Our Secret Moments (Drayton Hills Series)

CONNOR

THE SECOND I started to get too full of myself with how the games have been going, I knew something would bite me in the ass. I just didn’t know it would be this.

I’ve tried my absolute hardest to take care of my health so I would never miss a game. I’d spend hours researching the easiest sickness I could get and possibly spread to my team and make sure that I knew all the ways to prevent it rather than cure it. Maybe I did that to be smart and cautious, or maybe because I’ve spent so many years being riddled with anxiety and the thought of not playing.

I’ve only missed a game twice. Once because I had to go to a funeral and the second time was when I was so sick I could barely open my eyes. This time, we’ve already managed to win one semi-final game and our next one is supposed to be today, but both my coach and my parents said I’m not in a state to play and it could only make my health worse, which means not playing in the finals if we get in.

I don’t know how I could have let this happen to me. I tried my best to stay away from Archer and Wes when they were sick. I wiped down everything in our dorm so they wouldn’t pass off anything to me. I steered clear from Wes in classes and anyone else he could have been around and I’ve still managed to get myself sick.

“These things just happen, bro,” Wes says, packing his bag full of snacks at the counter as I lay on the couch. I feel a pang of anger and annoyance through my core, knowing that he’s going to be training all day for the game later and I can barely move without feeling like I’m going to throw up. “Once you’ve rested up, I’ll come back from the game as chipper as ever and then all you have to worry about is carrying us through the finals.”

“That’s the thing, you idiot,” I mutter. “I want to get us to the finals, not through them. In the nicest way possible, I’m one of the most vital members on the team and I don’t know how much this Hayes Cohen kid is going to be a good fill-in.”

Wes scoffs. “His dad is a legend, he’ll be fine.”

“Talent isn’t transferred through genes, you moron.”

“Being sick makes you more grumpy than usual,” Wes coos, standing beside me on the couch. I look up at him and roll my eyes.

“I’m not grumpy, you just piss me off,” I argue, sounding as moody as ever.

Wes leans down to ruffle my hair. “It’s okay, Connie-Wonnie. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.” His annoying voice moves up two octaves before he throws me a sarcastic smile and heads out the door.

I scrub my hands across my face, ready to spend the rest of the day sulking, knowing I can’t talk to Cat since she has classes for most of the morning.

This is going to be torture.

Instead, I spend most of the morning watching episodes of Family Guy and questioning the God’s why I deserve this.

I’ve done everything right. I’ve stayed on track with what I eat and where I go. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I train nearly every day of the week. I give my all in every training session and at every game and there’s still something uncontrollable that I can’t help.

I’ve not always been like this – so in my head and full of anxiety. I can’t even pin-point the exact moment when things changed for me. I never used to take anything this seriously. I always just let things happen and I went with the flow. I wanted to explore and discover and create. But the second I started taking football seriously, I couldn’t go back. My brain immediately went into fixing and providing mode. I saw a goal and I’ve never looked back.

I groan, turning over on my side. These thoughts are dangerous during the daytime. I could spend hours sitting here and not even realise that I’ve been spiralling from the same spot and get to no real conclusion.

I don’t know how long it has been when I hear a knock at the dorm door. I don’t even have the energy to tell the possible stranger not to come in as I curl up further onto the couch.

I swear I can feel her presence before I can see her.

Catherine stands at the edge of the couch, the bag that she uses for classes slung over her shoulder and a thermal bottle in her hand. Her face is etched with sadness and confusion as if she’s disappointed in me. This is the one time I didn’t want to see her when I’m like this. I try to sit up further on the couch and she leans down in front of me.

“What are you doing here, Cat?” I ask, my voice not sounding like my own.

“Wes has been calling me all day and I finished classes early and I wanted to come see you,” she replies, her voice soft and quiet.

“I’m sick. You don’t want to be around me right now,” I urge. The last thing I want is for me to get her sick too. She doesn’t seem to listen to me because she lifts up the blanket I have over me and slides underneath it, sitting beside me on the couch.

“I got you some soup. Drink this and I can make you some more later if it helps,” she whispers, bringing the warm bottle to my hands. She leans down and pulls out two DVD’s from her bag, showing me Ten Things I Hate About You and The Proposal as well as her Nintendo Switch. “We can watch these so you’re not thinking about the game all day and then we can play Mario Kart before we inevitably fall asleep.”

My chest pinches at the thoughtfulness, but I shake my head. “Cat, you don’t have to do this. You’re going to get yourself sick.”

She turns to me, those gorgeous brown eyes staring straight into mine. “Ask me where I want to be right now, Connor.”

I frown, knowing exactly what she’s doing. “Where do you want to be right now?”

“With you.”

I try my hardest to swallow back the emotion in my throat as I look at her, but just being with her makes me want to cry with how lucky I am.

I don’t deserve this. Her. Everything that she gives me. Every vulnerable piece of herself that she’s kept hidden for so long.

“What should we watch first?”

CAT

I’ve never felt like this before.

Maybe this is truly what love feels like. The second I heard that Connor was sick, the first thing I wanted to do was to run out of class and be there for him. I was lucky that I finished early and was able to make some of my mom’s favourite soup to bring to him. And being here with him, snuggled under the blanket whilst we watch our movie, I couldn’t think of anything better.

It feels like we were always meant to end up here. As if every single glance that we gave each other over the years, every time we bumped into each other at parties, we would always be tied together by some invisible string that would lead us right to this moment.

I’m so caught up in the movie that I don’t even notice that he’s gone quiet. I turn to him and his eyes are on the floor, not the screen. I nudge him with my shoulder, trying to draw him back. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head slightly before he leans back, resting his head on the back of the couch. “I feel like this is more than just sickness, Cat,” he mumbles. Here he is with his dramatic-ass statements. I swear he’s a real drama queen sometimes.

“What do you mean?” I say, laughing. He seems better than when I first came. The colour has slowly returned to his cheeks, courtesy of the soup, and he’s managed to hold it down without throwing up. I lean my head back against the headrest too, our gazes clashing.

“I don’t know…” he murmurs quietly as if he’s telling me a secret. “I think it’s just something in my head. With the final coming up and all the schoolwork I’m going to be behind on…. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

My stomach twists. As much as we joke around with how uptight he can be, he’s never spoken to me like this before. Never vocalised exactly how it is that he’s feeling. I’ve done that before. I’ve bottled up everything and shoved it to a corner of my mind and never opened it again just to save myself from spiralling, but it only ends up getting worse.

I bring my palm to the side of his face, stroking his cheek softly. “Talk to me, baby.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe sometimes, Cat. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just can’t do it sometimes.” His voice is hoarse and strangled as he nuzzles his cheek into my palm.

“Try for me, Connie. Talk to me.”

I watch him take a deep breath and I wait for him. I would wait for him all day if he wanted me to.

“I just feel like I have this overwhelming sense of responsibility to do good and to be great at all times and I don’t know how to get rid of it. No one has told me these things. No one has ever made me do what I do, but I can just feel it. When I first started playing, I never expected to be a quarterback. I never expected to be considered that good that I would need that responsibility and to carry the weight of the team on my back. As I started to settle into it and realise how important my position was, my brain couldn’t stop telling me the worst possible things that could happen on the pitch.”

The words flow out of him before he takes a deep breath. “I vowed to never get involved in any excessive drinking or do anything to put myself in harm’s way, and part of me regrets it. It’s a weird thing because I don’t want to do the things I’m missing out on, but I still want to be included, you know? I don’t want to be uptight and in charge all the time. I don’t want to be the person to tell everyone off, but I just am. I feel like I spend so much time trying to make sure the team is perfect and make sure I’m training enough that when I get time to think for a few seconds, or answer questions, nothing comes because I’m so hyper-focused on trying to be good in my performance. It doesn’t stop sometimes, Cat and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

My heart tears in two at his words. My eyes sting with tears wanting to flow down my face. Did I ever make him feel like he couldn’t tell me this? Did I not make our relationship a safe enough place where he could tell me anything?

“Make what stop? What do you need, Connor?” I ask gently, desperate to help him. He places his hand over mine on his cheek before he slowly brings it down to his chest where his heart is racing.

“The tightening in my chest. The weight. The pressure. I need it to go away.”

“Just breathe, Connie. Let me take some of that weight. Let me help you. Just… Just let me in,” I whisper.

The second the words leave my mouth the dam breaks. His face crumbles and he starts to cry. I immediately pull his head into me, resting him on my chest, holding him close to me as I wrap my arms around him tightly. His cries are soft and weak and I just want to take them away from him. He settles into me and I let him take the time he needs to stop crying.

“It’s okay, baby,” I murmur, “I’ve got you.”

I smooth my hand through his hair, holding him as tightly as I can, knowing that will help. When his breathing starts to slow again, I try to get him to face me. I grip both my hands on the side of his cheeks, urging him to look up at me, but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes on the space between us.

“I’m so proud of you, Connor. Do you know that?” I whisper, tears of my own threatening to fall. “You genuinely amaze me every single day. On and off the pitch. You’re kind and compassionate and you always put everyone else before yourself. Your overthinking isn’t a weakness, it just means that you care.” I swipe my thumbs under his eyes and he finally meets my gaze. “You have this thing where you make everyone else around you feel loved and that is a gift not many people have. You’re so talented and you’ve done so much for other people and you never do anything just for you. You need something just for yourself.”

“You,” he whispers.

My eyes narrow. “What?”

“Me and you. That’s just mine. The way I feel about you, Cat, is just for us. You’re the only person I want to talk to sometimes. The only person I want to know how deeply I feel about you is just you. As much as I want to tell everyone you’re mine, there’s so many moments that I want to keep just for us. Our secret.”

“Our secret,” I repeat.

I like the sound of that.

CONNOR

For the rest of the day, I stay as close to her as possible. She holds me and understands me and doesn’t try to fix my problems. She doesn’t try to lecture me, or tell me what to do. She just lets me feel my feelings and I appreciate her for it.

When Cat leaves after her dad calls her, I feel like I can breathe again.

She’s managed to calm the storm of my life so easily and I love her more than I did a few days ago, if that’s even possible. I want to tell her that I’m in love with her so badly. I want to tell her that she’s all I ever want and that the love I have for her is infinite, but it’s not right just yet. We still don’t know when we’re going to tell Nora, but after the finals seems like a perfect time.

We’ll get our happily ever after, Cat and I. We have to.

The quiet doesn’t last long because it’s well into the night when I hear the dorm door open followed by a very drunk Wes singing at the top of his lungs. I’m not surprised. Whenever he gets shit-faced, he turns into a full musical major and sings every song off the Hamilton soundtrack at full volume. But what is unusual is the fact that the guys vowed not to have a party tonight if they won the game.

Coach has been watching us like a hawk and he’s finally put enough fear into them that I’ve been trying to do for years and they actually listened. Well, everyone except his son.

I get up from the couch and turn on the light in the living room. “Wes?” I ask and he comes into view. He’s wearing the same training uniform he left in this morning, a beer in his hand and his hair is a sweaty mess. “Dude, what are you doing?”

He lets out a drunken laugh and when I step closer to him, his eyes are bloodshot, tears staining his cheeks. What the fuck is going on? My heartbeat grows erratic, the sound roaring in my ears.

“Wes, what is going on?” I ask again as he sways towards the kitchen.

“She’s gone, Con,” he slurs, dropping his gaze to the ground.

“Who? Who’s gone?”

He shakes his head, finally looking up at me. I’ve seen every version of Wes in my lifetime, but this one? This one is different. Broken.

“My mom… She left… She left my dad,” he says, sniffling. Jesus, how drunk is he?

“What are you talking about?”

He groans, throwing his head back. “He cheated, Con. He said he loved my mom and he’s been cheating on her for years. With Olivia.”

Anger boils in my stomach. “Olivia? Who the fuck is Olivia?”

His eyes lock with mine, and everything comes back to me. I don’t know many people called Olivia, but when he looks at me, I know exactly who he’s talking about.

Olivia Hardon. Our Assistant Coach.

Fuck. Our. Lives.