Page 40 of Campus Heat

When I stepped back outside, dusk had settled. The field was nearly empty, and Elizabeth was sitting alone on the lowest bleacher. She wasn’t with her squad, and she didn’t have her usual relaxed attitude. She just sat there watching the field like it held some kind of secret. But the minute she saw me, she stood up. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that there was a hint of relief that crossed her face, but she quickly masked it.

“Is it bad?” she asked, touching my shoulder.

Suddenly, I felt exposed. The sweat had dried into salt lines, and exhaustion was carved into every single one of my features.

“It’s nothing,” I mumbled, but she didn’t buy it.

“You look like you were hit by a train,” she said softly.

“So do you,” I replied.

She gave me a faint smile. “We’re trying to keep up.”

I smiled back. We might’ve been super busy and fighting incredibly hard, but her presence was something that could never escape me.

“I noticed. It’s very hard not to.”

She bit her lip slightly, but then silence stretched between us. It was heavy and charged, almost electric.

“You looked different today,” she said carefully.

“In what way?”

“Like you weren’t carrying the entire team on your own.”

Those words hit harder than any tackle ever could. My shoulder pulsed, and I rubbed it unconsciously.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, stepping closer.

She was so close that I could smell the lingering scent of her shampoo over the sweat and grass.

“Yeah,” I admitted, voice rough.

The word felt like a surrender, but her expression didn’t shift into pity. It softened into something steadier.

“I was wondering.” She hesitated for just a moment. “If you’d like to sit with me on the bus this weekend?”

It was simple. All she wanted to do was save me the seat next to her.

Yet it felt more dangerous than anything we had gone through during the day.

16

Elizabeth

The bus was already running when we reached the parking lot, and I instantly choked on the thick cloud of exhaust that it released. It was the same bus we rode in for the last away game. It still had the same peeling company logo and the same dent on the back panel. The front bumper now added to the rattle when it idled for too long, and this when the old engine had already stalled on us once before.

We started filing in, but didn’t get very far. Dylan stopped at the bottom of the steps and stared up at the hunk of metal.

“You can’t tell me it’s a good idea to take this death trap across state lines,” he said.

Lucas patted the side panel, and the bus wheezed in response. “What do you mean? She’s a classic.”

“She’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” Dylan scoffed.

Coach Harris slapped him upside the head. “It’s three hours to Fitchburg. You can get on, or you can start pushing.”

The door opened with a hydraulic groan, and Dylan’s eyebrows shot up. But he didn’t say another word. He just stepped in, and the rest of the guys followed.