We've Met Before

33 - We'll Meet Again

CADE

    "Have you told her?" Dean's voice asks, adding to my slight irritation of the day. Shit would be much fucking easier if people just didn't talk to me some days. It's not their fault, and I can't blame them, but it doesn't take away my unwarranted anger.

    "No," I respond, tying the rest of my cleat laces. Adrenaline rushes through my body and it's useless to waste it on an innocent Dean.

    It's not his fault. It's not his fault. It's not his fault.

    It's nobody's fault.

    I breathe in, closing my eyes. Kaia stands in front of me, hand on my cheek, counting down to three the way she does. Her voice rings in my ears, drowning out Dean's conversation, and the small shouts of the rest of the guys in the locker room. I open my eyes, standing up and grabbing my helmet and gloves, heading mindlessly out of the locker room.

----

    Sweat drips off my body, my helmet becoming a haphazard from all the moisture and heat. Greenhouse effect except for my head. My thoughts strain and bounce against my cranium, like a ball riveting from wall to wall in a closed room.

    I walk off the field, trying to regain feeling in my calves and thighs. The sidelines greet me heartfully, Dean and Luke walking up to me, both of them out of breath.

    My lungs begin to close in, every single inhale creating a seething pain inside my chest. A dizziness takes over me, something I can't afford to do right now. Not right now. Not now.

    Luke's hand slams against my back, launching a large cough out of me. Asshole.

    "They're all looking at you, stand straight," Luke says, smiling at the crowds of people watching our small little trio walk off the field.

    Luke can be a dick sometimes, someone who has no filter, nor consideration for social cues, but I like him. In a weird 'I have to pretend to hate him' kind of way.

    I straighten myself out, my chest puffing out. Holy shit that hurts.

   I lean subtly against the railings of bleachers, praying to every piece of heaven that nobody is noticing, that everything is being kept between Luke and Dean's watchful eyes.

    Red shirt walks over, his brown clipboard, and hand in his pocket. I stand casually still, trying to control my humming lungs, and beating heart.

    "Richard Thompson, pleasure to meet you." His hand extends out, the Georgia logo coming into detail as I wrap my fingers and palm around his handshake. "Great work out there, just as impressive as I've been told."

    I muster a smile, wishing I was somewhere on another fucking planet. Contrary to popular opinion, conversation has never been my strength, neither will it ever be something I use my energy on improving. I'd rather keep social interaction to a minimum.

    "Thank you, my team and I work hard on and off the field for games like these."

    He returns my smile, moving his hand onto my shoulder. It's a bit sterner than I'd like, and it feels cold, and controlling. Dominating. Instead of it being an invitation, it's a short and small command, one to open my ears and listen to whatever he has to tell me.

"Moving forward we'd like to talk about you moving to Georgia for our network. We can offer you a full ride as long as you accept in the next two weeks. We've realized that you haven't committed yet, but time doesn't stop for anyone, son."

I stand silently, watching the way his lips purse into a melancholic smile. He seems disappointed in me, the disappointment I never saw in my dad. I would've expected this conversation to happen with him, instead of this stranger from miles away. I would've expected this short little spiel at the foot of my dad's hospital bed.