Campus Player

I inhale before carefully expelling it from my lungs. “Sometimes it feels like we’re in competition with each other.”

When that statement is met with a deafening silence, I flick my gaze nervously to him.

His brows slam together. Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it. “I don’t understand. How are we in competition?”

If only it were possible to abort this uncomfortable conversation. One look at his face tells me that he won’t drop it easily. So, I force myself to continue, only wanting to get it over with. As much as I don’t want to share this with him, it’s better than revealing the truth. The little bit of peace I had managed to find at the stadium has now been shattered by Rowan’s presence, and it’s doubtful I’ll be able to find it again.

“Throughout my dad’s career as a coach, players have come and gone from his life. Once they graduate, he always stays in touch, but none have become a part of our lives the way you have.” I shrug self-consciously. “You’re probably the closest thing my dad will have to a son.” The sentiment is like an arrow through my heart because it is unflinchingly true.

Emotion crashes over his handsome features.

Happiness.

Longing.

And finally, understanding.

“Demi.” The way he says my name strums something deep inside. His voice drops, sounding as if it’s been scraped from the bottom of the ocean. “You have to know how much Coach loves you.”

“I do,” I cut in, cheeks flaming with humiliation. I sound like a jealous, spoiled brat, and I hate it. That’s not who I am.

There has never been a time in my life when I didn’t think my father loved me. But I also realize that he probably wishes I’d been a boy. One who he could share his passion for football with—a son who would follow in his footsteps. That’s the kind of relationship he has with Rowan. There’s an unbreakable bond between them. One I’m not part of.

I startle when Rowan strokes his fingers against the curve of my jaw.

“No one means more to him than you. He’s always talking about what an amazing soccer player you are, and that you might try out for the National Women’s Soccer League. Or how smart you are, and that you have a near four-point GPA.” Before I can interrupt, he continues. “You are the most important person in his life.”

My heart swells, and a thick lump settles in my throat, making it impossible to suck in oxygen. I know my dad loves me but to hear everything Rowan is saying is like a balm for my soul. Especially after the morning I’ve had.

“You might not realize this, but I owe everything to your father. Coach was there when I needed a strong male hand to guide me. Without him,” he jerks his shoulders as uncertainty fills his eyes, “I don’t know where I would be.”

There’s a naked vulnerability in his expression. One that knocks me off-balance and takes me by surprise. There has never been a time when Rowan and I have opened up to one another like this. I’ve always been so careful to keep our relationship at a surface level. It was so much easier that way. But that, I realize with a punch to the gut, is no longer possible.

It’s only now that we’ve torn down some of the walls, and I’m able to see him with clear eyes, I realize how little I know about Rowan’s background. I search my memory, going back to when my father first scouted him. The only thing I remember hearing about was the fourteen-year-old kid with one hell of an arm. I met him right before freshman year of high school, and Rowan has been a permanent fixture in my life ever since.

I’ve never questioned the reason for that.

Is his family in the picture? Does he even have one?

If you asked me about his football stats, I could rattle them off because I’ve heard him and my father discuss them ad nauseum. But personal information? I don’t have a clue. It’s a giant void.

“What about your parents?” He mentioned needing a strong male hand, does that mean his father wasn’t in the picture?

All of the sudden, curiosity eats away at me, and I’m hungry for more information.

A dark shadow flickers across his face before his expression turns guarded. “What about them?”

I blink, surprised by his reaction. Now that we’re finally digging deep and sharing personal information, I wasn’t expecting him to clam up. “I don’t know...do you see them often?”

“Nope.” He bites out the word and shifts as if uncomfortable with the direction our conversation has swerved in.

“Why not?” I’m slammed with a thought, and my eyes widen. Barely can I force out the question. “Are they...dead?”

“No.” He shakes his head as his voice softens. “They’re both still very much alive.”