For Finlay Read online

  For Finlay

  J. Nathan

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not considered to be real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by J. Nathan.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Edited by Stephanie Elliot

  Cover Design by Letitia at RBA Designs

  Cover Photo by Lindee Robinson

  Cover Models Travis Bendall and Haley Jorden

  First Edition January 2017

  CHAPTER ONE

  Finlay

  “Hey, sweetheart. Why don’t you bring me a little something over here?”

  I sucked back what I really wanted to say to the big oaf wearing only his shoulder pads and football pants as I crossed the locker room filled with college football players in all stages of dress. I plastered on my ‘I could give a damn’ face and maneuvered around the players, careful not to get too close to what they didn’t bother covering up with me in the room. I extended a water bottle to the idiot.

  A smug smile slipped across his face. “I didn’t say I wanted water.”

  The room exploded with cackles and hoots of laughter.

  I stifled my annoyance as I pulled back my shoulders and turned away from him like it didn’t faze me.

  “Hey. Where you going, sweetheart?” he drawled.

  I caught the sky blue eyes of the quarterback seated on the stool in front of his locker lacing up his cleats. He looked surprised I’d held my tongue. Hell, I was surprised I’d held it when all I really wanted to do was tell the offensive lineman I’d come to hate—the one who’d been razzing me since I’d begun with the team a week before—where to stick his jock strap.

  My eyes flashed away, seeking out my spot in the corner of the room where I waited for someone who actually needed a drink to signal me over.

  Coach Burns burst into the crowded locker room rattling off the game plan for the start of their first closed scrimmage of the season. Fall semester began in a couple weeks. Football players and team staff started early, hence my presence on campus during the last few weeks of summer.

  I looked out at the football players, all primed with black paint under their eyes for a battle against a local college. They sat focused on the coach’s words like football was life. Like it meant anything in the grand scheme of things.

  I inhaled a deep breath. I could do it. I could be there. A hundred miles from home. Starting college at a school I never planned to attend. One I never even considered attending. It was never my dream. It had always been his.

  * * *

  Cole ran across our backyard. He was taller and leaner than most of the ten-year-old boys in town, owing his athletic build to football. He played every day whether he had practice or not. And on days when he had no one to play with, in other words when I wasn’t around or didn’t feel like it, he threw into a tire swing our dad hung from an old oak tree in the backyard.

  I pulled back my arm and tossed Cole the ball. Though a little wobbly, he reached over his head, nabbed the off-center pass, and tucked it against his side. He took off running toward our mother’s flower bed at the edge of our property, celebrating when he reached it like he just caught the game winning pass in an actual game.

  I brushed my long dark hair out of my face and dug my hands into my hips, waiting for his excessive celebration to stop. Even at ten, my twin’s confidence drove me nuts. He was such a showoff. Rightfully so, but it still irked me. So did my friends who came over to play with me but ended up staring at Cole the entire time.

  He finally stopped his ridiculous dance and turned to me, his face suddenly serious. “You throw like a girl.”

  My eyes flared. “I am a girl.”

  “Yeah.” His lips pulled up in one corner. “Sometimes I forget.”

  I stuck out my tongue. “Idiot.”

  “Loser.”

  We both laughed as he tossed me a perfect spiral which I caught easily. Growing up with a football phenom taught me some impressive skills.

  “Maybe by the time we go to college, there’ll be more female football players,” he said as I tossed him back the ball.

  I scrunched up my face, completely thrown by his admission. “You think I’m good enough to play?”

  He shrugged. “You’re better than most of the guys on my team.”

  I smiled on the inside, never letting my brother know how much his words meant to me. He thought I was good. Cole Thatcher, football player extraordinaire, thought I was good.

  * * *

  I stood on the sideline under the unbearable August sun. There was no reprieve from an Alabama summer. Pool water turned to bath water, and lakes were overcrowded. So unless you were brave enough to jump into a cold shower, you dealt with the heat. And out there in the open stadium, the sun beat down like a mother.

  A couple players ran over to the sideline, pulling off their shiny red helmets revealing damp hair and sweaty red faces. The once menacing black paint trailed like tear drops down their cheeks. They grabbed the water bottles I extended to them. “Thanks,” the shorter one uttered, while the taller downed the contents of his without taking a breath.

  They tossed me back the empty bottles. I grabbed two more from the bench and searched for anyone else looking for sustenance. When no one caught my eye, I hurried to my back-up supply in the big jug behind the bench and filled the empty bottles.

  “Hey, sweetheart.”

  Ugh. That freaking voice.

  “Get your ass over here.”

  I turned, eyeing the asshole approaching me with nothing but disgust. And while I had a million comebacks for his inappropriate comments, I held my tongue—at least for the time being. I needed to be there. A prick like him wasn’t going to drive me away.

  “Didn’t you see me motioning for you out there?” he growled.

  Yup. I shook my head. “Sorry.”

  “Well, give me a damn drink,” he ordered, colder than usual.

  I bit down on my bottom lip as I handed him the bottle, wishing I’d spit in it first.

  He ripped it from my hand. “Coach might’ve gotten one with tits this time,” he said to no one in particular. “But she’s sure dumb as dirt.”

  I sucked back a sharp breath.

  “Grady!” a deep voice shouted. “That’s enough.”

  I froze, startled that someone actually had the balls to stand up to the three-hundred pound brute.

  Grady’s eyes lifted over my shoulder. A cold calculated grin—nearly concealed by his pathetic attempt at a beard—tugged at his lips. “This don’t concern you, Brooks.”

  “Leave her alone,” the quarterback warned.

  Grady laughed wickedly before his eyes shot back to mine. “Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart. Brooks ain’t nobody’s Prince Charming. He’d fuck you then ditch you in a matter of seconds.” Grady downed the water and tossed the bottle to the ground as he lumbered away.

  I didn’t turn around. I knew who Caden Brooks was. I’d known before I even arrived on campus. Junior star quarterback. His conquests epic, making his way from his home state of California to Alabama in grand-freaking-style. And his looks…well, he certainly was pretty. If football didn’t work out, his dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and body people bowed down to would be gracing underwear billboards in Times Square in no time. But the last thing I needed to see was Brooks waiting for a thank you. Waiting for me to fawn all over him like every other girl.

  Not a chance in hell that was happeni
ng.

  “You okay?” Brooks asked from somewhere behind me.

  My head whipped around, my dark ponytail slapping me in the face. My eyes locked on his sweaty face, his eyes prominent in the bright afternoon sun. “I could’ve handled it,” I scowled.

  His head recoiled, the lack of appreciation catching him off guard. “Yeah, looked like you were handling it.” Of course he recovered. Guys accustomed to people kissing their asses always recovered, never letting anyone see them falter. As if on cue, his features sobered. I watched it happen. I watched him realize I wasn’t worth his time.

  I wasn’t. Nor would I ever want to be. I hated Caden Brooks. I hated him with everything I had left in the world.

  “No worries,” he said. “I won’t make that mistake again.” He turned and walked toward the other end of the sideline.

  I didn’t need him.

  I didn’t need anyone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Finlay

  I stared into my mirror, applying my final coat of pink lip gloss. Loose curls hung over my bare shoulders.

  Cole ducked his head into my doorway. “Finlay, you coming to my game?”

  I didn’t bother turning around. “I have a date.”

  “With college boy?” His voice took on that disgusted tone he got every time my life didn’t revolve around his football.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because you’re missing my last high school game to hang out with that douchebag.”

  I pulled off my flip flops and chucked them at his head.

  He caught them easily. “You still throw like a girl.”

  “I’m still a girl.” My forehead creased, something suddenly dawning on me. “Oh, I get it. The scouts will stop showing up in droves now that you committed to Alabama.”

  “So?”

  “So, you’re worried you won’t have enough adoring fans there.”

  He cocked his head. “I’ll have fans.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, superstar.” I turned back to the mirror, making sure my makeup was still in place.

  There was a long pause before Cole spoke again. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want my sister there.”

  My heart squeezed in my chest, but there was no way I’d let him know that. “Well this sister is so over high school football games.”

  He scoffed from his spot in the doorway. “If you ask me, she thinks she’s better than high school. Better than her own brother.” He turned and walked off, leaving me feeling like a fraud. A big fat fraud.

  Of course I wanted to see him play in his last high school football game. He was my twin. My other half. My partner in crime since the womb. But being the star quarterback’s sister wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. I was QB’s little sis or Cole’s sister. Never Finlay. I lost my identity as soon as Cole became a hot shot quarterback. The best in the state. And while I would’ve liked nothing more than to watch him play, I needed to have my own thing. I needed to be my own person. I needed to have my own life. Living in Cole’s shadow just didn’t allow it. So I started distancing myself from him. Blaming him for the circus happening around us. And when I said us, I meant him.

  Senior year, when decisions about the future were so important, his “celebrity” had hit an all-time high, taking a major toll on me. My decision to go to the University of Tampa to major in something in the medical field took a backseat to the most anticipated answer in the state. Which college would Cole Thatcher play football for? Scouts stopped by the house, called regularly, and attended his games. And it wasn’t just college scouts interested, pro scouts had been out, too, even though he wouldn’t be eligible for the draft for two years. In our small town, word spread quickly. The local newspaper wouldn’t keep quiet about his prospects. So the girls in our small town knew they’d be hitting the jackpot if they could score Cole.

  I learned quickly if someone I didn’t know suddenly wanted me to sit with them at lunch or hang out with them on the weekend, they were only using me to get close to Cole. It became such a normal occurrence, I no longer knew who to trust. Never knew why anyone was talking to me, even friends I’d had since kindergarten.

  Frankly, his fame sucked. So what did I do? I made sure to suck as a sister. I avoided his games. I avoided him. Like any of it was his fault. But living in the shadow of someone else was the worst kind of fate. And for my own sanity, I put an end to it.

  * * *

  I glanced over my shoulder from where I stood over the sink cleaning the last of the water bottles. Grady walked out of the locker room glaring at me. He would’ve had to work harder than that to get me to roll over.

  My eyes flashed around the nearly empty room. A few stragglers were finishing up. Brooks shoved his belongings into his bag, his eyes darting from mine as soon as I spotted him. Was he still waiting for a thanks? Waiting for me to show my appreciation for him stepping in earlier? I knew what that entailed in a college quarterback’s mind, and it’d be a cold day in hell before that ever happened.

  Turning back to the sink, I dried my hands. It was going to be a long season. I’d come to Alabama hoping to fly under the radar—hell, it’s how I’d been living my life for the last two years. But now I had Grady on my back and the QB hating me. Things were definitely off to a stellar start.

  I strolled up the winding path from the stadium toward Harris Hall, my hands pruned from water and my head pounding with an impending headache. Luckily, I hadn’t been placed in a freshmen dorm. Because, though I technically was a freshman, I should have been a junior. Taking two years off had set me back—in more ways than one.

  With most students, including my roommate Sabrina, not scheduled to arrive for another two weeks, it had given me time to adjust. Time to get my bearings. Time to acknowledge the fact that I was now living someone else’s dream.

  My first week had been tough. Baking in the hot sun all day while waiting on expectant football players wasn’t at all glamorous. If I hadn’t lathered myself in SPF 100 each morning, I would’ve fried out there, giving me more freckles on my nose than was acceptable now that I wasn’t a little kid anymore. Mom and Dad had called and texted daily. I knew they worried about me. But they had their own lives to move on with. So my decision to attend Alabama gave us all the space we needed to heal in our own way.

  I flashed my keycard at the front door of my dorm, the closest one to the stadium in the village of contemporary five-story structures. I climbed the stairs to the third floor and made my way down the empty hallway. I stopped at my door, admiring my fancy artwork on the whiteboard—Finlay and Sabrina in red marker interlocking with bright red flowers. No one was going to say I didn’t have Bama in my blood.

  I punched in the code and stepped inside the room, dropping onto my red comforter and falling onto my back. I didn’t sleep much, but the thick heat and direct sunlight I endured all day seemed to be the key. Because for the first time in months, my eyes drifted shut effortlessly. And for a short time, I could be sure my mind would remain a blank slate. With too much time on my hands and not enough sleep, the nightmares and memories crept in, stealing every drop of happiness I could muster. And for the past two years, those drops had been hard to come by.

  * * *

  “So…I’m leaving.”

  I placed another shirt into the suitcase on my bed before glancing up. Cole stood in my doorway, a backpack on his back and a suitcase at his feet. “Okay.”

  “That’s it? Okay?”

  I crossed my arms and stared at him in his Alabama T-shirt. “What would you like me to say? Go kick some ass, Cole? Enjoy college, Cole? Or better yet, can I have an autograph from the almighty Cole Thatcher?”

  “Why are you always such a bitch?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry for not acting the way the great Cole Thatcher thinks I should act. Tell me, what would be better?”

  He stared at me, disgust filling every inch of his face. I couldn’t help wondering if he was equally disgusted by my newly dyed blonde hair. My latest attem
pt at declaring my individuality—and a total bust. “What happened to you?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe this is who I am. Did you ever think of that?”

  He shook his head. “No. Something happened. Something that made you despise me so much.”

  “People grow up. And sometimes that means they grow apart.” With every word out of my mouth, bile rose up the back of my throat, prickling my tongue.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  A car horn honked. His eyes flashed down the hallway. “Well...” He reached down and grabbed his suitcase before staring at me long and hard. With the shake of his head, he turned and walked toward the stairs.

  Tears pricked my eyes as his footsteps descended the stairs. It took everything in me not to run after him. To throw my arms around him and wrap him in a bone-crushing hug. To tell him he was the best brother a girl could ask for. But my stupid pride stopped me. I uncrossed my arms and went back to packing for my own impending departure to college. I didn’t glance back up until I heard the screen door slam shut downstairs. That’s when the floodgates opened and sobs ensued.

  I jolted up from my bed. Even with air conditioning pumping through the vents in my dark dorm room, I sat in a puddle of my own sweat. It happened often. My subconscious had a field day while I slept, haunting me with a myriad of regrets.

  I grabbed my phone from my nightstand. Four in the morning. That sounded about right. Heaving a deep breath, I rolled out of bed and made my way to the shower down the hall, a necessity after one of my “episodes.” Once the cold water had wrenched the sweat from my body, I threw on shorts and a T-shirt and headed out for a run. Running was the only thing that knocked the memories from my head. At least for a little while.

  I stepped outside into the dark morning, the hot air forming an imaginary blockade against me. My lungs expanded on a long, deep breath as I began my slow trek up the hill from my dorm at the bottom of campus, passing the other dorms shrouded in darkness.

  Once I reached the quad, I maintained a steady pace. Even in the darkness, I took in the asymmetrical trees that created a canopy around the outskirts of the grass. Blue security lights lit each corner, the only means of safety in the dark space. Unlike my younger self, the darkness didn’t scare me. Nor did those who lurked in the darkness. In my world, life and its unexpected curveballs were much scarier. Much more detrimental to one’s well-being.