2: Fate Is an Evil Spirit

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Fate Is an Evil Spirit

Sometimes, I forgot that my boyfriend was rich.

When I stepped into the penthouse Sam and Peter were living in, the reminder hit me in the face. It was so big that their bedrooms were located in different hallways. That was a good thing, seeing as Peter claimed that he liked to walk around naked.

I had taken a long bus ride over to their place immediately after my practice had finished, only to almost trip on one of Sam's Converse shoes in the hallway. After I took off my Jordans and made my way to the kitchen, I dropped my camera bag and backpack on the counter. I was ready for the game. My Chelsea jersey was underneath my sweater, and my pride was on the table . . . 
along with a box of Pop-Tarts.

I was tearing into a packet when Sam's voice rang throughout the apartment. "Hazel?"

"Kitchen!" I yelled back.

Sam came into the room, flipping through the back of a calculus textbook as my gaze dipped down to his exposed torso. The only clothing on his body was a pair of blue-and-green neon socks I was certain Caleb had bought him and gray sweatpants. He looked great in gray sweatpants. Not that I would tell him to his face. "How was practice?"

"Fine," I said, my mouth filled with Pop-Tart as he put the book down, reaching into the fridge to get a bottle of water. "How was yours?"

As he was about to raise the bottle to his lips, he stopped and raised an eyebrow at me. "It was fine?"

"My legs feel as if they tried to run around the world at least eight times. I could barely keep my eyes open on the bus. So I am totally and completely fine." I closed my eyes and sagged against the fridge, feeling the refreshing cool steel against my back.

"My poor baby." I could clearly hear the mocking tone even as he included the stupid term of endearment.

I reached out, hitting him lightly on the chest. "Don't be a jerk."

Sam didn't retaliate. Instead, his fingers toyed with the zipper of my sweater. "I'm not being a jerk," he said quietly. Then he tugged, pulling the zipper down until it reached the bottom. "Am I being a jerk now?"

I didn't answer him. This happened more often than I'd thought it would. I glanced down at his torso, then up to his lips. He didn't change his calm expression, but I knew if I put my hand over his heart, I'd feel his pulse rapidly fluttering against my skin. When he pushed the sleeves off my shoulder, my sweater fell to the ground. Then his warm hands found their way to my hips. He broke eye contact as he pushed my jersey up by a fraction before brushing his thumb along the sliver of my skin that was exposed.

I exhaled, goose bumps manifesting where his hands resided. Sam tilted his head, getting closer to me as he asked in a low voice, "And now?"

"Honey, I'm home!"

Both Sam and I let out a breath at the intrusion. I wasn't sure if I was grateful for Peter or irritated. Definitely a mixture of both. Sam, on the other hand, was annoyed. "Shit," he whispered, not taking his hands off me as he looked over his shoulder at Peter.

Like every boy in the Cahill orbit, Peter was attractive, with wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin. Usually, he was a great guy. Funny. But right now, the irritated side of me was taking over as I plastered a fake smile on my face. "Peter."

"Macy!" he called in a singsong, walking over to a cabinet and taking out an energy drink.

"I thought you were leaving for Toronto," Sam said, taking his hands off me as I released a breath. Too much.

"Nah, next weekend," Peter said, pulling himself up to sit on the counter. "I think Jenna's getting sick of me after being together for five years, but . . ." He shrugged, cracking open the can and taking a swig.

"Five years?" I asked. I hadn't met Peter's girlfriend yet, but Sam had told me good things. "You've been dating since you were thirteen?"

Peter nodded, reading the nutrition facts on the can in his hand. He didn't say anything for a moment, but when he looked back up, his face wore a grin. "I'll be in my room. Goodbye, lovers!"

When Peter left, Sam turned back to me. "Can we go back to what we were doing?"

I pushed him back gently. "No, we have food to order and a game to watch."

I flicked through food options on my phone as I made my way into their living room. Once I was lying along their comfy sofa and Sam had joined me, scrolling through channels, he asked, "What's Mads up to? She took the bus with you, right?"

"Yeah, she's going on a date with this guy who goes to school here." I pulled up his Instagram page, which Maddy and I had researched thoroughly on the bus, and Sam made a face. Oh, he really didn't like this guy.

"I've seen him in my calc class. Robert or something?" I nodded. "Yeah, he's kind of a prick. Do you think Maddy will figure that out on her own, or do we need to save her?"

"She said she'll text if she needs any saving. They're going somewhere public," I assured him. And myself. I sent a quick text to Maddy to see if she was okay.

Sam didn't seem convinced, but he didn't push. Relief went through me as Maddy sent a thumbs-up back. "Wait, so why was practice only fine today?"

Ugh. I handed him my phone to double-check our food order, struggling to contain my sudden flare of annoyance. Or anger. Yeah, it was definitely anger. "The same reason why I was annoyed at practice last week."

Sam handed me back my phone, his tongue pressed into his bottom lip as his face screwed up in thought. "Is her name, um, Miranda? Sasha? Monya?"

I snorted as his phone buzzed in his pocket. "Tanya. Defender? Sweeper? Thinks she's the absolute best at everything?"

I'd encountered my fair share of mean girls. Beatrice, back at Wellington High, was like a mean girl times ten. But I had never played a sport with Beatrice. Tanya and I were on the same team. Tanya was someone who was supposed to have my back and I hers. Instead, she was like a porcupine in a herd of soft, fluffy bunnies.

When I'd first met her in late August, I hadn't understood why she kept trying to come after me during practices. Then she began making snide remarks outside our practices, which I pushed aside for the sake of the team. That was when I learned something after overhearing a few conversations: she hated me because of the person who was currently sitting next to me.

Sam glanced down at his phone. Then it buzzed again in his hand. It must've been Caleb again. He didn't bother responding as he shoved the device into his pocket, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Yeah, she saw me yesterday."

As I mentioned, people in business had possibly heard of Sam and his family. People in the music industry had definitely heard of Sam and his family. And because Sam's aunt Liz was a fashion designer—and Sam sometimes modeled for her—people knew his family from that industry as well. The Cahills knew famous people, and some of those famous people had daughters. Daughters like Tanya, who seemed to have a huge obsession with my boyfriend.

The only reason she even knew he had any connection to me was because he had shown up at one of our tryouts to pick me up. She'd spent the last twenty minutes of the tryouts talking about him. And then proceeded to keep talking about him—loudly enough that I could hear her—when she saw us leave together. She talked about him whenever I was within earshot. She would mention how gorgeous he was. That she didn't think he should be tied down by, and I quote, some grungy girl from some unknown town.

She attempted to talk to him whenever he was at one of our practices. Over the last couple of months, Sam had trying to be a little bit more polite. He would acknowledge people instead of ignoring them and walking on by. Sam kept his conversations with Tanya short and monosyllabic, which was more than I had recently been giving her.

Let's just say, we weren't friends.

"Where did you see her? What did she do?" I asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Invited me to a party. Fate decided to put her in my path as I was trying to get into your building."

"Well, fate is an evil spirit," I muttered, crossing my arms.

Sam reached out and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me between his legs. "I said no to the party invite. Then she invited me to go to the library to study with her."

"You should file a restraining order." I shifted, grumbling my words into his neck. "Make sure she has to be be at least three hundred feet from you or else she gets arrested."

"Your possessiveness is shining rather brightly today, Hazel."

"It's not possessiveness. It's Tanya. I swear, she wants to kidnap you and hide you in her closet."

"If she wanted to kidnap me, she wouldn't succeed because I'm sure you'd knock her out if she even touched me," he said, cheeriness coating his tone.

"I wouldn't knock her out," I whined as I flipped to another channel before our food arrived. "You make me sound like I'm violent."

"You are."

"Hey!" I nudged him as he chuckled. The smile that came to my face as I turned my attention to the TV faded as I realized what show was playing: Boy Meets World.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked.

Staring at the screen, I was instantly transported to another time, when Andrew, Jasmine, and I would run straight to my house after school to watch reruns. I felt a pang in my heart. I already missed Justin and my dad calling me "Sandy." I missed the gang playing video games in my basement and cackling at the dumbest stories. I missed home. It hadn't even been that long since we'd left, but time doesn't seem to matter when 
it comes to being away from the people you love. "Homesick," I admitted in a low voice.

He rubbed the side of my arm. "Only a couple of weeks until the wedding. You'll be seeing everyone in no time. They all said they're attending."

"I know." I said as his arms tightened around me. His words were comforting as he twirled a strand of my hair with his fingers.

"Think about it: you'll be able to argue with your brother, I'll be able to argue with the idiots I call my brothers. It'll be a great time for everyone."

"All your cousins and your brother are going to be there? All seven?"

"All eight," he corrected. "Nine boys in total. There's one Cahill cousin you haven't met yet. He's as much my brother as the rest of them."

Ivan. Lucas. Joey. Christian. Phillip. Cedric. And his actual brother, Greg. Plus the one I didn't know much about. The Cahill boys, his aunt would jokingly say. I had been on good terms with all of them since the summer, so I wasn't worried about getting along with this cousin of his I hadn't met yet.

"You'll see your family and the gang," Sam said, his eyes glued to the TV as he pulled up the recording of the game. "It'll be like old times."

~

After watching the game, Sam and I were walking through the streets of Southford. It was a college town, so when loud music was coming from all directions, I wasn't really surprised. But as we made our way to the main road, I took in the nice night sky as cars zipped past us and Sam sulked about the game.

"You're acting like they aren't going to beat them next time," he grouched. "Have you seen the stats—"

"You lost this time, dude." I patted his cheek as my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was probably a text from Andrew. "Andrew's going to lose his mind. We bet fifty dollars on it, and I won."

I hadn't seen Andrew since the summer. He'd gone to a university up in Northern Ontario, about fourteen hours away from our hometown. Jasmine had gone even farther away to school: British Columbia. Even though we were all apart, I liked that we all made time to speak to one another. I spoke to Andrew a lot more than Jasmine, but I figured that was because she lived in a completely different province now.

Sam didn't say anything. His eyes were focused on the ground in front of him, obviously lost in thought. There was no way he was thinking about the soccer game that intensely. I poked him with my elbow. "What's up?"

He blinked as if my voice had brought him out of his little trance. "What?"

"There's something bothering you. What is it?"

"A lot going on."

I nudged him to the point where he cracked a smile, the dent between his eyebrows disappearing. The sight left me pleased. "Midterm next Tuesday, outdoor season coming to an end soon. Offers. Indoor season coming. It's a lot. I know you get it."

Wait. "Offers?" I asked.

"This afternoon, my coach told me that he'd sent tapes of each player around to different people. Because I'm not from here, he told me that a few people from the UK are looking at me too. He said that there will be games where some of those people will come to see me. I won't know which games. All I know is that at some point, I'm being watched."

"Haven't you been given offers before?" Sam didn't talk much about his soccer days back in England, but I knew he had been good enough to be scouted on a national level.

His bottom lip pulled into his mouth as he nodded. "Calls stopped when I stopped playing."

Now he was playing again. "Do you feel stressed?"

"Don't be scared if you see a white strand in my beautiful hair." He took his hat off his head and dramatically ran his fingers through his locks.

"Cocky." But I cracked a smile at his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I know." He grinned, but then it slowly faded as he clutched the hat to his chest. "I—I don't want to mess up, you know?"

The self-doubt surprised me. Sam knew how well he played, how skillful he was when the ball was at his feet. He'd trained as much as he could once he'd decided to get back into the sport again. To have him worry over this when he was always the confident one between us made me squeeze his hand.

"You won't mess up."

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"Because you're you. Even if you mess up, it's not going to be the end of the world," I promised him. I understood him, but he needed to hear it. "I'll be right there encouraging you to keep going."

Sam's mouth twisted to the side as he bit back a smile. "You always know the right thing to say."

"What if I said something wrong?" I asked him, pulling my head back to look at his face as my phone beeped in my pocket.

He smirked. "Define 'wrong'? I didn't think you of all people could talk dirt—"

"That's not what I meant, idiot. I mean what if I said something that didn't motivate you, like 'pineapple tapioca.'"

Sam shot me a look of bafflement. "Why would you say 'pineapple tapioca'?"

"It's the first thing that popped into my mind," I said as I took a moment to check the text message I had received.

When I read the message, I stopped walking. A puzzled expression crossed Sam's face until he read the message, that dent between his eyebrows returning immediately. "C'mon."

Sam lived less than a five-minute car ride from the campus of his university. When we arrived at one of the dorm buildings, I could already hear Maddy yelling from the parking lot. Sam and I rushed out of the car, heading past other cars to see Maddy pushing away the same boy whose picture I had shown Sam earlier that day.

"Whoa, whoa! What is going on?" Sam asked, stepping in front of Maddy.

I extended my hand toward Maddy. She took it, but she didn't need my support. Maddy had enough anger for both of us. She had texted me throughout the evening that the date had gone well, but clearly, the opposite was the case now. When she glanced at me, she gave me a thumbs-up as a sign that she was okay.

Robert only laughed, and as I took a closer look at his face, I realized his eyes were red. Maddy's eyes were not the same. "Relax, Mads. Stop playing hard to get—"

Maddy huffed. "I'm not playing hard to get. I am hard to get."

But Robert acted like he hadn't heard, and he wasn't budging from his spot. "It's not that big a deal."

"You got high and then tried to get me in the car with you!" she exclaimed. I stilled. What?

Sam's head whipped toward Maddy. "He what?"

"He said he wanted to go for a joyride," she spat, glowering at Robert. "Screw you."

Robert snickered. I hated that sound. How at ease he sounded. As if driving under the influence wasn't going to have consequences. Consequences that both Sam and I had lived through. "Maddy, c'mon. It's not a big deal. It's a drive."

Sam shifted, blocking Maddy from Robert's gaze. His jaw clenched as he stared down at the man. "It's not just a drive, you idiot. Go home." Sam's tone wasn't meant to be played with. If Robert hadn't been high, I figured that he would have peed his pants at Sam's intimidation.

Robert chuckled like Sam had shared an inside joke. "Move aside, man. Let's not make this serious." Sam didn't say anything, and Robert pursed his lips. "Come on, move, man."

"No."

"Bro, move."

"No."

"Move."

Sam didn't take any notice of Robert's sudden irritation, and his anger level rose as he glared at him. "Go."

That's when the first punch came.


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