The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden

dorm yesterday when she came to visit the town, which is the bull shit lie she uses whenever she’s taking a break from her drinking to go to a spa and sober up. She has a thing for painkillers and a whole lot of wine. It has been that way for as long as I can remember, which might be why she never stopped the fights. I tried to tell her once about my dad but she didn’t seem too eager to do anything about it.
     
    “Well, you’re just going to have to try harder,” she had said, taking a sip of her wine. Some of it spilled down the front of her shirt, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Sometimes we just have to deal with things the best that we can. It’s called life, Kayden. Your dad’s a good man. He puts a roof over our heads and gives us more than a lot of guys would. Without him, we’d probably be on the streets.”
     
    I stood at the end of the table, clutching my hands into fists. “But I’m trying my hardest and he only seems to get madder.”
     
    She turned the page of her magazine and when I looked into her eyes, she seemed like a ghost, absent, as lost as I was. “Kayden, there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”
     
    I left the room, pissed off, wishing she could be the other person for two damn minutes; the one who hosted parties and charity events and smiled. The one that wasn’t a fucking zombie dosed up on pain meds.
     
    ***
     
    “What the hell is your problem today?” Luke chucks the football down the field near the field post so it’s far out of my reach. We’re in our uniforms, sweaty, and exhausted, but I can’t calm the fuck down.
     
    “Can we please call it a day?” His cheeks are red from underneath his helmet and his shirt is soaked with sweat. “I’m fucking tired. Practice ended two hours ago.”
     
    “Yeah, I guess.” I kick one of the cones and it dents before flying over toward the bleachers.  Kellie and another girl are sitting on the bottom row, with books in front of them, observing us as they talk and pretend to study.
     
    I glance up at the grey sky and around at the bleachers that enclose the field. “How late is it?”
     
    He shrugs as he starts across the green field toward the tunnel that leads to the locker room, taking off his helmet. “I don’t know, but it’s pretty damn late and I’m done.”
     
    I follow after him, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Callie sitting in the grass below a tree at the far end of the field, on the other side of the fence. There are papers spread out in front of her and she’s chewing on a pen as she reads over them.
     
    I realize that maybe I’m the one avoiding her because she makes me feel things I’m not used to; the dirty dreams, the protectiveness, the way my stupid heart starts to beat like it’s finally alive. Unlatching the strap below my chin, I slip off my helmet as I make my way over to her. She’s so absorbed in whatever is written on the papers that she doesn’t notice me. Gripping onto the top of the fence, I swing my legs over it and land on the other side. Adjusting the sleeves of the shirt under my jersey, I stop just a few feet away from her.
     
    Her hair is twisted up in a messy bun and she has a short sleeve shirt on with a jacket tied around her waist. She stops biting on her pen to examine one of the papers closely but when my shadow casts over her, she glances up and her whole body spasms. For a second, I think she’s going to leap to her feet and run off.
     
    She catches her breath and puts her hand over her heaving chest. “You scared me.”
     
    “I can tell.” I drag my fingers through my damp, sweaty hair and then crouch down in front of her slowly, so I won’t scare her again. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that she doesn’t like people getting into her personal space without forewarning. “What are you doing out here?”
     
    She looks at the papers and then up at me again. “Homework…. I like hanging out here sometimes.” She gazes out at the field with recollection on her face. “It kind of reminds me of when I used to hang out with my dad while he coached.”
     
    “I don’t remember you ever being there,” I say, feeling like a dick again for not remembering her. “How old were you when you did that?”
     
    “I did it for years.” She swallows hard and focuses on her papers. “Besides, I can’t do my homework in my dorm a lot of the time. My roommate… well, sometimes…” Her cheeks blush and I find myself smiling at how cute she