Chapter 6: The Longest Week
The honey-thick heat of a Texas afternoon clung to everything. Noah walked the long way, the path that skirted the soccer fields entirely, adding ten minutes to his trip back from Animal Science. His boots crunched on gravel instead of neatly trimmed grass.Sweat pooled at the base of his spine, dampening his t-shirt.
He’d been doing this for days.A ridiculous, winding pilgrimage of avoidance. He ate lunch alone in the rodeo barn, the smell of hay and horse liniment a familiar comfort that did nothing to calm the static in his head. He timed his movements between classes like a heist, scanning crowds for a specific slope of shoulders, a particular way of moving that was both graceful and grounded. Every dark head in the distance was a potential landmine. Every burst of laughter from a group of guys made his heart seize.It was exhausting.He cut through the main quad, head down. The live oaks offered little relief, their shadows dense and hot. A group of cowboys from the ag program were clustered around a picnic table, their laughter too loud, too performative. One of them, a kid named Jared with a jawline like a shovel, caught his eye and waved him over. Noah just lifted his chin, a non-committal gesture, and kept walking. Their easy camaraderie felt like a foreign language he’d suddenly forgotten how to speak.
The fountain was up ahead, a tired concrete relic spraying tepid water into a murky basin. He needed to cut past it to get to the library, where he told himself he’d study.He just had to get past it.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in. If it ain’t the Ghost of Rodeo Past.”
The voice stopped him cold. Dee Mae was perched on the fountain’s edge, one booted foot kicking idly at the water. Her red curls were a fiery riot against the dull brick. She had a book open in her lap, but her eyes were sharp, fixed on him.“Hey, Dee.” His own voice sounded rough, unused.
“Don’t ‘hey Dee’ me, Noah Callahan. You’ve been dodgin’ my calls, skippin’ practice drinks.You look like hell warmed over.” She snapped the book shut. “What’s eatin’ you?”
“Nothin’. Just busy.” He shifted his weight, the urge to keep moving warring with the knowledge that running from Dee was a futile exercise.
“Bullshit.” She stood up, dusting off her jeans. “You’re actin’ like a spooked horse.Jumpin’ at shadows. I saw you yesterday, you damn near climbed a wall when a soccer ball bounced your way.”
His face heated. “I did not.”
“You did.I was watchin’.You’ve got that look, Noah. The one you get when you’re in your own head, chewin’ on somethin’ nasty.” She stepped closer, her freckled face tilted up to his.Her voice dropped, lost its teasing edge. “Is it… is it the same thing?”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. He stared at a crack in the pavement. Dee Mae was the only person on earth who knew, not in words, but in that deep-seated way best friends know things. She’d seen him look a second too long at a ranch hand back home when they were sixteen. She’d never said a word, just later punched his arm and called him an idiot. Her silent solidarity was both a lifeline and a reminder.“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he muttered.
“Yeah, you do.” She sighed, crossing her arms.“Listen. You’re wound tighter than an eight-day clock.It’s not healthy.You need to… unwind. Get out of your own damn head.”
“I’m fine.”
“You need to get laid,” she stated, blunt as a hammer.“Properly. By a real, live girl who ain’t just gigglin’ at your belt buckle. Someone who’ll make you forget your own name for a few hours. That’ll knock whatever’s stuck in your gears right out.”
The suggestion hit him like a physical blow. The image flashed, unwanted: soft curves, perfumed hair, a high, feminine voice. Then, instantly, it morphed—into dark eyes, a lean frame, a quiet laugh.The hollow feeling in his gut yawned wider. The idea of touching a girl right now felt like a chore.A lie he’d have to perform.
But Dee was watching him, her concern a tangible weight.This was the script.This was the cure-all his world understood. A pretty girl could fix anything.
He forced his lips into the easy grin that felt like a mask made of stone.“You know what, Dee? You’re probably right.”
Her face softened with relief.“See?Now you’re talkin’.What about that friend of mine, Kelsey? The one from equine therapy? She’s been askin’ about you.”
“Sure,” he heard himself say.The word was ash in his mouth. “Set it up.”
“Atta boy.” She grinned, punching his shoulder.“Saturday.I’ll set it all up. You’ll have a good time, I promise. You’ll feel like a new man.”
He nodded, the movement stiff.A new man.That was the whole point, wasn’t it? To bury the old one so deep he’d never find his way out.
As Dee launched into plans, her voice cheerful and full of purpose, Noah’s gaze drifted over her shoulder, across the quad. A group of soccer players were trudging off the far practice field, a blur of blue and white.And there, at the back, was Taichi. He had his shirt off, tied around his waist, his skin glistening. He was laughing at something, throwing his head back, one hand pushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead.Noah’s breath caught. The hollow inside him wasn’t filled.It screamed.
He looked back at Dee’s hopeful face, her plan now a cage he’d willingly stepped into, and felt the dread settle into his bones, cold and final.