aisle.
Dylan.
He hadn't seen her, he was looking down at his cell phone,
his free hand settled casually in the pocket of his heather gray pinstripe
slacks. The pink dress shirt was wrinkled where his suit jacket had covered it
earlier, his tie a bold blue with white pinstripes. The black shoes were
expensive, and so was his haircut. Professional, but long enough to see he
hadn't lost his rebellious streak, the light brown strands stained with blond,
he'd been in the sun over the summer. His hair always lightened when he spent
too much time outside. His clean, honeyed complexion was as flawless as she'd
remembered, and she shuttered, recalling the feel of her fingertips on the
smooth, hairless skin. Were his eyes still as blue?
Ding.
The front door bell. He looked up. Was that pain on his
face? Disgust? Why hadn't she turned and walked out before he noticed her?
She should flip him off and leave.
Too late. He slipped his phone into his pocket and started
towards her, bringing the other hand up to push his hair back. He was such a
cocky bastard.
She straightened her legs to stand, watched his small turn
of the lips, not quite a smile.
"Hello Rachel. It's nice to see you."
He was two feet away, but she felt his breath on her neck,
his voice in her ear.
Tell him he ruined your life, tell him you hate him.
He towered over her and she could smell him, a clean musky
body wash. She imagined her hands running through the soap on his chest. She
felt sick. Her hands shook, and she dropped the gum again.
"Rachel? Are you okay?"
Don't you dare sound concerned about me.
"Rachel?" he asked again, bending down to pick it
up for her.
"Yes. Hi. I'm sorry, how are you?"
"Do you need to sit down?" he reached for her
elbow to steady her, but her senses came flooding back, she didn't want him to
touch her.
"Fuck you!” she yelled, “Don’t touch me!"
She threw her breakfast on a counter and flew out of the
store, Richard calling after her, "Rachel, are you okay?"
***
Chrissy still hadn’t left the hospital. The attorney for
the district sent word they wanted to meet, the coaches and team wanted to
offer their sympathy and ask what they could do to support the family.
The players from both teams were still shaken up. But
Chrissy refused to go and he’d gone alone. It had given him an excuse to leave
the hospital. He hated being there, it made his skin crawl. Seeing Michael that
way, knowing the specialists would roll in any day and tell them to stop
praying, that it was all over.
Dylan knew it was bad, even if they hadn’t said it
explicitly, Michael wasn’t going to pull through.
Chrissy didn’t see it yet, she was still angry and
threatening everyone’s jobs, sitting with Michael and promising him all sorts
of motherly promises that only served to make herself feel better. He couldn’t
blame her though. Her heartbreak was his own, he understood what motivated her,
she wasn’t ready yet to see what he’d seen days ago. Michael was done here.
The district staff and the coaches had been polite,
sympathetic, but they’d spent most of the time fishing to see if they should
prepare for a lawsuit. Dylan assured them it wasn’t their intent, and offered
to find time to talk with the team in the next few weeks.
His head pounded after the meeting, he stopped at the
pharmacy on his way back to Houston to grab a bottle of water and something for
the headache. He was walking down the pain relief aisle when his phone buzzed
and he slowed to read the texts, but then the front door chimed again, and he
glanced up instinctively.
His jaw shut tight and the hair on his arms stood up, an
emotional electricity shooting through him at the sight of her. Seeing Rachel
that night, seeing her face in the paper, and then here she was again just days
later?
It had to be now, when he was at his most vulnerable? What
kind of a cruel joke was the universe playing on him? He hadn’t imagined he’d
run into her again this soon,
Dylan.
He hadn't seen her, he was looking down at his cell phone,
his free hand settled casually in the pocket of his heather gray pinstripe
slacks. The pink dress shirt was wrinkled where his suit jacket had covered it
earlier, his tie a bold blue with white pinstripes. The black shoes were
expensive, and so was his haircut. Professional, but long enough to see he
hadn't lost his rebellious streak, the light brown strands stained with blond,
he'd been in the sun over the summer. His hair always lightened when he spent
too much time outside. His clean, honeyed complexion was as flawless as she'd
remembered, and she shuttered, recalling the feel of her fingertips on the
smooth, hairless skin. Were his eyes still as blue?
Ding.
The front door bell. He looked up. Was that pain on his
face? Disgust? Why hadn't she turned and walked out before he noticed her?
She should flip him off and leave.
Too late. He slipped his phone into his pocket and started
towards her, bringing the other hand up to push his hair back. He was such a
cocky bastard.
She straightened her legs to stand, watched his small turn
of the lips, not quite a smile.
"Hello Rachel. It's nice to see you."
He was two feet away, but she felt his breath on her neck,
his voice in her ear.
Tell him he ruined your life, tell him you hate him.
He towered over her and she could smell him, a clean musky
body wash. She imagined her hands running through the soap on his chest. She
felt sick. Her hands shook, and she dropped the gum again.
"Rachel? Are you okay?"
Don't you dare sound concerned about me.
"Rachel?" he asked again, bending down to pick it
up for her.
"Yes. Hi. I'm sorry, how are you?"
"Do you need to sit down?" he reached for her
elbow to steady her, but her senses came flooding back, she didn't want him to
touch her.
"Fuck you!” she yelled, “Don’t touch me!"
She threw her breakfast on a counter and flew out of the
store, Richard calling after her, "Rachel, are you okay?"
***
Chrissy still hadn’t left the hospital. The attorney for
the district sent word they wanted to meet, the coaches and team wanted to
offer their sympathy and ask what they could do to support the family.
The players from both teams were still shaken up. But
Chrissy refused to go and he’d gone alone. It had given him an excuse to leave
the hospital. He hated being there, it made his skin crawl. Seeing Michael that
way, knowing the specialists would roll in any day and tell them to stop
praying, that it was all over.
Dylan knew it was bad, even if they hadn’t said it
explicitly, Michael wasn’t going to pull through.
Chrissy didn’t see it yet, she was still angry and
threatening everyone’s jobs, sitting with Michael and promising him all sorts
of motherly promises that only served to make herself feel better. He couldn’t
blame her though. Her heartbreak was his own, he understood what motivated her,
she wasn’t ready yet to see what he’d seen days ago. Michael was done here.
The district staff and the coaches had been polite,
sympathetic, but they’d spent most of the time fishing to see if they should
prepare for a lawsuit. Dylan assured them it wasn’t their intent, and offered
to find time to talk with the team in the next few weeks.
His head pounded after the meeting, he stopped at the
pharmacy on his way back to Houston to grab a bottle of water and something for
the headache. He was walking down the pain relief aisle when his phone buzzed
and he slowed to read the texts, but then the front door chimed again, and he
glanced up instinctively.
His jaw shut tight and the hair on his arms stood up, an
emotional electricity shooting through him at the sight of her. Seeing Rachel
that night, seeing her face in the paper, and then here she was again just days
later?
It had to be now, when he was at his most vulnerable? What
kind of a cruel joke was the universe playing on him? He hadn’t imagined he’d
run into her again this soon,
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