Wild Cards (Wild Cards #1)

Wild Cards (Wild Cards #1) Page 41

In time I’ll be okay, but I’ve resolved myself to the fact that I’ll always have an ache in my heart that only Derek can heal.

A random woman with long brown hair sits in the chair opposite me, right in front of Mrs. Worthington’s burger. I’m completely caught off guard. I’m about to tell her the seat is obviously taken, when recognition sinks in.

No. Way! It can’t be . . .

“Katie Calhoun?” I blurt out.

She takes a French fry off Mrs. Worthington’s plate. “So I hear Northwestern didn’t offer you a football scholarship. That’s too bad.”

My mouth is wide open in shock. I couldn’t talk even if I tried.

“Listen, Ashtyn,” Katie says. “Can I be real honest with you?”

I nod slowly, still in shock.

“Don’t give up.” She takes another fry and wags it at me as she says, “I can’t tell you how many people thought I would quit, but I never did. And even when I didn’t get the full support of my teammates, I never gave up.” She leans in and whispers, “I think you’re stronger than you think. So does Derek.”

Derek? Slowly the realization that he had something to do with Katie Calhoun being here settles in my brain. “He set this up, didn’t he?”

She nods, then turns her chair around. “Watch the monitor,” she says, pointing to the TV in the bar showing ESPN highlights.

Katie nods to the bartender, which is some sort of cue, but I have no clue what’s going on. Suddenly, the TV screens go blank. Then, all of a sudden, “ASHTYN PARKER HIGHLIGHT REEL” comes on the screen, then fades out.

Highlight reel? But I don’t have a highlight . . .

My eyes start to water and my heart does a little flip when footage of me playing my freshman year appears. Then footage of my sophomore year . . . and junior year. I watch each clip of me successfully kicking field goal after field goal, many times being rushed by my teammates afterward as they congratulate me.

Derek did this. He spent time going through every game and took snippets of my most memorable games. He even set the reel to music.

When the screen fades to black, I think it’s over. Until the word “DEDICATED” comes on the screen and footage of me practicing during our road trip to Texas comes up. My hand flies to my mouth in shock. Derek wasn’t playing games or texting when I was practicing. He was filming me with his cell phone while I yelled at him practically the entire time.

At the end, the screen is filled with the words “ASHTYN PARKER, KICKER.”

Everyone claps for me. This was all set up by Derek. How did he find Katie Calhoun? How did he get her to come here? Why?

“You’re talented, Ashtyn. I’m impressed,” Katie says. After giving me a pep talk and answering a bunch of questions, she stands up.

“Do you know where Mrs. Worthington went?” I ask.

“She’s at the bar.” Katie waves to the old lady. Mrs. Worthington waves back with her umbrella.

While I’m still reeling in shock, Katie sets an envelope on the table and slides it in front of me.

“Good luck, Ashtyn,” she says. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

Katie walks out. Nobody else in the restaurant knows who she is, even though she’s one of the few females who’ve played football at the college level. She’s a pioneer, a legend.

My fingers glide over the envelope. In Derek’s handwriting it says, After you read this, go across the street to The Bean.

The Bean is this big silver metal sculpture in Millennium Park. I look over at Mrs. Worthington, who holds up our check and gestures for me to leave.

I shove the letter in my pocket and rush out of the restaurant. All I want to do is run up to Derek and wrap my arms around him. Surely he’s here, by The Bean. It takes every ounce of energy for me not to run into the crowded city streets. I wait for the light with everyone else by the sidewalk, craning my neck.

I don’t see him.

I rush across the street with the rest of the pedestrians when the light changes, while frantically searching for signs of the boy who suddenly has a goal . . . and I hope that goal is to be with me.

I told Derek to go for what he wanted, full force, and he did. The truth envelops me. I thought he left me, when all along he did what he thought he needed to do to prove how much he cares about me.

When I get to The Bean, my sister, Julian, Falkor, and my dad are standing in front of it. Julian has a box of Skittles in his hand, which he holds out to me.

“Derek told me to give you this,” he says. “Open it.”

I open the box and peek inside. There are no purple ones.

Brandi points to a tree in the distance. “We’re supposed to tell you to wait by that tree over there.”

“For what?” I ask.

My dad shrugs.

“Where’s Derek?” I ask. I just need to see him, to talk to him, to say I’m ready to fight for him, for us. Together we can make this work. If I wait any longer, I swear I’m going to explode.

But neither my sister, my nephew, nor my dad is giving me any hints, so I follow their directions. When I get to the tree, there’s a bunch of purple Skittles arranged in a big purple heart.

“Yo, Ashtyn!” Derek’s voice echoes from across the park. “Heads up!”

Derek appears all the way across the park, wearing a Fremont High football uniform, complete with helmet and pads. In his hands is a football.

With expert precision, he tosses the football to me. It flies right into my waiting hands, but I’m too nervous and drop it.

He takes off the helmet. “You fumbled,” he says with a grin. He jogs the distance between us so he’s standing in front of me now, taking my breath away as I look into his mischievous, sparkling eyes and his gorgeous, chiseled features.

“I know.”

“That was a perfect throw,” he tells me. He threw that ball from way across the park, practically across the street and between a ton of people. And it was completely on target. “Why didn’t you catch it, Sugar Pie?”

“Because I’m nervous and my heart is beating like crazy.”

The side of his mouth quirks up.

I take in the football player in front of me. But he’s not a football player. Maybe he was in the past, but that was before his mom died. I’m not going to push him into playing again. He told me his decision not to play was final, so . . . “What are you doing wearing that jersey and all that equipment, Derek? Why are you here?”

“I joined the team.” He shrugs. “I figure that’s the only way I can spend time with my girlfriend. She’s the kicker for Fremont, you know. And she’s a damn good one at that.”

I reach up and touch his gorgeous face. “Thank you for making the highlight reel. And for finding Katie Calhoun. I have no clue how you did it.”

“Let’s just say your teammates like their captain a lot.” He stills my hand with his own. “What about the letter?”

“The letter?” I fish it out of my pocket and hold it up. “I haven’t read it yet.” Finding Derek was more important than anything.

He motions for me to open it. I rip open the envelope and slide the letter out. When I read the words on the paper, the realization of what he did this past week hits me.

I lower the letter and look up at Derek. “You got me an offer from a Division I school.”

“No. You got an offer from a Division I school. I just sent the highlight reel.” He kicks the ground. “And made a couple of calls.”

“You did it for me?”

“Ashtyn Parker, I’d do anythin’ for you.” He cups my head in his hands and leans in close. “I love you.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“That you have to fight to be first string. Right now Brandon Butter’s got the top spot. I can’t be dating the second-string quarterback. I have a reputation to protect, you know.”

“Don’t you have faith in me?”

“Oh, I have no doubt you can do it. After all, Cowboy, you did the impossible and made me fall in love with you.”

“The impossible, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs. “From what I remember, you melted the first time you laid eyes on me in the shed.”

“You’re rewriting history, Derek. I seem to remember that I stabbed you the first time I laid eyes on you.”

“That’s because you were struck by The Fitz’s good looks and charm.”

“Get over yourself. I thought you looked like a thug. And if you refer to yourself in third person as The Fitz again, we’re through.” I scan him up and down. “Even if you are the sexiest boy alive in that uniform, and if we were at home I’d . . . I’d . . .”

“Do what?” he says, leaning down closer so his lips are touching mine.

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.

When we come up for air, he says, “The Fitz is back.”

“Yeah, well, tell him that his girlfriend is counting on a winning season.”

He flashes me one of his irresistible grins and says, “He already won.”