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“Yeah, of course I do.”
“Do you hope to play professionally? Like Boss and Parker?”
I rub a hand over the shadow of scruff at my jaw and chin. I’ve never actually said the words out loud, but she sits there patiently, waiting on the response that’s currently being pummeled beneath my beating heart. “More than anything,” I admit, surprised by my own admission. Shocked more that it came so easily.
“Wow,” she responds, and I watch her lips expand around the words. “That easily; that confidently. Just—‘more than anything.’” She moves closer, knees hitting mine. “But… How did you know it’s what you wanted to do? It’s just that… I’ve been thinking a lot about my own future, about what comes next, and I don’t have the first clue how to go about deciding what it is I want to do. But now is the time to decide, and…” she trails off with a shrug, eyes glued to mine, waiting for words of wisdom I’m not sure I’m capable of.
“I listened to my gut,” I share anyhow. “I’m working toward a degree in computer science, but football is the only thing that… makes sense.” I shrug. “So yeah, my gut… I know it’s a long shot, that it won’t be easy, but I’m willing to put in the work that comes with the dream because it feels like the only option. It’s the only thing that gets my heart racing, my blood pumping. The only thing that truly excites me.”
She nods, and I watch as her thoughts wrap around my words. “I’ll be honest with you, Jude—because for some reason, with you, I always am. Too honest, maybe.” Her gaze searches mine as if she’s asking a direct question. I shake my head in response. I’ve always liked her honesty. I like it even more now that she’s admitted it’s specific to me.
An easy smile graces her lips, and then she continues with, “It’s just that… I feel like I can’t tell my gut feelings from anxiety anymore. Like, what is real fear and doubt when my mind is constantly filtering in every worst-case scenario, you know?” Her stare deepens, hinting at something, teetering on the edge of darkness. I feel a sense of responsibility to ease her back, to pull her away from the ledge.
“Anxiety can obscure your gut feeling, without a doubt. But if you feel it in here,” I press a palm to her chest, “it’s anxiety. And if you feel it in here,” I move my hand to her stomach, balling it into a fist,“that’syour gut.”
“That sounds simple enough.” She takes a deep breath, looks down into her lap, and says, “Maybe I’m just afraid of what it is I feel in my gut, then.” And fuck if I don’t want to pull her against my chest and reassure her, run a hand through her hair and tell her it will all be alright.
I tip her chin upward with my fingers instead. “You’ll figure it out, Little D. Half the students that head into college are undecided on their major, so you’re not alone. Far from it. Shit, I didn’t know what I was majoring in until last year.”
“Really?” Shock tinges the single word.
“Really.” I chuckle.
“Okay.” And she laughs, too. “That makes me feel better.”
“Good.” I smile, and it matches her own.
Our conversation splits into a dozen more after that. Easy. Light. Reminding me that at the foundation of what it is we share, is a friendship that means more than anything.
______
It’s well after midnight when my phone starts ringing. Fucking incessantly. Interrupting the sideways direction of our conversation, where we’ve landed somewhere between my favorite sports teams and the kinds of animals she’d like to adopt someday.
The moment it stops ringing, it starts again.
Reluctantly, I slide it out of my pocket and hold it up, Boss’s name written across the screen. Awareness stabs at the back of my neck, unease knotting my stomach.
“Just a second,” I say to Declan, bringing the phone to my ear. “Boss?” I answer.
“Jude? Fuck, Jude! Meet me at the hospital—St. Mary’s—Parker and Williams were in an accident,” he manages before the call cuts short.
What the fuck?
What the fuck?
A loud ringing sound blasts in my ears, tearing up the back of my neck until it has my skull in its grasp.
Fuck.
Fuck!
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
Pure fucking fear envelops me in its hold, and I’m immediately torn back in time, to four years prior.
“Fuck! Goddammit!” I slam a palm against my steering wheel, jolting Declan in her seat beside me. “Seatbelt. Now,” I demand, turning the engine over and reversing out of the lot as if the gravel is on fire. “Please,”I amend with a hand on her leg, waiting for her to click her belt in before I tear down the road.