The Wrong Quarterback: Chapter 11

It had been a long freaking day. I’d known college was going to be hard, but the class load was more than I anticipated.

I was exhausted.

And honestly…a little lonely.

Besides Nat, I hadn’t made any friends. And Gray…well, I didn’t want to think about Gray at the moment.

I was having trouble finding the boy that I’d loved in the man I was supposed to be dating. And maybe he was regretting me, as well. We certainly hadn’t spent enough time together for him to find any redeeming qualities in me.

I stared down at the latest text he’d sent me, that he had a pledge event he was in charge of tonight, and he’d see me tomorrow. Another dinner canceled. Another dinner that I’d eat alone.

Walking down the hall, my bag slung over my shoulder, I was wondering for the first time if maybe I’d made a mistake coming here.

The building was nearly empty, the muffled echo of my footsteps the only sound around me. As I passed by one of the open doors, something caught my eye. A piano. It sat there, black and gleaming under the dull fluorescent lights, almost out of place in the sterile, academic setting of the building. I stopped, my feet freezing in place. Seeing it pulled at me, it made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

For a moment, I stood there, staring at it through the open doorway. The room was empty, quiet. No one would know if I went in.

My hand tightened around the strap of my bag. I hadn’t played in a long time. Not since I’d stopped being able to get through an entire song, and I’d given up on my hand ever cooperating.

For most of my life, playing had been an escape, one of the few things I was better at than everyone else. One of the only things that ever got the attention of Mama. Losing it on top of losing my brother had been…devastating. For weeks I’d thought about killing myself—something I’d never admit to anyone else. It was all I could do to claw myself out of depression.

I hovered for one more second and then stepped inside before I could talk myself out of it. The door clicked softly shut behind me. The sound echoed in the small room, and my heart was pounding in my chest as I approached the piano. Which was dumb. Something that used to be as easy as breathing shouldn’t make me feel that way.

Dropping my bag to the floor, I sat down at the bench, my fingers hovering above the keys. The cool, smooth surface beneath my fingertips felt foreign, yet familiar, like a memory I hadn’t quite forgotten but was afraid to touch. I closed my eyes, drawing in a shaky breath.

I could do this.

My fingers grazed the keys lightly, and the sound that followed was soft, hesitant. It wavered in the air like a fragile whisper, the kind that could break if I wasn’t careful. I let my fingers move, playing a few notes, something simple, something I didn’t have to think about too much.

But then I started to play for real.

The music came slowly at first, hesitant, like it had to find its way back to me. And then it flowed. My hands moved across the keys, and for a few precious moments, I forgot about everything. The ache in my chest, the confusion, the fear—none of it mattered when I played. The sound wrapped around me, filling the empty room, each note pulling me deeper into a place I hadn’t let myself go in so long.

But then it happened.

The familiar pain shot through my hand, sharp and unforgiving. My fingers cramped up, seizing mid-note. I stopped, my heart lurching in my chest as I stared down at my hand, watching it tremble, useless. The room seemed to close in around me, the silence swallowing up the music like it had never existed.

My chest tightened, and before I could stop myself, tears welled up in my eyes. They blurred my vision, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t play. I couldn’t even make it through a single song without my hand betraying me, reminding me of everything I’d lost, everything that was still broken inside me.

I pressed my hand against the keys, the notes clashing in an ugly, jarring sound, and that’s when the tears started falling for real. Silent at first, then shaking, sobs wracking my body as I sat there, helpless. My head dropped forward, my forehead brushing the cold, smooth surface of the piano as I wept.

The grief, the anger, the frustration of everything I’d been holding inside, everything I hadn’t allowed myself to feel—it all spilled out in that moment, crashing over me like a wave I couldn’t fight.

I hated this. I hated that something so small, so stupid, could break me like this. I hated that no matter what I did, I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t fix myself. And no matter how much I wanted to, nothing would ever be the same again.

But what I hated worst of all…was that my inability to play the piano…it reminded me I’d never see Ben again.

I stood outside the building, leaning against the wall, scrolling aimlessly through my phone as I waited for Casey. I knew her class was supposed to be done by now, but the minutes kept ticking by and she hadn’t come out. Checking her class schedule again, I made sure I hadn’t messed up where she was supposed to be.

Nope, she’d definitely just finished her freshman writing class.

So where was she?

My phone buzzed.

Quarterbacks were definitely not supposed to be walls, so I waited for Walker to respond as I kept my eye on the door.

A few seconds later he did.

I decided to jump in at that point because Lincoln Daniels was a god, and there was nothing you could say to convince me otherwise.

Glancing up, I noticed that the students around me had started to thin out, and still, no Casey. I guess there was a chance that she’d gotten out thirty minutes early, but it wasn’t likely. My jaw clenched imagining some guy trying to talk to her inside. Pushing off the wall, I slid my phone into my pocket, and walked toward the doors.

I moved through the building, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the near-empty hallway. Every classroom I passed, I glanced in, trying not to seem too obvious, but scanning nonetheless. Where was she?

And then I heard it. The soft strains of piano music. Like there was a string leading me, I followed the music until I was outside one of the music practice rooms. I peered through the narrow window in the door, a sense of relief flooding my veins when I saw her.

Casey was sitting at a bench, her posture straight, fingers gliding over the keys as the music came alive around her.

It was the expression on her face that got me though, soft, distant, like she was in some kind of dream world entirely, a place where nothing else could touch her.

I wanted to be there with her too. I turned and leaned against the door and listened, letting Casey’s music fill the spaces I didn’t even know I needed filled.

The music stopped with a harsh clang that jarred the quiet hallway. I straightened and spun around, peering through the window to see what was happening.

Casey was slumped over the keys, her shoulders shaking, muffled sobs breaking the stillness. One hand clutched her other, fingers trembling and tight, like she was trying to stop some unseen pain.

What the fuck?

I didn’t bother knocking, I just pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and red from crying, her hands trembling as she frantically wiped at her face. “Parker?”

I closed the door softly behind me, locking her into this space with me. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, baby,” I said, feeling like my heart was breaking because hers obviously was. “Tell me what hurts?”

She stared up at me, silent tears sliding down her face.

“I was passing by and saw you through the window,” I murmured. I nodded to the glass on the door, making it seem like pure coincidence. Her eyes flickered to it, still red, still raw.

“I’ve never heard anything like that. You’re beautiful,” I told her in a choked voice. “Everything about you.”

Casey swallowed hard, her lips pressing into a thin line before she spoke. “Please don’t say that,” she whispered.

I stepped forward, the sound of my footsteps muffled by the carpeted floor, not stopping until I was standing in front of her. “Why are you crying, baby?”

She hesitated, her eyes dropping to the keys, her fingers twitching slightly. And then she sighed, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

“I used to be a concert pianist.” Her voice was small, broken. “And then I was in an accident… and I hurt my hand.”

I didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a moment. I let the weight of her confession settle between us.

“What happened?” I asked quietly, thinking of her hand trembling during our tutoring session. Was that what she’d been talking about?

Her eyes flicked to mine, searching for something. But then, slowly, she turned back to the piano, her fingers hovering above the keys. She pressed down gently, and her left hand moved effortlessly. But her right hand…it shook, the notes coming out stilted, off-rhythm. She flinched, her fingers locking up as the shaking got worse.

I didn’t say anything. Instead, I sat down and reached out, placing my hand gently on top of hers. “Let me help you,” I told her. She stiffened for a second, her breath catching in her throat, but she didn’t pull away. She moved her fingers, and every time the trembling started, I would press her fingers down against the keys, steadying her, until the tension in her hand slipped away.

“Keep going,” I whispered, my voice low.

She let me help her, her body relaxing long enough that we were moving as one. The music was slow, soft, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. It was just us.

After a minute, she stopped, her breath coming out shaky, her eyes meeting mine.

Fuck. She was unreal.

Her starry eyes.

Her perfect pink lips.

I needed her.

There was something in her gaze, like I’d unlocked something inside of her, and she didn’t know what to do with herself now.

Leave it all to me, I wanted to tell her.

I’ll take care of everything.

I slowly moved my hand to her cheek, trying not to make any sudden movements that made her skitter and run.

Her skin was so fucking soft.

I softly stroked her cheek, savoring the gasp that slipped from her mouth.

Before she could move away, I leaned in…and kissed her cheek as she quickly turned her head.

Sighing against her skin, I couldn’t help myself. “I know you feel this. Like something has happened to my fucking soul. Like I can’t breathe without you anymore. Tell me it’s not just me that’s gone crazy. Tell me you’re right there with me,” I begged roughly.

Tangling my hands in her hair, I gently turned her head so she had to face me.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she whispered, pulling from my touch and practically sprinting from the room.

I stared at the book bag she’d left on the floor feeling strangely…invigorated. The idea of us had become a concrete thing in my mind. I could already see it, what our future would be like, how we were going to be so incredibly happy.

I’d be there for her, in whatever way she needed me.

I could tell she thought she was broken.

But I’d help change her mind about that.

Get ready, baby. I’m coming for you.