Sweet Soul

“Carillo, ask her out, man. She’s a sure thing. At some point you gotta talk to someone that isn’t wearing pads or shares your blood. Stacey said she likes you, really likes you. She asks about you all the time.” My face burned with embarrassment. I’d seen Stacey—Jake’s girlfriend—beside the redhead as she practiced her cheers on the side of the field, but I just wasn’t interested.

My eyes sought the turf, and we remained silent for what seemed like forever. A hand landed on my arm again—Jake. He sighed. “Fine, I’ll shut up. But have you at least given any thought to moving into the frat house? You know the guys all want you there. You should be living on campus, not with your brother.” Jake huffed, and added, “Granted, your brother’s fucking Austin Carillo, a Seahawk, and you live in a damn mansion, but you should be here with us. Parties and pussy. You’re missing out, Alabama.”

I smirked at Jake’s nickname for me. Another reason why I hardly ever talked; my strong Bama accent stuck out like a sore thumb against the predominantly west coast students. Jake was right, it got me attention, attention most guys would die for. But it was only torture for me.

Feeling unease in my stomach at the thought of moving into the frat house, I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m probably just gonna stay at my place. Y’all know I got the pool house now. I’m good on my own. Prefer my own space.”

After the silence that followed, I looked up to see Jake and Ashton staring at me in obvious disappointment. I met their stares, and with defeated shoulders, they wordlessly stepped aside. I picked up my feet and jogged back toward centerfield, trying hard to avoid a continuation of this conversation. Then Ashton shouted, “We just want you to get out more, Alabama! It’s not good being on your own all the time!”

Stopping dead, I looked back and assured him, “I’m good on my own. I ain’t into all the parties and stuff that you guys are. It just isn’t me. So leave me alone, yeah? I’m good as I am. I’m happy.”

Jake and Ashton turned away without saying anything else, and as they walked to grab their drink, I glanced over at the redhead and felt my face flame with embarrassment, as I caught her still staring at me. My hand tightened on my helmet strap, and I immediately dropped my gaze. Truth was, I didn’t even like her, not like that anyway. I didn’t even know her. I’d never given her a chance to speak to me. I’d run away every time.

She wasn’t the first to pay me attention; in fact, it happened all the time and I hated it. I wasn’t good with words. I wasn’t good with any of the dating crap. I played ball, I studied, and I kept to myself.

That was my life.

And I didn’t want it to change.

“Carillo. You got twenty more sprints, then you can hit the showers,” Coach shouted, as I took my place back on the field. Putting my head down, drawing myself down to focus, I got it done.

Twenty sprints later, I threw a wave to Jake and Ashton who were still hitting their sprints. I made my way inside. I always finished first. Football was my life. It was what I did best. It was the only constant I’d ever had; I could trust football, I could trust the routine.

It never let me down.

It never left.

My cleats tapped on the tile floor of the locker room as I toweled off sweat from my face. I hit the showers, and in less than five minutes under the boiling spray, with only a towel around my waist, I headed into the locker room. I entered the change area, just as a movement caught my eye, right in front of my station.

A girl. A petite, thin girl—scraggly long blond hair sticking out of a pulled up hood; dressed in dirty black jeans, chucks riddled with holes, and a scuffed black leather jacket.

I froze, startled by what the hell a girl was doing in here, in the football locker room. Then my eyes widened when I realized exactly what she was doing. Her left side was to me, her rail thin body showing me most of her back.

Her hands were in my bag.

Instinct kicked in and I stepped forward. “Hey!” I shouted. But the girl didn’t move. I shouted again, my heart beating fast. It seemed like it took her a minute to hear me. She froze, and flashing me a quick glimpse of her shocked dirty face hidden under her black hood, she pulled something to her chest and sprinted out of the locker room, then straight outside.

I stood rooted to the spot, completely shocked, until I remembered that my bag was wide open. I rushed forward and looked inside. At first I didn’t think anything had been taken, then I noticed my wallet was missing from the inside pocket. I began throwing my clothes and sports crap out onto the floor, searching the entire bag. But as I reached inside the hidden compartment, there was nothing.

Nothing.

She’d taken my wallet.

Great!

Standing straight, I ran my hands through my wet hair. My eyes darted around the room. I questioned how the hell she’d gotten in here? In a secure room?

I breathed out through my nose, trying like hell to calm down, when shards of ice sliced, like spears, down my spine. Every part of me stilled as a further realization kicked in. My wallet. My wallet not only contained all my cards and ID, but also the one thing that mattered the most to me—in my whole life.

The rosary.

My rosary.

My mamma’s rosary!

I shot forward like lightning, dragging my sweatpants and hoodie out of my bag, and threw them on in record time. Without even bothering to put on my chucks, I sprinted out of the locker room and out into the parking lot. My eyes searched all around for the blonde, but she was nowhere in sight. My eyes traveled over the mass of cars, the sidewalks and the surrounding buildings, but she’d gone.

The cold wind wrapped around me and I stood with my hands on my head. My stomach sank into a huge pit when I thought of having those beads taken from me.

I needed them.

I Goddamn needed them.

My jaw clenched as I fought back a loud frustrated scream, then I saw other students hanging about, all staring at me as I stood in bare feet, my hair dripping wet and my hands upon my head.

Feeling a huge surge of embarrassment, I forced myself to turn, to go back into the change rooms, when someone stepped in my path.

My stomach sank further still.

It was the redheaded cheerleader.

The girl smiled and my eyes instinctively dropped to the ground, refusing any contact. I could feel my cheeks heat with redness. I tucked my hands into my pockets, and hell, I had no idea what to do next.