Page 54 of The Star

He’s silent for a minute, leaving me to wonder what’s going on inside his head.

“When my dad died, it was really hard,” he starts, and when I turn to look at him, he’s staring down at his hands in his lap. “I was young, so I’m sure it was easier than losing a parent when you’re a teenager, but it was still hard.”

“How did he die?” I whisper, focusing on his face.

“He killed himself.”

My hand finds my lips. “I’m so sorry, Carson.”

He waves a hand, dismissing my apology. “It was a long time ago. I’ve processed, and I’ve healed.”

I sit back in my chair again. “Some days I feel like I’ll never heal from losing my mom, like I’ll never be able to accept that I’ll never get to hug her again.”

“Talking about them helps, even if it’s just stupid stuff.”

“Tell me about your dad,” I say, curious to hear the types of things he will say.

“He was tall, and he was strong for a really long time. He grew up on the west coast, I think that’s why he always loved the beach so much – it reminded him of home. He signed with the NFL his junior year of college, moved out here to North Carolina to play, met my mom, had me, but it was all too much for him.”

“That’s why you’ll choose football,” I whisper.

He nods. “Yeah, he wanted me to follow in his footsteps.”

The fog in my head has started to clear. I still feel high, but I’m feeling more down to earth again at the intensity of our conversation. “Hewanted you to?”

Carson hums between his lips for a moment. “Yeah. I’ve had a football in my hands since I was a baby. He trained me to follow in his legacy since I could walk.”

My eyebrows furrow. “But if that isn’t what you want, you don’t have to, Carson.”

He sighs. “We’re supposed to be talking about you. I wanted to get to know you.”

I sit forward, pulling my legs to my chest and resting my head on my knees to look at him. “If you don’t want to play football, don’t play football.”

He looks at me, dragging his gaze over my face a few times, then he stands up and holds a hand out to me. “Come swim with me.”

I search his ocean eyes, feeling butterflies start to flap their wings inside my stomach, and slip my hand into his. Once I’m standing next to him, he grips the bottom of my hoodie and pulls it over my head, throwing it down on the chair I just vacated, then grabs onto my hand again.

He pulls me to the edge of the pool, then slides his hands around my waist and jumps into the warm water, making me squeal before we plunge under the surface.

Once we’ve resurfaced, I give him a dirty look making him laugh. He wades the two feet to reach me, then spins around and pulls me onto his back. I grip him like a child with my arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he starts swimming. He doesn’t go under, holding his head and mine above the water as he goes, and once we’ve reached the darker side of the pool, he presses me against the wall and lets me slip off of him.

Turning around, he floats in front of me as I hold on to the side of the pool. “What do you like to do for fun, Logan?”

He stares at me in the darkness as I think over his question.

“I don’t really know anymore,” I whisper.

He moves towards me. “What brings you joy? Makes your blood pump so fast that you can’t help but smile?”

I swallow the lump in my throat, breathing out the words I’m suddenly confident enough to say. “There’s only been one thing that makes me feel like that lately.”

He smiles, leaning forward to capture my mouth with his in a kiss so soft that I feel like my stomach might bottom out, fall straight from my torso out of my ass.

He pulls away after a heartbeat. “I like you.”

“You can’t, you’re not allowed to,” I breathe.

His eyebrows pull down. “Who says?”

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