My stomach in knots, I started to go up to my room then changed my mind. The grass was already wet with dew, the fall air sharp like knives inside my burning lungs as I flopped down in the backyard and stared up at the stars. And wondered what Savannah was doing right now.
Savannah
Exhausted, I took my time showering at home after the game. Tonight was my first game as the new head manager, and it was an epic failure. Between supervising the freshmen pre-drill girls in the bleachers next to the Charmers, trying to remember Amber's instructions on how to wrap injuries and which girls needed ice after halftime, and fetching stuff all night long, the night had been nothing but chaos. Seeing Tristan and Dylan's fight on the sidelines at the start of the third quarter definitely hadn't helped. Lost in thought about it, I'd messed up everyone's wraps, requiring the football team's trainer to redo them. I didn't bring enough bags of ice, forcing me on an extra trip up and down the bleachers for more. And I screwed up not one but three orders for snacks for the Charmers who had to stay seated in the bleachers during the team's third-quarter break while they iced down their knees or ankles. It was a wonder Mrs. Daniels hadn't fired me as head manager already.
Still drying my hair, I headed for my bedroom and pulled on a nightgown. But my body was on autopilot as my thoughts once again shifted to tonight's fight.
What had Tristan been thinking?
I doubted anyone at the game hadn't either seen or heard about how Tristan had shoved Dylan to the ground. But why had he done it? True, Tristan's fight with Greg had been much worse. But he had just been trying to save me from Greg at the time. Otherwise, I'd never seen or even heard about him losing his temper.
Not that Dylan hadn't deserved a good shove or two long before tonight.
"Hey, hon." Nanna knocked on my door before coming in. "You forgot this in the bathroom." She held out the gold locket she'd given me in the fourth grade.
"Oh, thanks, Nanna." I smiled and set it on my nightstand so I could finish drying my hair.
"You seem distracted tonight."
"Mmm, just tired." I yawned and climbed into bed.
"Well, get some rest. Don't forget, you've got that carhop fundraiser to do tomorrow."
I had forgotten. Good thing Nanna never forgot anything. Nodding, I turned off my lamp and settled in under the covers as she left the room and shut the door behind her. But in the darkness, my mind returned to thoughts of Tristan.
I'd seen him stalk off to the locker room after shoving Dylan. Probably sent there by his coach. I could only imagine how upset he'd been to miss playing in the last two quarters of the game. Especially during the playoffs. Watching Tristan play football always reminded me of how I felt when I danced. Like watching pure joy in action.
I was still thinking about Tristan as I fell asleep. So I wasn't surprised when I dreamed about him.
After all, I dreamed about him a lot. But except for during that one memorable dream, the invisible barrier always stood between us like unbreakable glass that held me back and prevented him from seeing me.
Not tonight, though.
Tristan looked heartbreakingly sad as he lay on his back in the moonlit grass, his hands laced behind his head. His eyes were open, but he didn't move or look at me as I approached.
Maybe he wanted me to go away.
No, that was ridiculous. This was a dream, and he was just a product of my masochistic subconscious.
I sat down beside him, tucking my legs to one side. At least this time I was wearing a long nightgown instead of just a T-shirt.
After an awkward minute of silence, I murmured, "Hard day?"
He nodded.
"I don't usually get to talk to you in these dreams. This is sort of special. So...want to talk about it?"
Sighing, he rolled toward me onto his side and propped up his head in his hand. "I lost my best friend today."
"Dylan Williams?"
"Yeah. Though maybe we really haven't been friends for a long time, and I just didn't know it until today."
"You're not friends anymore because you shoved him at the game?"
"No, we got into an argument earlier today. You could say tonight was just our way of ending the argument."
"What was the argument about?"
"He was talking crap about...someone. Someone who didn't deserve it."
I hesitated, but curiosity pushed me to go ahead and ask, "Someone I know?"
He stared up at me, the answer in his eyes.
"Me? You got into a fight with your best friend over me?" Yep, this was definitely a dream. I knew it for sure now. Even still, guilt swamped me as if this were a real conversation we were having and not just a fantasy. "You shouldn't have. It wasn't worth the fight." I wasn't his girlfriend. He hadn't even spoken to me for years. Why fight his best friend over me?
"Don't say that," he ground out, his eyes darkening a little. "Fighting for you is always worth it."
His words made tears prick my eyes and my breath catch in my chest. Oh, how I wished this weren't just a dream.
"Will Dylan...want to get even?" Maybe I shouldn't have asked that. After all, we were talking about his former best friend.
"No." He gave a wry smile. "He already got his revenge. My parents are yanking me off the team for the rest of the year."
I forgot to breathe. How many times had I overheard Tristan talking about wanting to play in the NFL? Football was everything to him. Just like dancing had been for me.
And now he'd lost his dream...because of me. "Oh, Tristan. I'm so sorry."
My eyes burned, and I blinked tears away. I had to remember this was just a dream. It wasn't reality.
So why did I have this urgent need to hug him?
"It wasn't your fault," Tristan said. "If he hadn't picked a fight with me about you, he would have eventually found some other way to tick me off. My dad's right. I shouldn't have lost control like that during the game."
And yet he still sounded upset, his voice tight, every word short and clipped.
The idea of him hurting caused my chest to ache. I had to do something.
And so, because it was just a dream where I could do anything I wanted with no consequences, I laid a shaky hand over his where it rested in the grass.
He drew in a quick breath and looked down at our hands.
Okay, maybe I shouldn't touch him, even in a dream.