** I've been doing a little editing, and this is a newly added chapter. check out the end of the last chapter for a little context. enjoy & let me know what you think!**

MADIE

September Twenty-Seventh

Two

Sometimes I swear I can be standing

with two feet on the pavement,

and I still wouldn't feel the ground.

—

With each pull of my laces, guilt tightened around me. Quinton didn't want me hanging out with Bren. He'd made that abundantly clear after I'd gotten home from The Grounds the other evening, and we'd ended the night in another argument that left me shaking.

But here I was anyway, meeting up with Bren on the empty campus soccer fields. What Quinton didn't understand was that this didn't have anything to do with Bren. Well, not really.

There weren't a lot of things around campus that reminded me of home, but the second I stepped foot onto this open stretch of grass, I got a little buzz of nostalgia. And after nearly everything had flipped upside down over the last year, I needed that to keep me grounded. I was searching for anything to keep me grounded.

Quinton was my only other tie to stability and normalcy, and even that had been wavering lately. To my credit, I'd asked him first if he wanted to come to the soccer fields with me, but he'd shrugged off the request with a joke about how he only liked to play real football.

It was something he used to tease me about back in high school, something I usually giggled at because it had felt cute and flirtatious. A playful grin had always accompanied it.

It didn't really feel that way anymore. There was no grin. Closer to an eye roll, actually.

I looked up from tying my shoes just in time to see Bren trotting across the parking lot with a ball in his arms. He had on joggers and a plain white tee that tightened around biceps I hadn't noticed before. I mean, I knew he had muscles. Everyone had muscles. I'd actually seen his muscles the other day when he'd been getting sucked off by my roommate.

I cleared my throat as if that would somehow clear my memory of it. But it was useless. The scene was seared into my brain, stuck there. But for some reason, I still hadn't remembered how built Bren was. I actually was surprised when he mentioned he was an athlete the other night. But now I saw it easily. He was quick, lean, and strong; I should have known soccer was his sport.

"Hey," he called breathlessly as he made his way onto the field. "Sorry I'm late. Beau would not shut up about some upgrade he made to his computer. I swear when that dude figures out that you're going somewhere, it's like he latches on harder to get you to stay."

Picturing the scene in my head, I smiled. "You should have just invited him."

The words were a lie. I was glad Bren hadn't invited his roommate.

Beau had joined Bren and me at The Grounds when we'd gone to study again last night, and I honestly thought he was a great guy. Beau Martin was the kind of funny that didn't seem forced or over the top. The effortless humor brought an ease about him that made other people relax, too. Not to mention he'd been more than happy to help me with my chemistry.

But Beau's personality dominated any social situation. Bren had withdrawn his presence, happy to let Beau take over the conversation. Happy to sit back and quietly work on his homework, separate from us.

If Beau had come along with us today, it was likely the same thing would have happened. And I was selfish. Bren intrigued me, and I wanted to learn more about him. That wouldn't happen with Beau around.

Bren looked down as he slipped on his cleats. He gave a noncommittal shrug, focusing on the ground and avoiding my eyes. "Maybe next time."

I nodded even though he wasn't looking at me. I supposed if there was a next time, I could share him.

Standing up, Bren kicked his foot through the short grass with a sigh. "Already feels good," he said.

"Tell me about it," I agreed, gazing across the field. The sun was already lowering, creating a golden haze that only autumn could bring. I loved it, and a silly smile stretched over my face.

When I glanced up, Bren was watching me with a slight grin that matched mine.

He kicked the ball over to me, and I stopped it beneath my foot. Even just that felt good. But even better than that was the feeling of taking off with it down the field, chasing a high I hadn't felt in so goddamn long. Wind slapped at my cheeks, and my feet fell into a familiar pattern with the ball, dribbling without thought. I was flying, blades of grass grazing my cleats for only milliseconds at a time as I traveled across the open space. The rest of the world blurred away.

But then I saw Bren. Only Bren. I spotted him in my peripheral vision, where he was kicking up his heels next to me. I passed the ball to him, and he didn't hesitate before scoring in the net at the end of the field.

Even though there wasn't a single soul around, and there definitely wasn't an opposing team, it felt like a victory.

He laughed, his shaggy hair tangling in the breeze as he threw his head back. "I'm really glad I didn't miss."

I couldn't get the smile off my face. "It was a good shot."

"It was luck. I don't usually have much of that, either, but I'll take it." He shrugged before jogging over to fish the ball out of the net.

The way he said it made something twist in my chest.

Before I could say anything, though, he passed the ball to me with a cheeky grin. "You're fast. Let me guess. You were a winger?"

I nodded, a little bit of warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the sun. "What about you? What position did you play?"

"I was a forward," he said before motioning for me to kick the ball back to him. So I did, and we fell into a rhythm. It was silent for a few minutes while we shot passes back and forth, and I enjoyed the simplicity of being outside, of moving my body again, stretching muscles I hadn't used in a long time. Finally, Bren broke through the quiet. "Did you ever think about playing in college?"

I shrugged. There was a long pause as I chewed my lip. "Not really."

Bren put his foot on the ball, pausing our play as he gave me a probing look that told me he'd noticed my hesitation and wanted to know more.

"I guess I considered trying out for a smaller state school, but then Quinton was signed to play football here, and—"

I bit my lip as memories tumbled around in my brain. College decisions had nearly torn our relationship apart. Quinton hated the idea of long-distance, but he'd also been determined to play football at a major university. It limited my options.

"And what?" Bren nudged.

"Oh." I jerked my gaze to his dark one. "Quinton didn't really think I had what it took to play for Oakland." A dry smile. "And he would know, right?"

Bren snorted before passing me the ball again. "No. He wouldn't." He muttered something else beneath his breath, but I didn't catch it.

His response surprised me, and I cocked my head to the side.

"He plays football," Bren explained flatly. "Different sport."

Well, I supposed when he put it like that...

"But he's—" The words died in my throat because I suddenly felt ridiculous trying to defend something that had always bothered me a little bit. "It doesn't matter," I said instead. "I love playing the game, but to be honest, I think I loved the team more. It's where I met most of my friends. We were like a little family." I swallowed a lump in my throat. "Although I haven't really kept in touch with any of them since leaving for college."

Like I said, Quinton was the only thing I had left from home. I thought about reaching out to them a few times since getting to Oakland, but then Quinton would point out that people just moved on after high school sometimes. Left the past in the past. And if they weren't putting in the effort, then why should I?

"I never even really liked your friends," he'd said one day when we were eating lunch. "Hannah was always a bitch to me. It's probably for the best." 

Hannah wasn't a bitch. She was sharp, though. Sarcastic, maybe. And definitely not a huge fan of Quinton. It came between us in the end, but shit, sometimes I really missed her.

Bren nodded. "I can relate. My teammates were basically the only people I hung out with in high school, although I don't even know if I'd consider them friends. Not really." He grimaced, ducking his head to look at the ball. Popping it up, he juggled it for a few seconds before kicking it back to me.

"Why not?" I asked, ignoring the annoying voice in the back of my head that told me I was digging where I probably shouldn't.

"I wasn't exactly a pleasant person to be around in high school," he admitted without meeting my eyes. "I guess you could say I had a bit of a reputation."

"For what?"

The question slipped through my lips before I had the chance to stop it. It was tough for me to imagine Bren as anything but pleasant, though. He was so kind and soft-spoken.

Bren's eyes flicked up to mine as he passed me the ball, and it hit me square in the shins. Because I couldn't look away from him. A hollowness had appeared in his gaze.

"For being damaged," he said. "I had a reputation for being damaged."

The wind picked up, and leaves spun and fluttered to the ground around us like we were in some kind of autumn snow globe. The soccer ball rolled off to the side, forgotten. I stared at Bren, and he stared back.

I didn't have any kind of reputation. No one thought twice about me, about the broken pieces I might be hiding.

Perception had nothing to do with truth. 

Maybe one day I'd find out the truth about Bren Hadaway.

"I feel like running," Bren said suddenly, breaking the silence with his soft voice. "Do you feel like running?"

Absolutely.

Swinging a leg around, I let loose and watched as the ball soared across the field. We both sprinted after it, but Bren caught up to it first, giving it another sound kick. And this time, I beat him. He didn't back down, though. With a competitive glint in his eyes, Bren challenged me for control of the ball, our bodies angling together as our feet tangled below us. 

Heat rolled off of him, and I tried to ignore the way it made my skin burn when we collided. I buried my head in the game instead, loosing track of time as we played. On and on. My heart pounded, my legs flew, my hands occasionally grabbed at Bren's shirt to keep from falling.

I had a feeling I'd go down hard.

He'd laugh and grip my arm to help me. And then he'd break away with the ball and let it fly into the goal.

The sun was a dusky jewel by the time I collapsed onto the ground, giving into fatigue. God, it felt good to let my blood race like this. Bren strode over to me with an amused grin. He pulled his shirt up as he walked, using it to wipe the sweat off his brow and giving me a glimpse of his abs.

Abs that were once again covered in sweat.

I groaned at my brain for falling into that awkward rabbit hole again. 

Bren's brows furrowed together. "What?"

"Nothing." I could feel myself turning red, and I was glad when he flopped down onto the ground beside me, falling back to stare at the sky. And not at me. "I'm just tired," I added.

"Yeah," he agreed with a sigh. "Me too. Tired but alive."

Tired but alive—I understood that. Being alive and feeling alive was totally different, and right now, I felt alive.

A red and orange streaked cloud passed over us.

"Soccer will do that to you," I said quietly.

"Yeah," Bren mumbled. "Soccer."

—

September Twenty-Seventh

Four

The earth shifts beneath us, but we don't feel a thing.

We just suddenly look up to find the sun gone

and the moon bright.

Maybe it's the same way with our hearts.

xoxo amelie