All Broke Down (Rusk University #2)(73)
Author: Cora Carmack

When he turns to me again, his expression is serious. “You’re a good man, Silas. A good player. And I’m glad to have you on this team.”

Goddamn it. I’m not going to get emotional in here. I’m not.

“I may not have any legal authority to address what happened this weekend, but I do have authority over my team. Jake is suspended indefinitely and pending a university investigation, will likely be dismissed from the team altogether. All I need is the athletic director’s okay, and I promise you I’ll get that. One way or another.”

I grip the arms of my chair tightly and nod my head. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

He comes around the table, and I stand to meet him when he holds out a hand. He shakes my hand, firm and quick, and it has all the softness of a cobra strike, but it’s what nearly puts me over the edge.

I swallow hard, nod my head, thank him one more time, and then head for the door.

“Silas,” he calls before I’m all the way out. “Williams told me about the playground. Pretty inventive idea.”

I shrug. “I guess.”

“I sure do hope this game works out for you, son. But if it doesn’t, I think you could make a damn fine coach.”

I close the door behind me with a quiet click, and I let the relief seep through my shoulders.

I swear to God, it’s like the whole team decided to show up for early morning workout today. Torres and Brookes are pretending to watch game film in the lounge area right outside the office, and they pounce as soon as I’m out. Half a dozen more guys slink in from the locker room to hear me give them the news. Coach Oz and even Coach Gallt nod at me as they leave the office and head into the weight room.

It still doesn’t quite feel real when I leave the athletic complex and head for my pickup so I can make my first class on the other side of campus. Then I see a familiar sleek gray number parked next to my rusty piece of junk, and Dylan climbs out of the driver’s side.

The wind catches her hair, tossing it up in this golden column that catches the sun. She crosses to me quickly and huddles in close so that my body blocks some of the wind.

“So?”

“I’m still on the team. No suspension.”

She squeals and throws her arms around my neck, and I lift her up off her feet so I can bury my face in the warm skin of her neck. Whatever tension was still left in me begins to melt away, and I could stay right here forever.

“I knew everything would be okay. I knew it.”

“Carter is suspended, and if Coach has his way, he’ll be cut soon.”

She pulls back and smiles, running a hand along my cheek. “More good things.”

I kiss her lightly and slowly lower her feet to the ground.

“Good things” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

She grins up at me, slips out of my arms, and crosses to lean against my truck. She’s wearing shorts and the same fall-off-your-shoulder shirt she wore the night we met. She gives me a wicked smile.

“What do you say to skipping our morning classes and going for a drive instead?”

“I say get your gorgeous ass in the truck and let’s go.”

I leave the windows down as we drive, so Dylan’s hair blows across my chest and face as the wind sweeps through. But I don’t mind because she’s pressed tight against my side, my arm resting in the cradle of her thighs so I can switch gears.

I don’t go as far out of town as we did last time, but I drive until all the houses and businesses disappear and there’s nothing but green, wide-open space. When I park, I pull a blanket out from under my seat, and Dylan laughs.

“Oh . . . You’re getting better at this.” I lift her up into the truck bed and together we spread out the blanket.

“I do try to please.”

“Now I don’t have to worry about getting all rusty and dirty.”

I sprawl on the blanket next to her feet, and tug her down into my lap. Our legs end up tangled, and she laughs as she tries to get situated.

“Rusty, no. But the other . . . I make no promises.”

Summer is teasing its way into fall, and though it’s warm out, the wind tells a different story. She presses close against me.

The sky is big above us. The countryside stretches out for miles in every direction. And neither of our lives has ever been so complicated. But I don’t feel overshadowed by any of those things. Not with her in my arms.

There’s still her parents to worry about. And she’s got me trying to rope in more guys from the team to help with a new protest about the shelter. I mentioned to Stella that Dylan might be able to help, that maybe she could do something to draw more attention so that the prosecutor would take a more serious look at the case. But she just changed the subject.

I don’t know when life stopped feeling small and started feeling too big, too much to handle, but I know it’s easier with Dylan in my arms.

Me and her together . . . I believe we’re big enough to face whatever comes.

Epilogue

One Week Later

Dylan

I completely underestimated football uniforms.

During the first and only other game I had attended, we’d had a seat high up in the student section, so I’d only really seen these big, hulking gray and red masses. But Silas’s first game back is an away game. It’s only a six-hour drive, so Dallas, Matt, and I make the trip, and we snag much better seats. And oh my goodness, Silas in a uniform is just . . . I don’t even have the words. And the game hasn’t even started yet.

Stella said she had a big art project to work on, and I can tell by the persistent worried look on Dallas’s face (and the way she keeps checking her phone) that she feels badly for leaving her behind.

Stella loves football. Or loved it.

But we have to trust that she knows her lines. And maybe she really does have a project she needs to work on, but if she doesn’t . . . I don’t blame her.

It takes us all a while to get in the groove of being without her, though. Matt tries to fill in, stepping up to play DJ as we drive. But the drive felt . . . just less without her.

“Ryan talked to her,” Dallas says, after receiving a text. “He said she’s really at the studio. He heard her talking to some other students.”

“Good. That’s good,” I say.

Dallas nods. “She’s strong.”

“She is.”

“She’s going to be okay.” I can’t tell whether she’s phrasing it as a question or a statement, so I just repeat the words back to her, and that seems to make her feel better.