Page 18 of The Heartbreak Blitz

Well, that’s that.Smooth move, Cade.

I settle back just as the bus doors close and our driver pulls away from the curb. Soon, the sun will lower as dusk approaches. We’ll be corralled into the hotel and expected to adhere to curfews like we’re still impressionable teens.

My chances to get through to Charley probably just slipped past my fingers, like when the QB puts a little too much juice on his throw and I’m not fast enough to catch it.

I throw the unwanted Snickers bar into my bag and take out my own earbuds, shutting my eyes to the world for the next few hours.

The sharp movementof the bus jolts me awake. I blink, letting my eyes come into focus. Outside, the front of a hotel is lit up, and I wipe the glass with my forearm to clear the haze.

Ah, yes. I remember this place. Sophomore year, Reid, Lex, and I—along with a few others—snuck out to a nearby Applebee’s. The flirty waitress and I were getting along great until the coaching staff came in and ordered us to return to our rooms. I smile at the memory. Nowadays, I let the younger guys make stupid mistakes like getting caught past curfew or showing up late to the bus.

Per usual, we wait at the curb while an assistant runs in to get our keys.

“Charley,” Coach T barks.

In front of me, she doesn’t move. She must be out. I slip my fingers through the gap and poke her in the shoulder.

She lunges forward like I was going to tackle her again.

“Where is she?” Up front, Coach T narrows his gaze through the low light. “Charley!”

“Y-yes,” she stammers out, holding her hand above the seats.

Coach is a nice guy, but he’s impatient. His tight smile says it all when he crooks a finger at her, beckoning her forward. Scrambling, she rustles around with her backpack before nearly tripping past the equipment manager.

His low voice meets my ears just a few rows away. “Remember when we said you would check us in?”

“Yes, right. On it.” Coach moves out of the way so she can slip past. The bus makes a whistling noise far too loud for the silence while it lowers and the door opens for Charley to step out.

Her back ramrod straight, shoulders tight, I watch through the window and spy her staring up at the exterior of the hotel like she’s at the tiger cage at a zoo. The doors close behind her, and despite myself, my stomach clenches.

There’s just something up with her. She has no confidence whatsoever. I’m not sure another player on the team would even recall her name, and trust me, these guys are all about easy female targets. She slips into scenarios like an invisible ghost, and I know I don’t know her very well—or at all—but no one deserves to walk around unseen.

She returns a few minutes later, a folder in hand with the hotel’s insignia embossed on the front. Coach T whispers something to her, and her face blanches before he plucks a room key out of her grip and gets off the bus. The other coaches fall in line, and I swallow the sudden dryness in my throat when I realize she’s been given the task of distributing the room keys. Her deer-in-headlights look says it all.

I jump to my feet, grabbing my bag in the process, first in line. She peers up at me, and all of her earlier bravado is gone. The folder trembles a little. I gently relieve her of it, taking control of the situation.

“Listen up, dickheads,” I yell from the front, hefting the folder over my head like it’s a championship trophy. “I have the power.”

A chorus of whistles and laughter sounds, and I start calling out roommate pairs. One by one, they glide down the aisle, grabbing their keys from me. I nudge Charley into the front seat so they can pass by unobstructed, my arm rubbing against hers.A warmth breeches my bravado, settling into my skin like a caress. I stumble over the next name and am rewarded with jeers and teases. “M-Michaels here,” Aidan mimics when he takes his key, smiling from ear to ear.

I can’t imagine why Charley didn’t want to do this.

“Fuck off.” Our banter rolls off us easily, and he laughs while walking down the stairs. For the remaining pairs, each one of them teases me, stuttering out their names or making their voice crack like they’re prepubescent boys.

And for every one, I have a retort. A middle finger here, a Yo Mama joke there. Soon, it’s me, Charley, and the driver left on the bus, the air clearing with the empty space.

“This must be you.” I hold up the room key for Charlotte Heywood.

She takes it. “I guess I should thank you.” She shakes her head. “I mean, thank you. I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“You’ll get it,” I tell her, pocketing my own key.

She takes the folder from me and attempts to stuff it in her bag. With a sigh, she removes the miniature Bulldog statue and sets it on the seat to make room.

“Aww, you’re in charge of little Chuck?” I pat his head. He’s the perfect mini replica of the original Charlie that sits on a pedestal in the quad on campus. It’s good luck to rub him on the way to a game, so transportable Chuck comes with us when we’re away. He gets set up on a table so when we exit the locker room, each of us can rub his head before taking the field.

“I’ve been told he’s essential to the team’s success.”

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