Twenty

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"Do better, Sennels."

I've almost fallen asleep when a stack of papers is slapped down in front of me. I lift my gaze from the table, following the back of my professor as he moves along, handing back papers to my classmates.

This class is seriously boring. I glance down at the table, my eyes drawn to the big red F at the top of the first sheet of paper.

Shit.

I thought this had been okay, but apparently not. The coaches won't be happy about this.

I stuff it in my backpack before any of the students sitting beside me can catch a glimpse. So far, I've been able to keep the fact that I'm failing an embarrassing secret.

I'm getting by in my other classes. Maybe because the subjects make more sense to me, or perhaps because my professors give athletes too much slack. Who knows?

What I do know is that choosing a history class for my second senior year was idiotic. I thought it would be an excuse to sleep in the back of the lecture hall or maybe even skip the classes altogether, but no. This professor takes his job very seriously, and he doesn't like athletes.

Or maybe he just doesn't like me.

That's probably more likely.

I sigh, bending my neck to hide the blush creeping up my neck. I know I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed. I've always known that, and it was just emphasized when I befriended Davis freshman year. The guy is a freaking genius.

But I've never felt quite as dumb as I do in this class. The professor is a dick, berating me in front of the others, and I keep failing, despite putting more effort into this class than any of the others.

But come on. History is fucking boring.

When the class ends, I hike my bag over my shoulder and hightail it out of there. I avoid the gaze of any of my classmates and flee.

Normally one failed class wouldn't be this bad. I could just shrug it off, head to the pool, and prove myself in that water.

But that isn't really working for me at the moment.

Lately, it seems small fires are burning all over my life.

The first flame was lit when Antonella announced her move. But I had a plan; go pro and get custody. I could manage that one tiny fire.

Then came the Olympic final. Another fire broke out, bigger this time. But I would go back to college and figure shit out.

Except, I didn't. I came back, and yet, nothing has been figured out.

Then I started failing this class, and paired with my already borderline grades; it began threatening my place on the team.

Performing like a housecat thrown into a tub of water at practice isn't exactly helping, either.

All these fires burning all over my life.

And then I met Sophie. That woman is as dangerous as she is gorgeous.

She is like gasoline, pouring all over those fires, and suddenly everything was aflame, a damn forest fire tearing everything down.

It had to stop. I had figured that ending things with her would be like taking a giant hose and spraying the whole red hot mess and slowly but surely putting out the fires, one by one.

In hindsight, that was probably pretty foolish.

Nothing of the sort has happened. Instead, things just keep getting caught up in the flames, and I can't seem to do a damn thing to stop it.

I'll be lucky if there's anything but ashes left by the end of the term.

Shit.

As I cross campus towards the gym, I pass the place where, just a week ago, I caught a glimpse of Sophie.

It was so short that I could almost convince myself that I made it up, but that purple hair and those deep, brown eyes are so distinctly Sophie that there was no denying it.

The tight, uncomfortable churning in my stomach that followed just confirmed it.

It's been almost a month since I last saw her. Like really saw her.

In her living room, spewing absolute bullshit at her.

Not my finest moment.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memory. There's no reason to keep torturing myself with it. What's done is done, and I have to figure out how the hell I'm gonna get my life back on track.

Preferably a fire-less one, too.

๐ŸŠโ€โ™‚๏ธ

"Dude."

I ignore Davis. Instead, I turn the increase up on the treadmill. I'm not sure how long I've been running, but if the fact that it feels like someone sat on my lungs is anything to go by, it's been a while.

"Sennels."

I don't give any indication that I heard him, the headphones working as a shield, even though my music can't entirely tune out my best friend's voice. I just keep on running. One foot in front of the other, pushing forward.

Cardio is good.

Suddenly, one of the buds is yanked from my ear. "Jay."

I can't very well pretend not to hear him now. I turn my head to Davis, leaning against the treadmill beside mine, his arms crossed, the cord of my headphone hanging from his fingers.

"Davis. Didn't see you there," I say, although it sounds more like a wheeze. You would think I would be in great shape; a short run shouldn't tire me out like this.

I glance down at the display in front of me. It's only been... twelve miles.

Okay, maybe I should stop.

"Running yourself into the ground isn't the answer, Sennels." Davis reaches over, turning off the treadmill. It keeps going for a bit longer, slowly decreasing its speed before I'm standing still on the machine, the world spinning around me. "Also, Lewis will have your head if she finds out."

He's right about that. This amount of cardio on land is not permitted at weight training. But Colton is overlooking this session, and he literally couldn't give two shits what I'm doing.

I grab the bottle of water that Davis thrusts at me, downing the contents. Then I bend over, resting my hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath.

"If you're trying to run away from your problems, a treadmill might not be the best idea," Davis says. I lift my head to glare up at him. He's right, of course, but still. Fuck him.

"So, are we gonna talk about it?" He asks, taking a seat on the mat behind the treadmills.

No one else is using the equipment in this part of the gym, so I flop down beside Davis, thankful that we won't be overheard.

"Talk away," I say, falling down on my back, still heaving for air.

Davis hits me with an unimpressed look. "Dude."

"I don't know what you want me to say?"

"What's going on? You've been sulking around ever since you broke things off with Sophie, and you won't talk, and Sophie won't talk-"

I sit up so quickly that Davis cuts off mid-sentence, looking over at me in surprise, while I quell the urge to vomit from moving too fast. "What?" I gasp. "You talked to Sophie?"

A bashful expression covers his face as he scratches the skin right behind his ear, avoiding my gaze. "Uhm, no..."

And then it dawns on me, and despite myself, I can't fight the slight grin spreading on my lips. "You've been seeing Jen, haven't you?"

Davis shrugs, still looking oddly flustered. "Well, yeah."

"And how does this play in with the whole, she just got out of a long-term engagement with a cheating asshole?"

A spark of anger ignites in my best friend's eyes at the mention of Jen's ex-fiancรฉ, yet his tone is relaxed, "I said we were hanging out, not getting married. It's chill."

"Right," I say, nodding. "Because we all know you do chill super well."

"Oh, shut up, man. You said it yourself; she just got out of a relationship. She's not ready for a new one, and I'm not interested in being her rebound."

I give him a skeptical look, but otherwise, I keep my mouth shut. He can say he's not pursuing anything with Jen yet till he's blue in the head, but I won't believe him for a second.

"Anyways," he says, shaking his head a little. "This is about you shutting up like a freaking clam every time I bring up Sophie. And she's doing the same thing, according to Jen."

"I'm not sure I like you guys talking about us behind our backs," I say, raising an eyebrow. "And I'll bet Sophie wouldn't like it either."

"Well, we wouldn't have to if you two shitheads would just talk to our faces."

Dammit. That's fair.

"Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Just explain it to me. What's going on?"

I scrub a hand down my face, my thoughts flying in every direction and yet all coming back to that day in Sophie's apartment when I somehow misplaced my brain and acted like a fucking dick.

"So, I broke things off with Sophie," I begin, glancing over at Davis.

"Yeah, I'm with you so far."

I roll my eyes. "Anyways, it just... It kinda messed me up, man."

Or maybe it happened because I'm messed up; who the hell knows anymore?

"Because you miss her?"

"Yeah." That and because I'm the scum of the earth.

"Do you want her back?"

"I think so." I clench my teeth, rubbing my face frustratedly at the lie that just slipped from my lips. I don't think so. I know so.

And I have no doubt it's a horrible idea.

"Okay." Davis takes a deep breath, nodding a little. "Maybe you guys need to clear the air."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, ending things with Sophie was supposed to bring back your focus, not fuck you up even worse. It's clearly not working. So maybe you two need to work things out, see how you might move forward." He sighs, looking out over the gym. "There are so many screwed-up things in your life right now. Being with Sophie might make you happy. You deserve to have at least one thing in your life that makes you happy. And who knows, maybe that'll make all the other things fall into place."

"That's awfully optimistic," I say, even though a small hope has sparked in my chest.

"One of us has to look at the bright side. You've been walking around with a rain cloud over your head for the past month. And that's saying something, 'cause you were already a moody fucker."

I don't bother objecting. He's right. On all accounts.

"So what are you saying?"

"Wow, you really are dumb." He shakes his head, picking up his water bottle. "You need to talk to her."

Ah, shit. That hope crashes instantly. "Yeah, that might not be all that easy... Uhm, I don't think Sophie wants to speak to me."

"Why not?"

"So, I broke things off with her, right?" I make a face.

"I think we have established that." Davis deadpans.

"Yeah, but, uhm, the way I did it might not have been, uh, how do you say it... the most," I pause, looking for the right words to explain that clusterfuck of a Sunday morning.

A look of exhaustion falls over Davis. "Jay, what did you do?"

I scratch my brow with my thumb. "So you know all those things in my life that are kinda spiraling out of control? Swimming and Antonella moving and me being half an inch away from being thrown out of college?"

Davis nods, face stiff as he waits for me to get to the point.

"Well, I kinda, maybe, sorta... said it was all her fault?" I cringe, my whole body shuttering at the admission. God, I'm an ass.

Davis is staring at me in disbelief, blinking a few times. I can practically hear his internal monologue trying and failing to explain what I could have possibly meant other than that I'm a horrible human being.

Finally, he squeezes his eyes shut, and a hand flies up, smacking the back of my head. "You bloody fool!"

I don't even think he's aware of it. The tiny bit of British accent bleeding into his tone whenever he's frustrated or excited. Or downright disappointed, like right now.

It makes him sound like a Brit disguised as an American. Or like a bad actor who hasn't learned the art of imitation.

Normally I'd tease him about it, but this doesn't seem like the right time.

Instead, I rub the spot he hit, scowling at him. "Don't act like you weren't aboard team dump-Sophie. I heard you loud and clear outside the pool that day," I say, scrambling for any excuse.

"I didn't tell you to blame her for every little fuck up you've ever done." He shakes his head. "Goddammit, Jay. Okay, new plan. You're gonna grovel."

"Grovel?"

"Lay down flat and admit you are completely to blame for everything and then hope to god she doesn't murder you."

I want to say he's overreacting, but well, I know Sophie.

"You think that will work?"

He opens his mouth but closes it again, clearly debating how to say this, making my heart fall to my stomach.

"Honestly, Jay. I don't know. But you still have to do it. For three reasons." He holds up the first finger. "One, it's the right thing to do. Plain and simple. She deserves an apology." He lifts another finger. "Two, if you have any hope of ever moving forward with Sophie, your best bet is to just fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness." Then the third finger goes up. "And lastly, if Jen finds out what you said to her best friend, she might just ensure that Sophie, and herself, never speak to you or anyone you associate with ever again, and that may impact our dinner plans this Saturday."

I scowl. "So it's all about you?"

"It's all about Sophie, you dented soda can. Now get your head out of your ass and apologize."

"Right now?" I ask, glancing around us. We're supposed to be working out, but the rest of the team seems to have finished up, and we're the last two hanging around.

"No better time than the present." Davis stands, holding out a hand to me. I grab it, letting him pull me up.

I'm about to walk away when he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. "Just..." He pauses, looking thoughtfully at me, and I think I see a glimpse of concern. "Apologize, yes, but if you're serious about maybe picking things up again, just... just make sure it's an arrangement that works for you. Cause it obviously didn't before." He looks me straight in the eyes. "I meant what I said. You deserve to have something that makes you happy, and if Sophie can't be that, you get to walk away. After you've made sure she won't rip your balls off for being a complete asshole, of course."

I breathe a laugh but nod to show him that I heard it. That I get it. Sophie needs an apology, and I... I think he is right. Maybe I need more.ย 


A/N:
I think we should just collectively agree to ignore my absence. Sound good? ๐Ÿ˜…

Anyways, I'm here now. Life has settled down a bit and I feel ready to get back in the creative corner. But I'm probably gonna need an incentive, so I'm setting a tentative uploading schedule; every Saturday ๐Ÿ˜ฑ

I really hope I can stick to it, but otherwise, I will let you know.

For now, tell me what you thought about this chapter? โžก๏ธ

- Hanna ๐Ÿ’™


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