Senior Semester: All The While Part 2

I pull back, giving him a look. "What do you mean? Training starts tomorrow."

He nods, the confusion on his face slowly disappearing. "Right. Same. I mean, we started last week." He bends to retrieve the Blue Jays hat from the ground, stopping abruptly as if he's been struck as he turns the hat over between his hands and studies the worn st.i.tching intently. "Here you go." He smiles lightly, handing me back the hat and averting his gaze.

"Thanks," I say, taking the hat from his outstretched hand. Our fingers brush and I feel a surge of warmth, a moment of comfort, before I break the connection. Placing the cap between my knees, I retie my ponytail and try to act unaffected by the sight of him. A guy who was my brother's shadow for his entire college career now stands before me, fully exposed in the suns.h.i.+ne. As if he never needed Adrian. As though Adrian never existed. Life does indeed go on. "How's it going?"

He shrugs, turning his head into his upper arm, trying to wipe droplets of sweat from his forehead and temples. It really is hot out today. "You know, a bit rusty. Didn't keep up with the conditioning like I should have this summer, so I'm paying for it now."

I nod. "Same here." I pull the cap back on, tugging the brim lower so I can study Zack underneath its protection. He looks bigger, older, more mature than I remember. But then again, I never bothered to pay much attention to him anyway. He was always Adrian's best friend, the brother he never had. But now, the way his broad shoulders stretch the material of his sweaty T-s.h.i.+rt, his biceps bunching as he clenches his fists, his blue eyes narrowed in on me, I realize that Zack Huntington is really f.u.c.king hot. Sure, I've always known he was a good-looking guy, but the Zack standing before me now, all grown-up and watching me intently, suddenly feels overwhelming, like he's stripping me bare. And more than just my clothes. I s.h.i.+ft my weight from foot to foot uncomfortably.

He watches me closely for one more moment, his blue eyes thoughtful, before blinking. "It's good to see you." His voice is serious.

I nod. Zack Huntington has always been a likeable dude, a great friend to Adrian, and a solid, all-around, all-American guy. But we've never been friends. We've just been ... two people connected through our love for someone else. For Adrian. But now, he's looking at me as if he really sees me as me, not just Adrian's twin sister.

"How are you?" he asks, his eyes s.h.i.+fting to the river in the distance before narrowing in on me again. It's a loaded question; he's not asking to be polite. He's asking how I'm really doing, coping, dealing.

I shrug. "Okay."

He nods. "You sure?"

I snort. "Yeah. Listen, I gotta finish this run. Good seeing you, Zack." I raise my hand in an awkward half-wave before turning on my heel and jogging down the trail.

"Maura, wait!"

He calls after me, but I pretend I don't hear him and keep running. I'm quite good at that these days, running from the caring nature and genuine smiles from the people I once felt connected to.

It takes me a quarter of a mile to realize I never tied my freaking shoe.

Chapter Seven.

Zack

I watch Maura's receding back as she runs down the trail, her tiny blue shorts fluttering in the slight breeze, Adrian's lucky baseball hat planted on her head, a pink shoelace trailing her steps. I shake my head, still trying to manage the torrent of feelings that came pouring out at the sight of her.

She's different than I remember, older somehow with Adrian's loss hanging around her like a shroud. Her gestures are quick, her lips twisted in sarcasm, her dark eyes bleeding pain. And running into her so unexpectedly after seeing her Facebook photo shocks my system. I did this to her; I turned a beautiful, smiling, sweet girl into the dark, edgy, damaged Maura who took off running the instant she realized I cared. Shaking my head at myself, I jog back in the direction of the boathouse, back to my quiet dorm room, back to my a.s.signments.

Deep down, I know I'm not solely responsible for Adrian's death. I mean, it's not like I held a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. But I should have known, should have seen the signs, should have reacted sooner. I should have confronted him differently. I lived with the guy; how could I not have realized sooner that he was spinning out of control? How could I not have intervened and put a stop to it right from the start? Isn't that what best friends, brothers, do? Not only did I fail him, I also let down Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez. And I shattered the good-natured innocence that Maura once exuded.

It takes me longer to reach my car than it should. I'm lagging, but I couldn't care less. I'll pay h.e.l.l for it over the next few weeks with training. But the sadness in Maura's eyes winded me more than sprints ever could.

Finally reaching my Land Rover, I unlock the door and slide into the driver's seat, picking up a warm bottle of water from the center console and drinking it anyway. Placing the key in the ignition, I'm about to start the engine when a flash of blue running shorts stops me.

She's three parking spots down, leaning lazily against a white Range Rover, her back pressed against the door, one sneaker propped on the running board behind her. The Blue Jays hat is gone. Her hair is down now, a sheet of wild and unruly black curls. She's looking up into the face of a tall, beefy guy, tattoos trailing down the left side of his neck that disappear underneath his white wife-beater. He takes a step closer, placing his hands on her hips, sliding his palms up and down over her tiny waist. She laughs loudly, too loudly. Even from my car I notice her body flinch, her shoulders brace. The guy turns, and I instantly recognize the two teardrop tattoos under his left eye.

What the h.e.l.l, Maura? Even I, Zackary Huntington from Nowhere, Nebraska, know that teardrop tattoos represent a murder committed, time in prison, or the loss of a loved one. And judging by this guy's build, stature, and tough-guy att.i.tude, I'm willing to bet his tattoo isn't option three.

I jerk the handle of the car door, stepping out onto the asphalt. Maura notices me immediately. I'm sure my orange headband and red T-s.h.i.+rt are hard to miss. Her eyes widen, a look of panic crossing her face.

What the h.e.l.l has she gotten herself into? Why is she even talking to this clown? Come on, Maura, Adrian would want so much more for you.

The guy must notice her reaction because his shoulders stiffen, and he begins to turn toward me when Maura reaches out, running her hands up his arms, intertwining her fingers behind his neck. She pouts adorably, and I clench my hand into a fist as desire floods through me. When the h.e.l.l did she become so s.e.xy?

And when did she start hanging out with hardened, jaded, tough guys from the neighborhood she grew up in? He takes another step toward her, and she cuts me a glare over his shoulder. Her message is clear: get out of here. Then she places her palm on his cheek and guides his face down to meet hers. She kisses him slowly, her lips parting, her tongue dancing against his. It's sensual and s.e.xual and intense.

She keeps her eyes open the entire time, staring straight at me.

"Yo, Huntington, you hungry?" Damien D'Arco calls out as I walk into the house I share with three other guys from the crew team. It used to be five of us; now we're four. Damien D'Arco, Jeremy Hunt, James Bilson, and me. No one mentioned getting a new house for senior year, so we all just stayed, closing Adrian's room off as if it doesn't even exist. And in a way, it doesn't, not without him to breathe life into it.

"Yeah, man. What're you thinking?" I stand near the stairs leading to mine and Hunt's bedrooms, my arm dangling off the top of the banister.

Damien shrugs. "Burgers and beers?" He grins. "Might as well enjoy a few brews before Coach really forces us to go dry."

I laugh. "Yeah, man, sounds good. Give me ten. I really need to shower."

"Sweet." Damien stretches his legs out in front of him on the floor, his back resting against the couch. He picks up an Xbox controller and resumes whatever game he's playing. From the sound effects and Damien's cursing, it's Halo.

I rinse off quickly, the hot water loosening the stiffness in my legs and back. After toweling off, I pull on a pair of ripped jeans and a black Henley. Combing my fingers through my wet hair, I pull it back into a low bun at the back of my head.

"D'Arco! Let's roll," I call out to Damien as I slip into a pair of flip flops I forgot just inside the front door.

"Coming, bro." Damien walks out of the kitchen, grabbing a set of car keys from the top of the microwave. Hunt and Bilson follow, and we all make our way outside, piling into Damien's Hummer, which we've all pointed out-several times-is the stupidest SUV to drive in the cramped streets and severely limited parking options of Philadelphia. Damien disagrees, convinced that his monstrosity gets him girls. It doesn't.

Damien navigates through the city traffic and pulls into a pub we all frequent when we're not dry or trying to cut weight called Billows. The burgers are good, the beer is cold, and it's never overly crowded. After parking the Hummer several streets away, we finally make it inside, and Hunt's eyes cut straight to the bar to check out the group of girls sitting there, their manicured nails tapping against the ledge.

He smirks suddenly, recognition lightening his eyes. "Candace is here."

Bilson rolls his eyes. "Not this again. Dude, let it go. She turned you down nicely, stop stalking the girl."

D'Arco and I laugh as Jeremy grins wider at the note of challenge in James' voice.

"Is that a bet?"

"Is what a bet?" Bilson answers, his thick eyebrows knitting together. "I told you to let it go."

"It sounded like a bet." Hunt shrugs.

"Yeah, man. If you can pick her up tonight, I'll cover your burger and all the beers you can drink," D'Arco tells him.

Hunt ponders the offer, his face momentarily serious before his smile cuts through. "You're on." He nods again, his eyes glued to Candace's a.s.s.

"Get a table." Bilson pushes Jeremy forward, deliberately away from the bar.

The rest of us trail behind him, sliding into a corner booth. We order a round of beers and some wings to start. While we wait for our apps, Jeremy's eyes stray back to the bar, back to Candace. "Hey," he says suddenly, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng to mine. "Lauren's here."

Bilson groans out loud. "Does every outing with you have to be about scoring with some random girl?"

"h.e.l.l yeah," Hunt answers easily. "And Candace isn't even random." He turns toward me, his eyes amused. "Come up to the bar with me, bro. Just keep Lauren entertained for like ten minutes, give me some time to chat up Candace."

Lauren Layton. We dated my entire soph.o.m.ore and half of my junior year. And yeah, for a stretch of time, I thought she was the one. Long brown hair that falls down her back in waves, deep blue eyes I could get lost in, a slamming body. She's always been beautiful. Sweet too. But even though we had insane chemistry in bed, we lacked a deeper connection outside of the bedroom. You know that borderline obsession of not being able to breathe without the other person? Yeah, that was never there for us.

She tried to reach out in the wake of Adrian's death. h.e.l.l, she even tried to get in touch with me throughout the summer. I just wasn't feeling it, not feeling her. How could I drag someone so sweet into the mess I've made of my life? This summer I worked my a.s.s off as a ranch hand and tried to make some sense of Adrian's senseless loss.

Now I'm back in Philadelphia. Back on LaFarge University's campus. Back to where Adrian and I first became friends and then brothers. Right now the old familiarity and comfort of the past seems more forgiving than the uncertainty of the future.

Lauren Layton.

I'd never mind getting tangled up in the sheets with her again. I'd be all for it. For a little while anyway. Like for tonight.

Unbidden, Maura's blue running shorts, her dark and dangerous eyes, the angry slant of her mouth flashes through my mind and my throat goes dry. I look around for a waitress; I really need that beer. What the h.e.l.l is wrong with me? I can't think of Maura like that. She's Adrian's sister. That's a violation of bro code, even if Adrian isn't here to kick my a.s.s.

My eyes cut back to Lauren. Her skinny jeans hug her hips perfectly, a white sleeveless s.h.i.+rt shows off her tanned shoulders, and her familiar laugh reaches my ears as she lifts a hand to cover her nose. A sweet gesture, one I've seen her do a thousand times. And suddenly familiarity doesn't seem like the worst thing in the world. Nostalgia sticks to the edges of a hundred old memories from soph.o.m.ore year. Adrian encouraging me to ask Lauren out. The three of us drinking beers in Love Park. Adrian busting my b.a.l.l.s about planning a Valentine's Day date for Lauren. It all comes flooding back. In hindsight it all seems so innocent, sweet.

"Sure, man." I nod at Hunt. "I'll wingman you."

Bilson groans.

Chapter Eight.

Maura

Hector's stubble scratches the inside of my thighs as his head dips lows. The ceiling in his bedroom has a long crack bisecting one corner with little lines shooting off in haphazard directions. He should really get that fixed. His walls are bare: no pictures, posters, or flags pinned anywhere. Nothing to show that he lives here.

His room is surprisingly neat for someone with his reputation. I don't know why I thought that a guy busted for dealing and spent a few years in lockup, involved in a gang, would be sloppy, but I did. Instead, there is nothing in this room that hints that anyone even lives here.

Maybe no one does.

"You like that, baby?" Hector rasps, his thick lips murmuring against my hip as he works his way up my body.

I moan appropriately.

He runs his fingers up my ribcage, over my chest, circling his palm at the base of my throat. "Maura," he whispers, his dark eyes intent on mine. He pauses for a moment, studying me. "You sure about this?"

Oh f.u.c.k! What, he's going to be thoughtful and considerate now? One of the reasons I like hooking up with Hector is because he doesn't give a s.h.i.+t about anyone except himself. Things with him are easy, uncomplicated, straightforward. We hookup and then we go our separate ways until one of us needs a warm and willing body to get lost in again. Now, after weeks of random late nights and drunken, hazy hookups, he asks me if I want it?

I blink, noting the water spot on the wall over his right shoulder. I doubt he lives here. Am I at a room where he and his buddies take girls to bang? That thought almost depresses me before I remember why I came here, why I'm with him.

"Sure," I say, letting my eyelids fall closed as Hector pushes into me.

Why not?

It's late when I enter my dorm room. Or early, depending on how you perceive time. For me, 2:00 AM is crazy late since I need to be at the boathouse at 5:00 AM. Hungover, sore, and exhausted are definitely not how I wanted to begin my senior season. I sigh, crawling into my bed and pulling the duvet over my shoulders. Nestling into my pillow, I close my eyes and will sleep to come quickly. Tomorrow, I'll just have to fake it. Shouldn't be too hard considering I've been pulling that off for months now.

When my alarm sounds hours later, which feels like mere seconds, I roll over and kick off the duvet. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I debate ditching practice completely, but Adrian's crooked smile appears in my head, motivating me to get up. He loved the beginning of the season, the first day back on the water, the first moment when the boat seems to fly, everyone back in unison after months apart.

I pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top, tucking my hair under one of Adrian's baseball caps and hiding the heavy bags under my eyes behind sungla.s.ses. Grabbing my practice bag, I lock my dorm door and head to the boathouse.

Walking to the boathouse before sunrise has always been my favorite moment of the day: cool breezes tickling my shoulders and calves, shadows hiding my footsteps, my breath the only sound in the quiet. It's like the state between waking and dreaming, a moment of solitude before daybreak, peace before chaos. When I leave the boathouse later this morning, the sun will be s.h.i.+ning, people will be milling about these streets, the quiet will cease to exist. But in this moment, it's like the city belongs to only me.

I jog the last few steps to the boathouse door, noting that the team bus is already in the parking lot. The rest of the girls, particularly the girls who catch the bus to practice, have already arrived. Pus.h.i.+ng the door open, friendly faces smile at me, hands raising in greeting.

"Hey, Rodriguez."

"Maura, good to see you!"

"Hey, how was your summer?"

My teammates, the girls I've spent the last three years learning from, improving with, confiding in, envelop me in hugs and high fives. I smile when I'm supposed to, ask the right questions, crack jokes like usual, but it doesn't feel right. These days nothing does.

"You good, girl?" Valerie, our stroke seat, asks gently.

I smile widely. "Yeah, ready to get the season started!" I throw an arm around her neck. "But I totally dropped the ball on conditioning," I whisper.

She laughs. "Me too. These next few weeks are gonna be brutal."

I nod.

"At least we're in it together." She taps my back with her open palm.

"Yeah," I agree.

And in the past it was true. These girls and I, we were always in it together. Whatever "it" was. I could count on them and they could lean on me and we would sort it out together. But now they wouldn't, could never understand. And so we're not in "it" together. I'm all alone, floating out in the choppy, destructive, dangerous waters of the open sea, half-hoping I don't drown, half-praying I do.