Page 21

This is bad. This is so bad.
A figure steps into view, and I peer up to find Cade staring at me, a quizzical expression on his face.
Why did I come here again?
The answer rings immediately in my brain.Because he’s the only one here who knows you actually exist…besides Coach. And I definitely cannot go to Coach right now.
“Hey,” he says, reaching out to place firm hands on both my shoulders. He squares up with me, and for the first time, I’m able to assess him up close. He’s quite a bit taller than me, his frame lithe, yet muscular. But right now, it’s the concerned look in his eyes that undoes me.
“I—”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
His intense gaze roams all over me, sparking my skin to buzz as if it’s pulsating. Coupled with the worry in his voice, I’m struck silent.
With a deep breath, I pull my shoulders back and glare at his ear, so I won’t be able to see the look in his gaze when I tell him what happened. “I don’t know where Chuck is.”
He’s mute for a moment and curiosity gets the best of me. When I flick my stare to his, I immediately regret it. He’s stricken. “You?—”
“He was in my bag, but when I finally made it into my room after talking briefly with Coach about anything he might need me to do tonight, I put my bag on the bed to organize things for tomorrow, open it, and it’s…” I swallow. “Not there. He’s gone. Gone, Cade.”
Cade’s arms start to tremble, and then I realize it’s not him, it’s me. He squeezes my shoulders, kneading the pad of his thumbs above my collarbone. “We’ll find it.”
“Find it?” I grit out. “It’sgone.”
“Did you leave your bag anywhere by itself?”
I close my eyes, my foot tapping against the tile. Every time I try to think about what I did on the way to my room, the history of the statue rears up to haunt me. How it’s been a thing since the eighties. Their good luck charm. Not to mention that Coach T entrusted me with the responsibility of bringing it to the locker room tomorrow. I swear, the man already regrets hiring me. This will push him over the edge.
No job. No money. No way of leaving my dad’s house.
Oh God. I did leave my bag unattended.
I blow out a shaky breath, and Cade leads me backward until my heels hit the bed frame. He lowers me down to a seated position, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
I was messaging with the food delivery driver over the app, pleading with him to please take the food I ordered inside the house for Dad, even though he’s not supposed to. I tipped him forty extra bucks to do it. But the whole time, I had stopped, dropped my bag, then wandered off and paced while I attempted to make arrangements with this guy to take my orders for tomorrow, too. I was so wrapped up in what I was doing, I almost walked off without my bag when I was done.
Stupid—
“Hey, come back to me.” Cade lifts my chin, making me stare into his eyes. “Everything will be okay.”
“Okay?” I stand, effectively pushing Cade Farmer away from me. “I lost him!”
“Then we’ll find him.” He shrugs, that smug little smirk on his face.
His smile sends me over the edge. I’ve seen Cade around campus. I’ve been in his classes. He’s a typical male’s male. Every guy wants to be him, and all the girls want to sleep with him. He never walks down the hallways alone. He never eats alone in the cafeteria. I’ve heard him say more words in one conversation than I probably say in a year.
Bitterness eats a heart-sized hole in me until it bubbles to the surface in a spew of jealousy. “Imagine being the person everything works out for. It must be so nice to have the confidence you do.Oh, the statue is lost? Well, we’ll just find it.I wish I’d thought of that.”
His eyes shutter for a moment, and guilt makes my chest twinge.
“Sorry,” I whisper, remembering what he said about losing his friend. I’ve been nothing but a bitch to him since I met him, yet here I am, at his room for help because he’s the only one who sees me. It’s like I can’t stop the bitterness sometimes. Like myfeet are always in a boiling pot of anger and I’m just waiting for everything to bubble to the surface.
He takes a deep breath, his hands moving up my shoulders to my neck where his thumbs trace small circles. “Tell me when you had him last.”
I almost don’t catch what he said. I’m not used to being touched. At that moment, my body decides to focus on each swirl of the pad of his thumb. The nerve endings awakening under his movements. It’s as if I’m a desert and he’s the thirst quencher.
His head tilts, and— Good lord, I’ve been staring at him like a mental patient on drugs. I take a step away so I can think. Where did I have the statue last?