Page 17 of All This Time (Blossom Peak #1)

Fletcher

Age Seventeen

Angels, Future Plans, and Admissions

“Fletcher?”

Laney twists around in her desk chair just as I finish climbing through her window. I wince as I slide all the way through. “Hey, Laney.”

Her expression instantly morphs into concern. “What’s wrong?”

I hold my ribs as I walk up to her, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Yanking my arm away from my body, she lifts my shirt and gasps. “Holy shit! That doesn’t look like nothing.”

I glance down at the spot that was only red when I snuck out of my house and see that it is now turning purple. “It looks worse than it really is. It happened during football practice. Comes with the territory.” Another lie, but at this point, they’re beginning to sound like the truth even to me.

Laney’s frustration is visible. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.” Before I can argue, she quietly exits her room, leaving me alone.

My eyes scour her space, taking in this light blue and lavender room that has become the only place I feel like I can really breathe. The first night I ended up here was by accident. I honestly thought it was Rhonan’s window I was crawling through.

As soon as I realized my mistake, I should have left. But being able to talk to Laney without anyone else around—most of all her brother—was too tempting to resist.

Laney Hart is intriguing, intelligent, a tad feisty yet kind, and her green eyes shine when the sunlight hits them—a detail I shouldn’t know but now can’t seem to forget.

I remember when I first met her—she was twelve and I was fourteen.

Back then, I just saw her as Rhonan’s annoying little sister, even though I couldn’t deny that when she came around, she made me laugh and I loved that she didn’t let Rhonan boss her around.

But then when she came to Blossom Peak High as a freshman, something changed.

It was a slow change. I no longer minded if she came around when Rhonan and I hung out. I made sure to wave when I saw her at school, and when she smiled back, something funny started happening in my chest.

But now, in my senior year, I can finally admit what’s been happening to me.

I’m developing a crush on my best friend’s little sister.

This past summer, she changed—not just physically, but in her confidence as well.

I definitely noticed the physical part, though.

Her hips got wider, her boobs got bigger, and her hair got longer—the type of long hair that flows down her back in soft curls that look so classy and feminine.

Yeah…Laney Hart was suddenly a girl I couldn’t ignore anymore, even though thinking of her this way went completely against the pact my friends and I made our freshman year—always have each other’s backs, don’t let anyone come between us, and sisters are off-limits.

That last rule made sense three years ago, but now? I fucking hate it.

Laney returns to her room with a bag of ice and a towel. “You know the drill, Fletcher. Shirt off.”

Her bossiness makes me smile. “Yes, ma’am.” Carefully, I peel my shirt off, tugging my left arm out of the sleeve slowly since that’s the side I’m banged up on.

Laney winces again when she takes in my purple and red bruising. “You said this happened during football?”

I hiss as she presses the ice to my skin, enjoying the burn even though I know the next few days are going to suck. “Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

Her eyes lift to mine. “This looks pretty fresh, Fletcher. Practice ended hours ago, right?”

My throat grows tight. “Well, it wasn’t hurting then.”

She looks away, but I can’t tell if she believes me or not. I need her to, though, because telling her the truth would mean admitting out loud to someone else what it’s like being an only child to a man who resents you for the one thing he used to love.

“Maybe you should lie down.”

I motion to her mattress. “Trying to get me in bed already?”

Her cheeks turn pink, which I’m not going to lie, makes me proud. “Just lay down, Fletcher.”

“Yes, boss.”

“First ma’am, then boss? Which is it?” She waits for me to lie flat on my back before placing the bag of ice back on my ribs.

I reach out and gently place my hand around her wrist. “How about, angel?”

Our eyes lock as her brows rise. “Angel?”

“Yeah. I mean, you are kind of saving me right now, right?”

“Saving you from what?” she whispers as we stare at each other. But I don’t know what to say that won’t give away too much.

We both grow quiet before I finally break the silence and cut through the tension. “Have you thought about college yet?”

“Wow. Okay, that was out of left field.”

“Sorry.” I point across the room to her desk. “I saw your brochure.”

“Oh.” Laney blows out a breath before tucking her hair behind her ears. “I mean, I’m just exploring all my options. I don’t want to go far unless I get a scholarship. Then I’ll go wherever is the cheapest.”

“Smart plan.”

She nods slowly. “But I’m having a hard time thinking about being that far away from my parents. That’s the part that’s getting to me the most—the idea of leaving them.”

“Well, I can’t wait to get out of my dad’s house,” I say a little too quickly.

Her eyes flick to mine. “Really?”

Trying to recover from my mistake, I quickly add, “Yeah. I mean, college is supposed to be the best four years of your life, right?”

She shrugs. “I guess. My parents always tell Rhonan and me that life doesn’t really get great until your late twenties and early thirties.”

“Why do they say that?”

Laney clears her throat before continuing, lifting the ice to check on my bruise before placing it back down.

“My mom says that you go through a lot of growing pains between high school and the age of twenty-five—learning about what you want for your life, who your true friends are, and who you are as a person. Once you get past that, that’s when life gets good because you’re more secure, more driven, and more content.

I guess that’s what I’m looking forward to—that part of my life. ”

I smile. “That makes a lot of sense. And what is it that you want to do with your life?”

She smiles and tilts her head, looking at me curiously. “You sure are full of questions tonight.”

“I’m just making conversation.”

“Why?” she asks, her brows drawn together.

“Because we’re friends, right?”

She swallows. “Yeah. Friends.”

I hate the way that word tastes in my mouth, but I hate the way it sounds coming out of hers even more. Because the last thing I want as of late is to be just friends with Laney Hart.

“So, tell me,” I say, keeping my voice light. “What’s the life plan?”

Her eyes dip down to the floor. “If I tell you, you might think it’s stupid.”

“I would never.”

“Sure, you say that now.”

I squeeze her wrist that I’m still holding. “I promise, Laney. No judgment. I mean, hell, you know what my dream is.”

“To make it to the NFL,” she replies without hesitation.

“Exactly. And to most people, that dream sounds crazy.”

“I know you’ll make it, though, Fletcher. You’re so good, and you work incredibly hard.”

I scoff, looking away. “Yeah, well… Not everyone agrees.”

“Like who?”

I shake my head, putting the focus back on her. “Never mind. Now tell me what your dream is.”

She stays quiet for a while, but just when I think she’s going to let that stubbornness of hers win, she surprises me when she says, “I really want to be an author.”

“Really? That’s fucking cool. Why would I think that’s stupid?”

“Because the chances of actually becoming a published author are pretty slim.”

“Slimmer than making it to the NFL?”

She chuckles. “Well, I guess not.”

“What do you want to write?” I’m still lying on the bed staring up at her as she stands next to me on the floor, but this view just gets better and better the longer I stay here.

The soft light coming from her desk lamp makes the shadows on her face more pronounced, highlighting the curve of her lips, the fan of her eyelashes, and the slope of her neck.

I wonder what she would do if I kissed her there…

“I’m not sure yet. I like to read YA novels, but I’m not sure that I’d want to write one.”

Her voice pulls me from my thoughts. “What’s YA?”

“Young adult.”

“Oh. So, the characters are teenagers?”

She chuckles. “Most of the time, but it’s really the age bracket that the stories are meant for. The books are targeted for readers twelve to eighteen but still include adult themes but from a young character’s perspective.”

“Give me an example.”

She glances over at her bookshelf for a minute, and then turns back to me, her expression a little hesitant.

“Okay. Well, there’s one book I read where the girl has a crush on the popular football player at her high school, but she’s convinced that he doesn’t even know who she is.

Then out of the blue, he asks her out and she’s thrust into this world that she’s unfamiliar with and has to learn how to navigate dealing with the popular kids and her feelings for this guy.

She’s not sure if she can trust him, though, because he’s different with her than he is with his friends.

” She shrugs. “That’s just one example.”

“You don’t think you could write something like that?”

She shrugs. “I mean, maybe. But my high school experience is very tame so far compared to some of those stories.”

“You are a little bit of a goody two-shoes, aren’t you?” I tease her.

“Um, you’re in my room after curfew lying shirtless in my bed. That seems a little rebellious, if I do say so myself.”

Fuck. This girl is something else.

Shaking my head, I laugh lightly. “I guess you’re right.”

Laney lets out a yawn. “It’s getting late.” We both glance at her alarm clock on her nightstand.

Shit. How is it past eleven already?

“Is it okay if I stay a little while longer?” I ask a little too desperately.

She bites her bottom lip. “I guess. But you need to get under the covers this time because you were so heavy I couldn’t move them last time,” she says, pointing a finger at me, and then she heads for her dresser to gather some pajamas. “I’m going to get changed. I’ll be right back.”