My Darling Arrow (St. Mary's Rebels 1)

I don’t know if it will ever stop hurting.

He swallows then and runs his fingers through his damp hair. “Look Salem, what happened that night –”

“Can’t we just forget about it? Can’t we just forget about that night? About what I said?”

“No.”

“I –”

“I can’t forget it.” His voice rises up then. “I can’t forget… what you said.”

His jaw moves back and forth as if he’s crushing my words – those three words that I said to him – between his teeth.

“So this is for the best,” he continues. “This clean break. You go your way and I go mine. Besides, as I said, I was going to leave anyway. All of this was temporary.”

Before I can say anything else, he moves.

I watch him walk across his dull gray room and retrieve an envelope that was sitting on his desk. He brings it back to me and my hand automatically reaches out to grab it.

Like I have to take everything he gives me.

Like I’m incapable of refusing him anything.

I’m pathetic, aren’t I?

Shaking my head, I look at it. A nondescript beige envelope.

“I was going to leave it with Coach TJ, but since you’re here, you can have it,” he explains.

I frown. “What is it?”

“Application for the Galaxy’s youth program next summer. I filled it out for you. And my recommendation letter.”

My fingers spasm and I look down at it again.

My new dream, my ambition that he gave me a couple of weeks ago. Something that I never thought I could have: a goal.

A chance to play some real soccer because I never thought I was good enough.

Until him.

Until he told me that I was and made me realize that I could do it.

I’d forgotten about it actually.

Because of everything.

And I realize now that if he hadn’t given me this, I never would’ve remembered.

“You filled out my application and gave me a recommendation letter?” I repeat when I look up, feeling… floored.

Overwhelmed.

And in so much pain.

“Yeah. I…” He clamps his jaw before swallowing. “I’ve never seen anyone like you – play like you do. You’re talented, Salem. You’re very fucking talented and no matter what you decide to do with it, I want you to know that you have my support. You have my belief.” He swallows again, the blue in his eyes shining. “I believe in you. I believe that you can go places. Should you choose to.”

I could drown in the blue of his eyes.

I could drown in the warmth he’s causing in my body. I could drown in my love for him. In his belief. In me.

I could drown and die.

Not only that I could throw myself at him too.

I could throw myself at his feet, wrap my hands around his leg and let myself be dragged through the streets, trailing behind him as he leaves.

Just to slow him down. Just to stop him.

Just to be with him.

I could do all of that and I could do it all right this second.

The very things I promised that I wouldn’t do.

All because he believes in me when no one else has ever done that.

That’s why I hug the envelope to my chest and blink.

I also nod and whisper, “Thank you. Uh, can you call me a cab, please? I’d like to go back.”

His eyes flare as if taken aback. “What?”

I hug the envelope tighter, dig my nails in my waist. “Please?”

At this, resignation washes over his face and he jerks out a nod. “I’ll take you back.”

I don’t argue; the less time spent in his company, the better.

So I nod too and with a last look at me, he moves.

He goes into the bathroom, grabs a shirt and puts it on, even though he’s sweaty from his workout. Grabbing his keys with tight movements, he strides to the door. He jerks it open for me and I walk through it.

And then, we’re riding back to St. Mary’s, me sitting behind his back, clutching his rigid frame and the envelope.

Hugging the love of my life and his belief in me.

His precious, immeasurable, invaluable belief.

Like the cab ride, I don’t remember this ride either, which is a shame because this is my last ride on a motorcycle.

I always knew that if I can’t ride with him, I wouldn’t wanna ride at all.

Soon it comes to an end, my last ride.

Soon, I’m climbing off his bike and standing on the ground. I’m looking at his face, his beautiful, stunning face. Sharp, jutting features.

My Arrow.

Even though he had a helmet on, his hair’s all messy, half damp from his workout and half falling over his brows, framing his navy eyes.

Eyes that have such intense, intense emotions.

Hugging the envelope to my chest, I say, “I…”

His hands on the handlebar flex and he says in a voice that sounds both eager and low, “You what?”

“I, uh, always thought, back when we lived together, that you were this perfect guy,” I say, biting my lip and I notice another flex, this one on his jaw. “You were so calm and determined and focused, you know? So dedicated to the game, to your goals. I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone with your focus. Not even my sister or my mom. I admired that about you. A lot. The Blond Arrow.