Page 30

Chapter Thirty

W yatt went back to our apartment, and I let him. Every fiber of my soul wanted him to stay, but with two losses and a tough game coming up, I want him to focus for Saturday.

We might miss the playoffs. It’s a hard year, and the system still has its flaws. The number of times my dad has gone on a rant about the weight of our schedule versus the SEC school that will get a bid no matter what their record is rivals only the number of conversations I’ve had with Tasha in the last twelve hours while I panic-search my room for the ring.

I’ve tossed everything from all my drawers, even going so far as to sit my ass on the floor and feel inside the bottom drawer and then take a flashlight to look underneath the dresser. The whole ordeal took me an hour, and it hurt like hell because I did it by myself. But there’s no way I’m bringing anyone else in on my dilemma. I still have no proof that ring was from Wyatt and meant for me, let alone that if it was, I probably shouldn’t be hiding it.

I’m chewing at the inside of my mouth, sitting on the end of my bed as my eyes scan every possible hiding spot, when my mom knocks softly at my door.

“Come in,” I say, folding my hands on my lap and doing my best to look nonchalant. My hair is sweaty, though, from the recent aerobic activity. My mom clearly notices, drawing her brow in as she looks me up and down.

“I was trying a new exercise. It was hard.”

“Ah,” she relents. “Well, you have a visitor.”

There’s a slight edge to her voice, so I grip the side of the bed as I do my best to sit up tall. Or rather, taller. Tall is really the only way I can sit now. I hold my breath, not sure who to expect, and when Alicia’s eyes meet mine, a sudden lump forms in my throat. I haven’t seen her since the accident.

“Hi,” she says, bunching her hand up nervously. She stays behind my mom for a moment, almost like she’s hiding, but eventually steps into my room.

“Hi. I . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming,” I stammer. My gaze moves to my mom, and I’m sure the panic on my face is front and center.

“I’ll give you guys some privacy.” My mom gives me a reassuring nod, then backs out of the room.

Alicia moves in for a hug, then stops suddenly, her arms bent as she leans awkwardly. “I’m sorry, can you—can I give you?—”

“I’d love a hug,” I reassure her.

Her body relaxes immediately, and she moves in to embrace me. Her touch is gentle at first, so I make sure to squeeze her tight so she can feel my palms on her back. She closes her arms around me a bit more before stepping back.

“Have a seat,” I say, nodding next to me.

She sits on the very edge of the mattress, her legs flexing like she’s doing a wall sit, and I can tell she’s trying to tiptoe around me.

“You’re allowed to sit normal.”

“Oh, yeah,” she laughs out, moving deeper into the bed and eventually tucking one leg under the other. I make a mental note to put that on my goals list.

“Your mom said you’ve been making a ton of progress,” she says, her gaze moving slowly over my body. I kind of think she’s searching for scars.

“I am. I had a little blood clot issue a few weeks back that was sort of like a hard reset, but I feel like I’ve progressed again. I’m walking on my own with a walker. It’s slow and looks a little bit like that dance Coach Kane does?—”

“Oh yeah, the robot!” Alicia hops to her feet and does a decent impression of our coach. We both laugh.

“I’m glad,” she says, her gaze drifting away from mine as the pregnant pause grows into an extended silence.

I’m about to fill it with more pointless banter when her eyes snap to mine.

“I’m so sorry, Peyton. About . . . hurting you. I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t . . .” Tears well up in her eyes, and I feel them threaten mine as well.

“Alicia, it was an accident,” I say, holding my arms open again. She falls into them, almost knocking me back.

“I’m so, so sorry Peyton.”

Her body convulses with sobs, and I can’t help but cry along with her. My mom steps in, hearing us wail, but I quickly hold up a hand to let her know we’re okay. We’re more than okay. We’re healing.

Alicia and I cry it out for what feels like an hour, and as painful as it is to relive some of the things I’ve been through, I share every detail when she asks. I hold back the part about my future of having kids. That’s a question that will linger for a while, and a conversation I’m going to have to have with Wyatt one day. Probably soon.

There’s this huge gap in my memory of the accident, which Alicia is finally able to fill. I remember seeing her body lurch forward above me, and then I felt the drop in my stomach as my base collapsed. But I never fully understood when the impact happened. Alicia, however, was alert for every millisecond. Her knee landed on my head just as my bottom hit the ground, and the impact from both ends was too much for my middle to absorb. That’s when the fracture happened.

“I dream about it sometimes,” I tell her, wondering if I’ll see it happen differently next time.

“I dream about it every night,” she admits, her mouth souring as her gaze drifts away.

I know from the text messages with other teammates and emails with Coach that Alicia hasn’t been back out since the fall. She was cleared a couple of weeks ago, having been on concussion protocol. She’s one of the best flyers I’ve ever seen.

I can feel us both slipping back into the hurt. I’m so done feeling sorry and resentful, so before Alicia falls apart again, I reach for my walker and lift myself to a stand. Even though I’ve ridden Otis a lot these last few days, one more trip to the arena is in order. This time, I’ll lead while she rides.

“You ever been on a horse?”

Her eyes are already wide, I think from watching me pull myself up. It’s probably jarring for someone to watch when they haven’t seen it yet. I suppose it either looks like a miracle or a struggle, depending on the perspective. Rather than label it either, I waggle my hand in front of her zoned-out gaze and snap her attention back to my face.

“Horse? You been on one?” I flash a tight smile, and we’ve been friends long enough for her to know that means I’m ready to change subjects.

“Uh, maybe? When I was little?”

I chuckle and urge her to follow me.

“You’re still little,” I joke. She’s under five feet. It’s why she’s our flyer.

We pass through the kitchen, and I bend my head down a little to catch my mom’s attention at the stove. She’s trying to learn how to make some of her mom’s recipes. They practiced a lot of things when my grandparents were here, and I get a feeling my mom wants to be able to teach me what she learns. I’m more of a buy-the-cookie-dough-ready-made kind of chef, but I admit there’s a big difference between the shortcut and my grandma’s way. Both grandmothers, truthfully. Though my Grandma Rose has a few secrets she says she won’t share until it’s her time to go. That’s her way of being competitive, my mom says.

“Taking Alicia to meet Otis. Wanna come?” My mom nods and sets whatever’s on the stove to simmer, wiping her hands, then rounding the counter to join us. I want her expertise in case Alicia gets nervous. It’s near impossible to startle Otis, but nothing is ever a total impossibility with animals.

The three of us get Otis out of his stall, and my mom fits him with his saddle then leads him out to the arena.

“Go ahead. I’ll catch up,” I say, wanting Alicia to head in with my mom rather than watch me struggle over the rough terrain. I know how far I’ve come making this trek, but she doesn’t. I know what it looks like when I guide these big wheels through the rock and dirt.

My mom is just about wrapping up her walk-through of the various steps to mount Otis by the time I step up to them.

“You ready?” she asks.

Alicia glances to me, her eyes buzzing with reservation but also excitement.

“You can do this,” I reassure her.

“Okay,” she says, sucking in a breath and grasping all the places my mom showed her. She pulls herself up as my mom gives her an extra boost, not because she isn’t strong enough, but because she’s tiny.

“Oh, wow, it’s high up here,” she says, her voice vibrating.

“He’s got you. This is Otis,” I say, holding my hand against his side. “Otis, tell Alicia you’ve got her.”

He neighs, shaking his head as he knows to do on command. My mom has spent years working with him on small things like stomping his foot, sidestepping, and nodding and shaking his head. He’s great with kids because of it. Turns out, his tricks also work well on freaked out twenty-somethings getting over trauma.

“You ready to ride?” I let go of the walker and lean on Otis for my balance.

“You’re coming with?” Alicia asks.

I nod.

“Yep. We both have you,” I promise.

I click with my tongue and Otis takes a slow step forward, his body swaying like a hippo. Alicia laughs as it swings her from right to left, and I move my left hand to her calf to give her extra support.

“He’s got hips, and he knows how to use them.” I look over my shoulder to give my mom credit for her joke I just stole. She’s been saying that for years.

“Yeah, he does. Oh, my God, Peyton! I’m riding a horse!”

We meander around the arena at a snail’s pace, slower than my usual rides since I’m the one guiding. But this walk is good for me. I’ve tried it a few times with my mom or dad right at my side, ready to dive in and take over if I start to lose my balance. This is the first time I’ve been totally on my own. There’s not much Alicia would be able to do to help me from way up there. And while I’m a little nervous, I’m also liberated. Dare I say, I’m fucking impressed with myself.

“Hey, Alicia?”

She looks down as I slow Otis to a stop. I scratch his neck and hold her gaze for a moment while I search for the right words. And then it hits me.

“Quit racing yourself,” I say.

Her face puzzles briefly. Those words hit different for her. While I tend to aim too high and struggle when I fall short, Alicia is just the opposite. In her race, she won’t get out of her own way.

“You can still fly better than anyone. And it was an accident. Stop racing yourself and get out of your own way.”

She holds my gaze for a few long seconds, then looks up and stares off into the skyline.

“I’ll try, Peyton. I promise you I’ll try.”

And that’s good enough.