Page 25 of Fighting Spirit

“I came to see you.” His expression is wounded, like I’ve slapped him.

“But why?” I press. “You don’t usually drop by.”

He sighs, looking like a kid with his hand caught in a cookie jar. The smile he throws my way is one that should have made me melt. “I was just passing.”

I don’t buy it. “Passing where?”

“What is this?” He huffs, half laughing in indignation. “Am I really getting the fourth degree for coming to check on you?”

I deflate, my annoyance escaping me like the air let out of a balloon. “Shit, sorry.”

His hand moves from my elbow, sliding up my arm to cup the back of my neck. Everywhere he’s touched crawls like fire ants under my skin, and it’s all I can do not to try and shake the sensation away. “You don’t need to apologize. It makes sense that you’d be on edge after everything he put you through.”

I frown. “Rowan? He didn’t put me through anything.”

“You don’t need to protect him, Ruthie.”

It’s hard not to make a face at that name. I’ve always hated it. It’s the name my mom uses when she’s most disappointed.

“I’m not trying to protect him,” I snap. “I’m telling you how it is.”

“Okay.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I just wanted to check. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened, and I didn’t do anything about it.”

I soften. “Sorry,” I mumble. It’s no wonder I have a hard time making close friends if I bite their heads off whenever someone seems concerned about me.

Marshall pulls me forward and wraps me in a tight hug. “Forgiven,” he speaks from somewhere close to my ear.

He gives my neck a quick squeeze before dropping his hand and moving to the dining table, pulling out the chair Rowan had occupied and sprawling in it like a plant. “Are you making a costume? Do you want me to help you?”

He picks up the sequined fabric I’d been working on, careful not to disrupt any of the pins sticking out. I’m currently trying to construct a special waistcoat to add to my costume for a halftime show I’ve been prepping for. The fabric’s been giving me a lot of problems because of the sequins, so eventually, I had to give up using the machine and sew it by hand.

“Damn, this is cool.” Marshall shoots me one of his grins. “It’s gonna look amazing on the field.” My chest warms at his praise; he’s never once dismissed what I do as the mascot. It’s nice to have someone I can properly share it with. Georgie thinks it’s cool but has always treated it with a sort of disinterested admiration. I understand why, after everything with Bri, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt.

I tug the project away from him, not trusting him not to damage it, and start stitching up the side seam, removing each pin as I go. There’s something a little nerve-wracking about working on it here, with Marshall watching me so closely. I feel observed, like an animal in an enclosure.

He arranges himself across from me, looking like the picture of somebody who wants to seem at ease. His long legs cross at the ankles as he runs a hand through his shoulder-length blond hair.

“You’re not like, hanging out with that guy are you?” he asks as he inspects his cuticles. His eyes dart up to meet mine before flitting away.

“Why do you care, Marshall?” I press, though I’m not sure if I want the answer. I mean, does it even matter? Marshall was very clear about his feelings last year.

“I just worry about you, Ruth.” He gives me a gentle smile, like one you’d give a sick kid, as he leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table. I feel a sudden urge to try out some amateur acupuncture with the needle I’m holding. “I know you tookeverything last year pretty hard. I don’t want someone to take advantage of you when you’re vulnerable.”

I’m speechless for a moment as I fight the urge not to punch him.

“Do you even realize how condescending you’re being right now?” I’m proud of myself for how level I manage to keep my tone.

“I’m not, Ruth.” He keeps saying my name. Why is he using my name so much? Has he always done that? “I just don’t want to be the reason that you chase after some random guy who’s no good for you.”

I scoff. “There’s so much wrong with what you just said.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you back then, and I’m not gonna let you get hurt now if I can help it.”

“I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

“Ruthie-”

“Don’t call me that.”

---