Page 48 of Anything (Mayberry University #1)

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

It’s the night of the last Flooders intramural game before the championship.

No official football team or field here, but the top teams on campus get to a compete on the official Mayberry soccer field, complete with bleachers and floodlights.

The cool metal of the bleachers seeps into my skin and my mood.

The lights aren’t enough for Haymitch to play.

I’m missing home. And that conversation with Austin still weighs heavily on me.

Dreamy Athlete Levi catches an important pass—of course he does—and lands hard with a thud. He barely moves.

Levi.

I jerk up, ready to run to him, but he hops to his feet. My lungs inflate again. He’s fine.

I drop back into my spot as Sophie starts singing. “You should take it as a compliment that I ate your sweets and made fun of the way you nod.” Modifying a Taylor Swift song on the fly. Impressive. “You should think about the consequence of your magnetic smile pulling a little too strong.”

Her impromptu performance is rewarded with a burst of laughter from Mia and giggling from Ayumi. I try to purse my lips at her, but it’s far more of a grin. The other girls scoot closer to listen.

“I got no boyfriend, you’re older than us. You’re on the field doing I dunno what.”

The whole floor cackles, and I miss a line. From noise or humiliation, I couldn’t say.

“Long walks at night. Your eyes so kind. Favorite part of life. But I won’t say you’re mi-i-i-i-ine.”

I hide my face with my hands. It’s painfully accurate. And apparently premeditated. How else is she doing this quick lyric swap?

“You’re so gorgeous. I can’t say ‘I like you’ to your face. ’Cause look at your face.” Sophie holds her arms toward Levi to illustrate as the guys come out of a huddle.

He’s too far to hear what she’s singing, but it’s clear the girls are laughing about him, and he points at me, like a wink from afar.

“And I’m so mortified when people say I feel this way. But I keep at my games. You’re gorgeous.”

My games. My head droops.

Maybe bravery isn’t flashy or exciting. Maybe it’s simple selflessness. Maybe bravery is doing what’s best for Levi, even though it hurts.

Sophie startles our giggling floormates when she suddenly bolts up and cheers Austin down to the end zone. The guys chant “Samwise,” and despite my imitation of Sadness from Inside Out , I’m so happy for Austin and the boys. They’ll be in the championship after Thanksgiving break.

After the G1 team tunnel—already fully tradition—and their final huddle, Levi beelines to me. I know it’s a sacrifice. His friends will disapprove that he’s not heading back immediately to celebrate this big win.

His text flashes to mind. He’s Ada, and I’m Levi.

He managed to walk away from her, but I can’t “walk away” from him.

Not in the long run. My actions prove as much.

Still, I’ve reached the end of what I can manage with my unreliable mind.

I can’t be what he needs. I can’t manipulate a happy ending.

The only way he’s going to let me go is if I force his hand—if I tell him the truth.

My friends poke and prod me toward him as they leave the field.

I haven’t had the resolve to protect my own heart, but I can find it for him. I can’t let him continue on this path for another day. My mind swings from ecstatic to unsafe in a split second. This isn’t fair to him. He won’t move on, do what’s best for him. He won’t do what makes sense.

I ache seeing Levi up close. He’s rolled a black bandana around his forehead in honor of the playoff game. Flushed face, messy blond hair. He’s triumphant, like an adorably harmless warrior. But with every step, his shoulders fall, even more weighed down than yesterday.

“Great game, Levi. You really killed it.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I need to talk to you about something. Can I walk you back?”

We wander off the field, but I’m only half present as my mind churns.

I’ve thought for too long. I have to do something—no more thinking, just doing.

When we get to the woods by the pond, he motions for me to stop.

His compassionate, worried eyes aren’t helping.

I avoid them. An angry red scrape stretches across his forearm, dried blood visible even in the dim light.

I reach for it and lift gently, wanting to take the hurt away.

We should clean this up, get ice from MSC, use Neosporin.

I have a first aid kit in my room. That fall must have really hurt.

I feel a gentle squeeze on my arm and jerk back, dropping his injured one.

Darkness looms. My stomach drops .

“Sorry,” he whispers.

I shake my head. It was my fault.

I squeeze my eyes shut, arms wrapped around my middle. It’s too much that a kind touch from him can’t be relished—it’s always accompanied with fear of flashbacks, fear of fear itself. I’m not trustworthy, at least my mind isn’t. I’m a ticking time bomb.

The black claws of fear grip me, wrenching me where I don’t want to go.

Aiden shouting, his hand switching between slamming the steering wheel and gripping my arm.

“You got what you wanted, now I’m getting what I want.

” Speeding toward the hotel he booked, the one I said no to so many times.

I beg him to let me out. I try to secretly call Mom, but he yanks my phone away and rolls down his window, flinging it out.

He grabs my neck and squeezes. “You did this. Don’t go out with someone if you don’t want to act like a girlfriend.

Don’t say yes to prom if you’re not going to give me what I earned. ”

Trapped in this bullet speeding into the darkness.

Searching frantically for a way out. Slipping my heels off.

Silently releasing my seat belt. Tumbling out of the slowing car.

Running as fast as I’ve ever run. Rain pouring down my face, sloshing over my legs.

The car door slams. He’ll catch me any second.

Something keeps me moving. Falling, scrambling up. Gas station lights.

I lurch back to the present, scrubbing my eyes as if it will remove the darkness. I refuse to cry. I refuse. “What do you need to talk about?” I force out.

“Are you okay? What can I do?” His concern washes over me.

“You can start talking. Please, it will help if I can listen.”

“Alright … My father called yesterday. Something has … come up. He needs to borrow some cash.” He looks like he could be sick.

“Something bad?”

“Yes, bad. This has never happened before. I’m not … I’m having a hard time.” Like a lost little kid .

I gently nod him along.

“I … I thought it would be easier if that money were gone. And I’ve tried to pretend it is.

” He swings his head away and studies a grove of sullen oak trees.

“I tell myself it’s not even mine—my grandparents set up the trust when I was born.

But Granny is the trustee, and my father knows I could convince her to pull the principal if I wanted.

” He starts pacing. “But when I committed to Jesus, I gave him everything, including that money. So I have to decide where it goes as if he’s here to authorize every expenditure.

I’ve been praying constantly since yesterday, and … ” He deflates.

“And?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to give it to him.”

“If you’re sure it’s not what Jesus wants, you can’t do it.”

“But he’s my father. He needs me. He’ll never forgive me if I betray him like this.”

“May I ask why he needs the money?”

He studies me. “Why?”

I lift my hands. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay. God wants our hearts, not just our money. It sounds like this is more about loyalty.”

Levi’s eyes drift to the pond, avoiding mine. “Easy for you to say.”

I shrink back. “It’s hard not to say the wrong thing if I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fine.” His voice drops. “My father’s being blackmailed.”

My jaw drops.

“It’s more common than you’d think.” He drags a hand over his face and behind his neck. “Most of these situations go unreported. Image is everything,” he says bitterly. “His assets—and Everett’s—are rather illiquid at the moment, whereas mine are two business days from a wire.”

“That’s terrible, Levi. I’m so sorry. May I ask …”

He steels himself. “Go ahead. ”

“May I ask if the secret needs to stay that way? Will this continue to be an issue if he covers it up?”

“You don’t understand.” He says it gently, like my suggestion pains him.

“I don’t. But I’d like to. If you want.”

He pulls in a breath. “I can trust you?”

I confirm with a wobbly nod. I should have left this alone.

With a glance around, he lowers his voice. “He has a history of mental illness.”

I go still.

“If the details leaked, it would be humiliating to him. He’s convinced it would destroy him, our whole family. It’s not … minor. He’s been stable for years, but that doesn’t—” He finally meets my eyes and frowns. “Kit?”

“Mm?” It’s a gurgle, like a moan from cornered prey.

“What?”

“Nnnothing.”

“Just say it.” His jaw clenches. His eyes turn to stone.

“Nothing. I’m so sorry.” I don’t recognize my own voice. My head swirls. I step back.

I didn’t think we could be together, but I had no idea to what extent.

Even if I get better, this darkness will always be part of my past. Here he is finally cracking open, but I can’t stay.

I can tell him the truth though. He deserves to know, even if it breaks me in the process.

I’ll go back and gather my words, write him a letter.

I can give it to him just as soon as the family turmoil resolves, when he has the emotional bandwidth.

Thank you for my time with him. Take care of him. Show him what you want from him, and help him obey you.

“I need to—to go.” My limbs are lead.

“You need to go,” he repeats. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. The wall in his eyes cover his whole body, like he’s hardening into a statue.

“I’m sorry. I can’t?—”

“I trust you will care for my father’s situation—that you should not have asked after—with the complete privacy it warrants.”

I nearly crumble to the grass. “Of—of course. I would never?—”

“We’re finished here.” He holds an arm in the direction of my building to dismiss me.