Better that than the alternative. Better that than him kissing me, right? I’m not sure. I never was and never will be, but it’s fine because it’s not going to happen again. Especially now. Definitely not now. I have to keep my wits about me if I want to survive living in the same house as Jagger Cruz.
Chapter Four
Jagger
“You did not just say what I think you said.” Maverick doubles over in laughter. “Hold up.”
“Stop.” I kick his ankle lightly. “People are staring.”
“People are always staring at us.”
“You gonna work out or what?” Mitch yanks his earphones off his head, the Kendrick Lamar song he’s listening to blasting loudly now as he sets the bar down and sits up on the bench.
“I’m just here for moral support. My shoulder’s still healing,” I say.
Unfortunately, I’m nursing an injury that took me from being starting tight end to sitting out the last few games of the season last year. It took all summer for me to accept that I may be done with football. All summer of watching my father’s old major league baseball videos and sorting through photos with the family. Since he’s officially being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame, we were asked to pick out some family pictures and old videos of him, all while I sulked and tried to mend my shoulder back to health, knowing that it might not be enough. Throughout it, my parents gave me lectures about how life is more than just about one thing. My father, who lived and breathed baseball, and my mother who lived and breathed track until she hung up her cleats after she got pregnant with Mitch, but that was after she’d won a gold Olympic medal. What they really wanted to do was berate me for giving up baseball and becoming a football player instead, but they didn’t. That part was said in silence.
To say my summer was difficult is an understatement, but I’m fine now. At least I thought I was, until my brothers and I came back to North Carolina and I started working out with them again. Mav is a freshman and on the UNC hockey team. Mitchell is a junior and plays baseball. He was, to everyone’s surprise, the only one who followed in our father’s footsteps. Everyone expected us to play baseball because it’s what you’re expected to play if you’re Dominican. We just happened to be athletic as hell and were good at most sports. Growing up, we dabbled in hockey, baseball, and football and could have secured a scholarship in either of the three sports, but football was what really captured me in high school.
Part of me always thought I turned my back on baseball because I knew it was so important to my dad. Too important. And his legacy was not something I could bear on my shoulders. A small part of me always wonders what if though, especially when I go to Mitch’s games. Especially when I go to those games with Dad and see the pride in his face. No one would bat an eye if I decided to switch sports, but football was what made my adrenaline spike and I loved that feeling. My brothers and I were always at the top in our respective sports. The best in our high school, the top ten in our state, top thirty in the country. So, yeah, hurting my shoulder absolutely crushed me, because even if I don’t make it as a starter in the NFL, I could have definitely made a team as a backup. I’m sure of it. Maybe I still can. I’m just not sure I’m willing to open myself up to the failure if I don’t.
“Jag, why don’t you tell Mitchell how you’re rooming with Josephine Canó,” Maverick says, pulling me away from my thoughts.
“No shit.” Mitch starts laughing. “In that cute little cottage by campus? You and Jo? Surrounded by a white picket fence?”
“Fuck you both.” I groan, running a hand through my hair. I’m not thrilled about rooming with Jo, but at least this conversation is a welcome distraction. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“You can just give back the deposit and move back in with me,” Mav suggests. “Blanca and I are over for good.”
“You say that every time Blanca and you break up.” I shoot him a look.
“This time it’s real. She’s moving back to California to pursue the filmmaking thing and, well, you know how I feel about long distance.”
“Speaking of long distance,” Mitch says. “Does that mean Misty’s moving in too?”
“No.” I scowl. “What the hell would I know? I can’t even wrap my head around seeing Jo three times in a week after not seeing her for over a year.”
“That’s because she was living closer to Duke before.”