Page 37 of Return Policy
Me
How’d you feel about the quiz?
A shit practice, one more sleepless night later, and I still haven’t heard from her. I am going absolutely mad, and every fiber of my body is cursing myself, wondering how the hell I got so pussy whipped without even getting any. Clenching my phone in my hand, I go for the direct route, hoping she won’t avoid me calling her out.
Me
Damn, you’re turning me into a guy that quadruple texts, we good Sunflower?
Sunflower
Sorry, been busy
Me
Same, wanna study tonight?
Sunflower
Sorry, can’t. Rain check?
Me
Sure
Rain check.What a load of horseshit. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I try to ignore the kettlebell crushing my chest.
She’s avoiding me.
But why?
* * *
Two more days have passed of me feeling like a lovesick idiot. Even the three-hour-long training session, followed by an hour of film Coach just made us endure on a fucking Sunday, hasn’t distracted me.
My body aches as I walk home from the stadium, and I’m starting to think Desmond might be on to something with his whole yoga every day bullshit. A flash of blonde catches my attention on the other side of the street, and I snap my head toward it to see Sophia power walking down the sidewalk.
“Soph,” I call out, but she doesn’t react. “Sophia!” She continues pretending I don’t exist as I run across the street. I stop in front of her, and she glances up with puffy, red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks.
“Elijah, I’m busy,” she mumbles, her voice cracking.
“What’s going on?” I ask, holding her distraught face in my hands. “What’s wrong?”
“I really don’t have time for this.” She steps away, and my hands drop to my sides.
“Please. I hate seeing you like this.” My mind spins in confusion as I take in her broken appearance. A mismatched and oversized sweatsuit hangs on her small frame instead of her usual graphic tees and denim shorts. Her hair is disheveled and unbrushed—under eyes dark like she hasn’t slept all night. That paired with the puffiness of them has my pulse pounding. “I’m worried about you. You’ve been ignoring me all week, and now I find you like this. And you… you don’t seem okay.”
“I’m notfuckingokay, Elijah.” Tears stream down her cheeks, but she quickly wipes them away. “I’m freaking out.”
“How can I help?” I ask softly as my stomach churns with worry.
“I don’t need your help,” she snaps.
“Really, I don’t mind—”
“I can figure this out on my own.” She shakes her head, and I think back to the first time we met and her admission that being vulnerable isn’t a strength of hers. The whiskey loosened her lips, but now she’s stone cold sober, locking her feelings up tighter than a bull rider’s grip.
“Sophia… It’s okay to ask for help sometimes. You don’t have to figure out everything on your own. Let me help you.”
