Just Friends(31)

My hand subconsciously lifts to my mouth to chew on a hangnail.

“Hey.” Declan shifts himself up onto his elbow and gently grabs my wrist, pulling my hand away from my mouth. “I know it’s scary to think about where we’ll end up in a few months, but let’s talk about it. Walk me through what you’re thinking about.”

“Well,” I falter.

Apparently converting my feelings into words is a pathway my neurons are unfamiliar with. “It’s just that… okay, let me start here.”

I push up on my elbows in the cool sand. “The other day I was talking to my mom about all the colleges we applied to, and she made an offhand comment about how I’d need full-ride scholarships to attend any of them. And when I pushed and asked if she was being dramatic, she laughed in my face. I legitimately can’t go to a single school I spent all this time applying to unless I get a full ride. Full. Not half. Not a quarter. Full.”

Declan nods silently, allowing me to go on.

“And I know this is going to sound terribly cliché, but it feels like that saying that goes ‘Walk like a duck. Talk like a duck. Hang out with other ducks. You start to think you are a duck.’ But I’m not a duck, Declan.” My voice rises.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Declan says, catching my gesticulating arms. “I was following so well until this duck comparison.”

“What I mean is, I grew up in this town because my great-aunt could afford it. So, I hung out with kids whose parents could afford it. And I started to forget that I wasn’t like them. Everyone rattled off the list of Ivy Leagues they were applying to and I somehow followed suit without much thought. So much so that I forgot to ask my mom if we could afford it. I just assumed we could because everyone else can. But if I want to go to college, I have to pay for it!” I say, driving my pointer finger into my chest. “And also, I can’t be going to college for creative writing. What was I thinking?” I spit the words out like they’re obscene. “I need to be strategic. I need to put myself in a position to get a high-paying job. One high enough to support me and my mom.”

Declan is nodding with force now, eyes skimming the sand as a hand scrapes his chin, deep in thought.

“So, your mom didn’t tell you that you’d be the one paying for college on your own?” he asks.

“Well… yeah, I guess she just assumed I knew that,” I concede, not liking how it sounds. “But she didn’t want to deter me from trying to apply to any big schools because she has some weird blind faith that I’ll be able to get full scholarships and… I don’t know, Declan, you know how she is. She’s not one for many words and I guess this is one of those things that slipped through the cracks.”

“Slipped through the cracks? Isn’t that a pretty big thing to let ‘slip through the cracks’?” he says, stress peaking his voice.

“Hey, calm down,” I try to say soothingly. “I’m stressed about it too. That’s why I’m bringing it up.”

“Sorry, it’s just hard to stay calm when I just got you and now I have to worry about losing you soon.”

“You’re not going to lose me, Declan,” I say, touching his arm. “I mean, we’ll figure it out, right?”

He doesn’t move away from my touch, but he looks down, jaw grinding.

He shakes his head, hand coming up to rub his chin again and the sight makes my stomach drop. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you know how much pressure I’ve been under since I was a kid, Blair. My dad has made it his chief goal for me to play D1 at an Ivy League and then straight to the NFL. It’s already so much to think about.”

My stomach aches and I feel the need to run and hide. I never want to add to the pressure he feels, but I don’t want to compete against his dad and football.

At my silence, Declan looks over at me. “Are you okay? I don’t mean to scare you, I just want to let you know where my head is at.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “No, that makes sense. It’s just…” I shake my head. “I don’t want to be second fiddle to football, you know?”

I feel like I walked off a cliff saying that out loud. But then, Declan exhales, looking sorry. “Hey, come here.”

I obey immediately, climbing on top of him. He chuckles at my sudden conviction, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob with the movement. His hands drift to my waist, supporting my weight as I hover above him.

“You won’t ever come second to anything. Okay?” he says from under me.

I nod, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. He reaches up to palm my cheek and I lean into it.

“You’ll always come first,” he breathes. “Nothing tops you.”

My cheeks heat and I hope the darkness hides it. The only natural response I feel is to say the forbidden L word, but I know it’s too early, so I fold over him to stop myself. Our chests meld and warmth spreads through me. Sometimes the weight of love is more frustrating than pleasurable.

I turn my head in the sand by his ear and only manage to mouth the words thank you.

“One day, when I’m playing football, you’ll be an author. I’ll be reading your books every second I’m not on the field,” he says softly, wrapping his arms around my back and holding me against him.