his body in my direction, dimple flashing, mouth curled up in devilish delight. “Wanna have some fun?”
Shooting a warning glare over the tops of my glasses, I asked, “Meaning?”
“You’ll see.”
A tattoo parlor. Trying to ply me with drinks at a bar while an up-and-coming local band played. All-you-can-eat ribs. Sneaking me in to watch a dress rehearsal ofThe Nutcracker. Those were all things I was mentally prepared for.
But Randall’s Rage Emporium took me completely by surprise.
I leaned against the dashboard, blinking stupidly at the storefront, which advertised smashable fun by the minute. It was a neon sore thumb in a nondescript, half-vacant strip mall. Everything this far south of the river had seen better days.
Joaquin opened the passenger door and offered me his hand. “Come on. You need a release.”
Almost against my better judgment, I placed my hand in his tattooed fingers and slid to the ground. Refusing to relinquish his hold, Joaquin led me inside.
“If twenty minutes isn’t enough, we can tack on some bonus items. They’re running a special right now—ten bucks for a TV and a couple of vases.”
The next thing I knew, I was wearing a boiler suit, chest protector, face mask, and heavy-duty gloves, staring at a buffet of weaponry: baseball bat, crowbar, hockey stick, and sledgehammer.
