Page 20 of Always, Axel

“You’re welcome.” He set my things down. “Your car should be ready in a few days. I’ll have them deliver it to your dorm when it’s ready.”

I’d almost forgotten how this all came about, but he’d done me a solid, and I’d always be grateful. Even if I was a revenge date for him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He crossed his arms, glancing down at me with that adorable smirk and those dimples that seemed to be his trademark. The public mask was back in place. Finally, he leaned in and said, “I’ll see you around.” His lips brushed my ear, and I froze, watching as he backed away and strolled off down the hall. “Don’t be a stranger,” he called out casually over his shoulder.

We’d exchanged phone numbers the other night of the accident, but it was only for practical purposes. It wasn’t like we were going to keep in contact. What would be the purpose?

Sighing, I entered my room and put all my things away. Lizzie was working at the Velvet Bean coffee shop and wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. The room was too quiet, and I wanted to talk to my best friend.

My phone buzzed, and my heart fluttered, hoping it was Axel; however, it was only my mom. I wasn’t ready to talk to her. I didn’t tell my parents I was going to spend the night at a hotel in Austin for the night with one of the biggest football players on campus.

As if my mom would know who he was. She wouldn’t. The only football my family watched was the international sport that the world watched, but Americans called soccer. Besides, if she knew I was alone in a hotel room with a guy, she would’ve completely lost her mind. Even when mutual guy friends came to my house in a strictly platonic or academic way, it was normally in a study group setting. And my parents made certain we stayed in the kitchen or living room, where we were well monitored.

I let it go to voicemail. Immediately after, I received two consecutive texts.

Mom:Kanchu, it’s Sunita.

Mom:You need to come home. Your father passed out.

Oh, my god. Oh, my god! My sister-in-law was texting me on my mother’s phone, telling me my dad passed out. I quickly gathered my purse, calling back my mom’s phone as I stepped out of my room. After two rings, Sunita picked up. “Kanchu.”

“What happened to my father?” I demanded, set on driving to my parent’s house. Then I remembered I didn’t have a car.

“I don’t know.” My sister-in-law was crying. “He passed out on the floor.”

“Is he okay now?” Pausing, I put her on speakerphone and found my app to get a ride. My parents lived about an hour away in San Antonio. I didn’t care about the fare; I needed to see my dad. I needed to know he was okay. My breathing rose as I started to panic. I clicked on the nearest car that was five minutes away.

“I don’t… I don’t know.” There was chaos and noise in the background, and I heard my mother screaming. “He’s not breathing.”

“Then do CPR on him!” I yelled.

“Your brother is.” She gasped as I heard more chaos in the background. Tears started to fall down my cheeks. “The EMT is here. I have to go.” And the line went dead. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and prayed for the health of my father. Standing out in the parking lot of my dorm, I saw a four-door sedan pull up. Numbly, I got in, keeping the chants going in my head for my father to be okay.

My dad is fine. Everything will be fine.

He had to be.

Axel

—Three Months Later

“It’s a new season. We’re coming in like national champions. And guess what?” Coach Jones barked out the question as he stood in front of our team on the field as we began our two-a-day practices in August, marking the beginning of our senior year. “We’re going to end this year like national champions again!” All our teammates roared in agreement. Coach pumped his fist in the air. “Now, let’s get out there and show the world that Hillside is not a team to fuck with!”

Amidst the cheers, we broke out of our team huddle and ran onto the field to commence with our drills, rearing to begin practice. After running drills for over an hour, I felt my calf start to cramp. I tried to work through it, but it was tight and burning like a bitch. As soon as the play was over, Coach Davis, our running back coach, approached me with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a little cramp.”

“A little cramp? Go over to the sideline. Get treatment. You don’t need to injure yourself at the first practice of the season.” Coach shook his head. “And don’t try to come back on the field today. I hope it’s just a cramp and not a calf strain.” Coach knew I was his cash cow at running back and didn’t want to lose me to injury.Join the club, I thought, yanking at my chin strap. Lifting my helmet off my head, I walked off the field as two trainers sidled up to me. One with a water bottle, spraying it into my mouth, and another at my side, ready to throw my arm over his shoulder to help me get around.

“I can walk. It’s just a cramp.” I was frustrated, and it was already hot as fuck this morning in early August, so it wasn’t unusual to experience cramps. Besides, I’d probably been hitting it too hard in the gym lately because I was so fucking driven to make this season my bitch and make my name known to potential pro teams.

When I got to the sideline, the water bottle trainer walked off, and the other one had me sit on the ground while he called over another person to help out. The trainer who stayed at my side grabbed my shoe, lifting my leg as he flexed my foot. “Massage his calf while I stretch him out,” I heard him tell someone.

I tossed my helmet aside and lay back on the grass, and then I saw… her. She had on a red Falcons T-shirt and khaki shorts, looking like every other trainer on the field. Except she didn’t look like every other trainer on the field. Her thick, black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing her glasses and no makeup. She also looked down at me like she would rather be anywhere else but here. Her brows furrowed under the rim of her glasses, and her tan skin glistened under the brutal Texas sun.

“Well, what are you waiting for? You signed up for this job and knew there were at least fifty other students who would kill for this internship. If you can’t handle this, then I can call up someone else who wouldn’t blow this opportunity,” the trainer holding my foot said to her.

“Sorry,” she said and placed her hands on my calf. You could tell she wanted no part of this. Or any part of me. She made it very clear when I dropped her off after the formal a few months ago, and she went radio silent. Hell, she could’ve at least sent me a thank-you reply for having her car fixed and delivered in better condition than it was before she crashed into my car.

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