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“Like everyone else?”
“Like everyone else,” I confirm.
She rolls her eyes. “Love is a disease. It’s a soul-sucking cancer that ends in death. If you’re the lucky one to die, you’re fine. But if you’re the one left behind, you wither away day by day, slowly deteriorating into a black hole of nothingness.”
I blink, moving the jug so I can peer at her. She’s completely serious. “That was a touch…grim.”
“Welcome to my world. Now, can I get the Gatorade back before Coach accuses me of trying to injure one of his players and ruining your chances of a Super Bowl or whatever?”
“Star player,” I preen, eyes lighting up with cartoon-like enthusiasm. “And it’s a championship. We’re not pro.”
The look she gives me says she honestly doesn’t care that I can make a jokeorwhat the finer details of football are. The smirk dies on my face.
She reaches for the jug, but I refuse. “Tell me where you want it.”
“Wherever Coach usually puts it.”
I eye the bench ahead on the fifty-yard line of our practice field and start walking. “Who are you, anyway? His assistant or something? I haven’t seen you around before.”
“Or something.”
I roll my eyes. “Has anyone told you your conversation is second to none. Top notch. I’m absolutely enthralled.”
“No. Never.”
I peek around the jug. She walks forward with determination without a hint of a smile. She either doesn’t have a personality whatsoever, or truly doesn’t like me. It’s a shame because she’s pretty—scowl and all. Straight, shiny dark hair, high cheekbones flushed red, and the cutest button nose.
We finally get to the bench, and I set the jug where it’s been in all my five years with the Warner University Bulldogs. She presses down on the top, inspecting it for a moment, then spins and walks away without uttering another word.
Okay. That was…interesting. I can’t tell if this girl is intentionally moody because she doesn’t like football players in general, or if it’s really just me. “You’re welcome,” I call out, and she shrugs in response.
I watch her walk away, her black hair blowing toward me like shadowy tendrils.Love is a disease?,she’d said.But who says that?
The Bulldogs sweatshirt she wears swallows her. It’s about a size too big, the sleeves completely engulfing her hands. The faded jeans hug her thighs but are frayed around the legs. It takes me a minute to realize that she reminds me of Briar. Well, not the current Briar who’s thriving, but the Briar right after Brady died. She was so broken. When I looked at her, I could almost feel her pain. Everything she was feeling on the inside was worn like a suit of armor on the outside, like she was preparing for battle every single day.
Grief is sort of like that. Something you have to fight against or accept every day. Some days, it gets the best of you. Some days, you even want it to. But others? Grab your sword and shield because it will be a fight like no other.
Back then, Briar would say that love is a disease. Brady’s loss planted a hatred inside her. For her parents, for us, for the darkness threatening to take over.
That sentiment is too harsh, though. Love is so many things. I wouldn’t have gotten through the toughest times of my life if it weren’t for the friends I love like brothers and a sister. They’re everything to me.
I pull out my phone again and finish the last text to my friends and send it. Peering up, I spot just as the new girl slips into the locker room. She’s intriguing to say the least but romantic love scares me. Not because loving someone like that is hard, but because of everything else that goes with it.
An eerie prickle tingles up my spine. Yeah, I’m not ready to fall in love with anyone. I like all the fun parts about relationships. The flirting, dates, intimacy, but once real feelings get involved, I’m out. It’s been years since I’ve had a steady girlfriend, and I don’t mind saying that playing the field isexciting, adventurous, and way less complicated. All my casual flings knew from the beginning what I was willing to give, and real feelings never got in the way, much to my friends’ disappointment. They used to warn me that I’d get myself entangled and fall for someone, but I have a winning season in that department.
“Farmer, hey!”
I turn to find a group of girls just getting to the small set of bleachers that line the other side of the practice fence. I wave, and they wave back frantically.
Well, it would be rude not to go over and say hi.
The locker room door slams closed, and I turn to see Moody Girl returning to the field with sleeves of cups, not giving me a second glance. Shaking my head, I jog up to the fence where the girls have congregated.
“Hey, ladies.” I eye each of them individually. Cassie. Tina. And…Liz.
Marked safe from falling in love with the trio of them.
“Are you going to the Sigma Phi party tonight?” Tina asks, her copper hair in perfect face-framing curls.