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Chapter Forty-Three

RUTH

I don’t know how I ever thought summer was the worst. Every time I perform in the heat, I’m thinking, ‘Oh, yeah, this is literal hell.’ But as soon as I’m trying to do a cartwheel in the rain wearing fifteen pounds of waterlogged faux fur, I realize how foolish I once was. I want to go back and give my past self a little pat on the head, because she has no idea what’s coming for her.

We haven’t had a rainy game all season, and I’d forgotten how shitty it is to try and move in this thing. Maybe I need to start practicing with a weight vest on or something? It’s twelve minutes into the mandated lighting-strike delay, and everybody’s tucked into one of the tunnels, hoping another flash won’t restart the clock.

Every time I move, the fabric of the costume gets stuck to a different part of my body, creating the feeling that I’m wading through mud as I try to find space in the crowded tunnel. Somebody stumbles into me from behind and the force knocks me into the wall, the fur squelching uncomfortably as I press against the cement, trying to make myself as small as possible.

There’s a lot of anxious muttering as we wait for news. The score was close before we stopped, Allbreck only up by three. If we win this game, we head into the conference finals, and we can finally put to bed the rumors that the program’s past its prime.

I wish that Rowan was here. The thought of falling into one of his all-encompassing hugs makes me practically itch with wanting it. I want to bury the tip of my cold nose into his neck and breathe him in. He’d hum one of those growly, satisfied sounds, and I’d just squeeze into him harder until I could feel his heartbeat against my sternum.

In the weeks since I had my freak out in his room, he’s still not been able to make it to a game, given how his schedule conflicts. It’s never bothered me before, but I guess it’s catching up with me today.

When we finally get the all-clear to resume play, everyone in the tunnel shuffles out, the rain seriously appealing after being cooped up like sweaty cattle. I work up to a run, cringing at the way everything feels, but happy to be moving. There’s a good-sized crowd who’ve stuck it out, and I start making my way across the sidelines, trying to get some excitement going before the players come back on.

I squelch my way through the moves as the guys warm up. They’re obviously feeling the adrenaline drop that comes from an unexpected delay. Coach Robson goes down the line, saying something to each player. As he walks away, they all seem fired up, an infectious zap of power running through the team. They’re jumping and grabbing each other’s helmets as they yell and head into position. It’s like magic, the way that Coach gets through to them, transforming each slumped figure into a man ready to do battle.

I wonder if that’s what Rowan is going to be like. He’s told me a little about how his team already relies on him, and how he thinks his final year as a player is slipping away. But, if he’s able to inspire the team half as much as he inspires me, then it would be a waste for him to do anything else.

Just as I’m thinking of him, I spot a figure about fifteen rows back. It’s as if I willed him here with the force of my desire. Even with a baseball cap pulled low and dark glasses obscuring his face-probably trying to fend off the rain-I would recognize the set of those shoulders, the way that his russet hair curls around his ears, and the motion of his hand as he reaches to scratch at the juncture of his neck.

My chest is glowing. What the hell is he doing here? He’d texted me good luck and that he was sorry he couldn’t make it.

Seeing him is the best surprise, the absolute best. I don’t know how he knows I’m looking at him from under the head, but it’s like he senses it. He drops his chin down in a nod and throws me one of those endlessly sexy two-finger waves. I want to climb over these benches and right into his lap.

I get through the rest of the game with my head on a swivel, peering at him every few seconds to check that he’s still there. It’s not that I think he’d leave, I just keep wondering if I maybe imagined him there, if he’s going to blow away like mist on the wind.

It takes a tremendous effort not to run to him as soon as the clock runs out. Allbreck manages to scrape a win, and the fans rush to the field. I have to work not to get knocked over in all the chaos. Everyone’s slipping around on the grass and bodies are tumbling everywhere. I try and keep to the edges, not wanting to get sucked in. If I go down in this outfit, I’m not getting up without help.

Inching my way toward the tunnel, I look back and see that Rowan’s gone. For a second, I wonder if I did imagine him after all, but then I spot that red cap bobbing up the steps toward the exit. Is he leaving? The need to get back to the changing room intensifies, and I start weaving through the crowd, trying my best not to shove into anyone. When I make it back to my stuff, I’m breathing hard, feeling like I’ve just run a gauntlet.

I don’t do more than awkwardly pull off the head, unable to get to my phone until I’ve found somebody to help me get the gloves off.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter as I waddle back out into the corridor. The cheerleaders' locker room is a few doors down from me, and I poke my head in. I’m able to wave over one of the rookies and she quickly unstraps me. I hadn’t realized how cold my hands were until the damp foam comes off and I can puff warm air over them. I quickly thank the girl who’s name I can’t place and head back over, scrambling to unlock my phone.

ROWAN

Aren’t frogs meant to be waterproof? You’re not making a very convincing amphibian.

I grin down at the screen. The rest of the costume apparently forgotten, I sit on the bench and tap out a reply.

Ruth

I’m a toad, jackass

ROWAN

Come tell me to my face.

*location pin dropped*

I’m out of the costume and into dry clothes in record time, the duffel bag thumping against my leg as I jog into the parking lot. I check the location on my phone and see that he’s only about fifty meters away. I break into a run, practically skipping by the time I get to him. Rowan pushes away from his truck in one lazy movement, his arms opening. The force I crash into him with should take us both to the ground, but this is a man used to absorbing tackles. He rocks backward, taking a large step to keep us steady. The air escapes him in an “ oof ” that has me grinning into his sweater.

“Hey there,” he says fondly.

“What are you doing here?” I peel back and look up at him. “And why are you dressed like the Unabomber?”

His ears flush pink and for a minute, he’s looking anywhere but at me. “Didn’t want to get clocked by a home crowd,” he eventually says with a small smile. “Don’t want them thinking I’m up to some kind of espionage.”

“I think the outfit makes you look more suspicious, if anything,” I say as I playfully tug down the brim of his cap. He scowls and pulls it off entirely, its departure giving him enough space to drop a hard kiss to the top of my head. I melt against him.

“Can I take you to dinner, please?” he murmurs against my hair. My heart sings at his sweet question, his little ‘please’ like I’d be making his day.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I literally could not care less,” he answers. “Just come.”

I flop my head forward with a groan as I realize where I’m supposed to be tonight. “I can’t. I have that film thing.”

“Marshall’s thing?” I don’t miss the thread of tension in his voice.

“Yeah, I promised I’d go.”

Rowan’s huff is kind of adorable. This big, stoic man is acting like a grumpy child. “Do you want me to drive you?”

I gesture down to myself. “Like this?”

“You look fine.”

“I look like a drowned rat.”

“Yeah, kinda.” He smirks. “But in a cute way.”

“Jesus, Ro,” I chuckle. “Get in the car. If you’re here you might as well make yourself useful and take me home.”

He knows he’s digging himself into a hole because he slides my bag off my shoulder and throws it into the backseat. I let him open the passenger-side door and help me in, but when he gets into the driver’s side, he pauses with his hands on the wheel.

“Rowan?”

“Are you sure you want to go?”

I think about it for a second. I’ve been feeling weird about things between Marshall and I, but skipping tonight’s screening-especially after he’s texted me at least seven times to confirm-feels like something I wouldn’t be able to take back. I’d rather go through one night that has the potential to be a little awkward than tank a friendship with one of the only people I can count on.

“It’ll be okay.” I reach over and squeeze his hand.

“Okay.” He squeezes back. “Text me if you want to head out and I’ll come get you.”

“You’re not going home?” I figured he’d drop me at my apartment and head back to Beaufort.

“I’ll stick around, we can hang out after.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” I protest.

He throws the truck into reverse and pulls out of the spot. His hand comes to rest on my thigh. “Don’t really wanna spend the night without you, Frog.”

“Rowan-“

He cuts me off. “I’ll drive you to your thing, you have fun, then you’re all mine.”