Read Evolve Series Box Set Online
Authors: S.E. Hall
It’s only her voice, soft and slow, singing “Wonderwall,” the old Oasis song. My eyes never leave hers, we’re locked on one another’s gaze every last note. And as sappy chick shit as this may sound, I feel a little crack in my heart seal back together. There’s nothing else in this divot of time, no one else in the room but Whitley and I, her message ringing loud and true, straight to me.
When the last note eases from her mouth, the crowd explodes around us. It was a moving performance, words unable to describe what it meant to know that it was for me. I step to the stage and offer her my hand, which she takes with a timid smile. Her small hand in mine, I help her down and wrap her in a hug.
“You’re really good Whitley, that was amazing,” I exhale in her ear.
“I’m glad you liked it. I sang it for you.”
“It was perfect.” My cheek rubs against hers as I nod my head; I knew who she was singing to.
Who knows, maybe she’s gonna be the one who saves me.
Flag on the Play
***Laney***
It’s been a long few weeks.
I took Dane to his cabin for his birthday weekend (with Valentine’s Day mixed in) and it was heavenly. I’d ended up getting him a book of vouchers that I made myself, being broke and all, but he seemed to love it. So far he’s cashed in the ones for “pick the movie tonight” and “sit back and watch my striptease.”
On my wrist is my Valentine’s present, a beautiful silver cuff bracelet inscribed with “Love: friendship set to music.”
That man.
It was his birthday, but I’d been pampered and tempted to the point of never coming back. Dane always makes me feel special, loved, but oh the other things he gives me. One whole day, he forbade me from wearing any clothes, hid them from me in fact, and we fell asleep that night in front of the fireplace, sticky with sweat.
I kinda have trouble even walking when I think back on it.
We’re closing in quick on the start of softball season and the team looks great! That also means, however, that my 11 pm curfew is in effect most nights, much to Dane Kendrick’s dismay. Coach is pretty lenient though, so Dane will live.
The best news? Evan and I talk every Thursday in Algebra class, not exactly like the old days, but much better than not so long ago. He’s made fast friends with Sawyer, and even Zach now, and I couldn’t be happier about that. One great guy deserves another two!
Tate is all healed up and back at the dorm, which means my breath of sunshine roommate is back. I don’t think I realized just how much I’d missed Bennett until she came back.
All in all, the spring is shaping up nicely! Things are finally starting to feel normal again.
The only untouched left is my mom. I wrote her a long letter, but it has yet to even be stamped. Or sealed, for that matter. I don’t know the rules. Can she even receive letters? Not that it matters, since I’m nowhere near ready to mail it, but writing it was therapeutic, and dammit, I’m proud just for that! My dad says I should send it, as does Dane, but it’s not up to them.
So, it’s with a pretty happy heart that I grab my gear and head out to the flag football game. We’ve been practicing our butts off and Zach, it turns out, is quite the drill sergeant, but I’m pretty confident me and my girls are about to bring home the banner!
Dane’s waiting in his car when I head out the door but quickly scrambles out to grab all the stuff in my hands and load it up for me, treating me to a soft kiss first. “Hey, baby, you ready to score?”
It’s like the tenth time he’s used that line, he thinks it’s so cute. It kinda is.
Rolling my eyes at him, I get in the car, immediately turning on my “pump me up” music, “Let Me Clear My Throat” by DJ Kool. I mean really, is there any other choice? He’s chuckling as he takes the driver’s seat and acts like he’s gonna turn the music off, barely getting his hand pulled back when I move to slap it. The sun roof is open, as the air is, as usual, unseasonably warm, and I feel good.
The rules of the flag football tournament are simple: you win, you keep playing. No round robin, no break, no pool play—your win, your field, until someone knocks you off of it. This could be grueling for lesser women, but three wins in and the Lady Eagles softball team isn’t tired. If anything, we’re hungrier with each win; pumped, primed and ready for the next battle!
Game four is against none other than the Lovely Larks. I see Whitley prancing to the middle of the field for the coin toss, so I matter-of-factly tell my team I’ll Captain this game and make my way there.
I don’t even try to hide my bitchy smirk as I stare her down. “Winners’ call,” the ref, an upperclassman named Xander, and I only know that because he’s felt the need to tell me four times throughout the day, says as he sends the quarter in the air.
“Tails,” I say, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Tails,” Xander confirms.
Statistics say you should always pick heads and my dad has given me that sermon more times than I care to count, but I always go with tails. I knew that’s how it’d land just as sure as I know I’m about to school Whitley’s ass. I have no idea where her and Evan stand. We don’t broach the subject in our blossoming Algebra conversations, but I know what hasn’t changed—I still hate her.
***Dane***
I realize that taking over my father’s business ventures at a young age had put me out of touch with playing any team sports since high school, but I’m almost positive the word “flag” in the title of “flag football” carries some literal meaning.
Which is why I’m puzzled watching my girlfriend tackle Whitley for the third time. The first time she did it, Sawyer, sitting beside me, laughed his ass off, muttering something about a “spitfire.” So I thought, no big deal, it did kinda look like she just lost her grip on the flags and fell, taking Whitley down with her.
The second time, even Sawyer toned down his snickering and agreed with me it looked a bit suspect, especially when the official blew a whistle in Laney’s ear and moved the Larks up several yards. Zach had benched her after that one, but with a lot of her pacing and arm-flailing in his face, which was quite a show for us spectators, he put Laney back in.
But now, a third time? Laney is still laying on top of Whitley, showing no signs of getting up, until the ref runs across the field and throws the flag (not that Laney acknowledges flags), giving Whitley a moment of reprieve to once again brush herself off and adjust her clothing and hair. Evan and Zach both call time loudly and quickly march simultaneously onto the field, toward my girl.
“Go get her,” Sawyer groans as he bumps me with his shoulder. “I’ll bring the car around.”
So, ever the level-headed one in our relationship, I jog down the bleacher stairs in my quest to contain one very fired up Laney Jo Walker. If she wasn’t so damn adorable, with her cute little football pants and black streaks under her eyes, I’d be upset right now, because I know why she’s attacking Whitley. She feels powerless over the situation with Evan, so she’s going for the easy, direct hit on the girl who’s been sniffing him.
Laney’s been great about things lately, slowly having friendly words with Evan in their class together, and I can see her mood lightening each week. It’s giving her some sanity, some resolve and closure, so she’s my happy, witty sparring partner again, not talking about the woe is me that is Laney and Evan all the time. Because of all this, I’m gonna take it easy on her. I’m not gonna berate her for her real intentions and what that means. But I am gonna drag her off this field and take her home where she can really take her frustrations out…on me. Yes, please.
Keep a straight face. Keep a straight freaking face. I chant the mantra in my head as I open the gate and jog over to gather Laney “Killer” Walker. Whitley looks like a hot mess—steam is rolling off her, there are bits of the ground in her hair and her clothes are covered in grass stains. Evan is on one knee in front of her, using a water bottle to wash the dirt and blood off her legs. Laney, however, is glowing, bouncing on the balls of her feet from side to side, literally begging not to be thrown out.
“You bout ready to go, badass?” I ask her, reminding myself again about the whole straight face thing.
“Oh, thank God,” Zach huffs out, finally relaxing his shoulders, which have been pulled up to his ears since the first quarter.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” Laney says in a sugar-coated voice, which I’m sure hurts her throat. “She’s the quarterback. Of course I’m gonna gun for her. I can’t help it if the grass is slippery. And,” she holds up one finger democratically, like the point she’s about make will really bring it home for her, “it’s hard to stop forward momentum.”
“Which is why football players are able to do it every day, Laney?” Zach is trying so hard not to get mad at her, visibly struggling, with clenched fists at his sides, to restrain himself. “Anyone who pummeled the QB after the ball left his hand, repeatedly, would never see the field. We won’t even talk about the flags you’re simply supposed to pull!”
I have to turn my head and feign a cough to camouflage my laughter at Zach’s reply. She really thought she had him.
“But—” She starts to whine and actually stomps her foot, but I’m way ahead of her. Before the next word leaves her mouth, she’s over my shoulder, flailing and slapping my butt and back. “Put me down, Dane! The game isn’t over and my team needs me!”
“Ha! You cost your team thirty yards in penalties, hothead. I’m surprised they’re not clapping right now, thanking me! Now stay still,” I swat her ass hard and she yelps, “or I’m gonna drop you.”
Sawyer’s pulled the car right up to the exit, and as soon as we come into his line of vision, I see him throw his head back and laugh hysterically.
“Open the door!” I yell, which thankfully he hears, jumping out to open the back door for me since my hands are full.
“There she is, ladies and gentlemen, the MVP!” he teases her.
“Shut it, Sawyer!” she hisses.
“I’m gonna throw her in here, then you stand in front of her door while I walk around. When I’m in, I’ll lock the doors, with yours open, then you hop in and gas it. Got it?” Sadly, I know Laney, and it is completely necessary to have a covert op planned out if we don’t want to chase her down again.
“All over it,” he salutes me.
“Hear that, baby? We got it all figured out, so no escape attempts.”
She grumbles something under her breath as I toss her in the back and slam the door, running hastily around to the passenger seat.
“Okay, Sawyer, go!” I yell, turning to look at Laney pouting in the backseat with her arms crossed at her chest, a scowl on her face and her eyes purposely looking anywhere but at me.
Stone silence fills the car as we make our way down the street. At the first stoplight, Sawyer plugs his phone into the radio. I’m grateful for the upcoming distraction, but only for a split second, when I see him adjust the rearview mirror with a smirk. Whatever he has planned, he wants to be able to see Laney’s reaction—God help us. Seriously, being with the two of them together is like a bad Heckle & Jeckle cartoon. But right at the moment the music starts, he’s reeled me in. I slap my leg and bust out laughing. “Mama Said Knock You Out” blares through the speakers, and when I shift to look at how pissed Laney is, she’s air-punching, singing every word with a beautiful smile.
Leave it to Sawyer.
Balls of Steel
***Evan***
Laney: Don’t say no right away. The Crew is hanging out tonight at Dane’s house. I know it’s weird, but Sawyer and Zach, your friends, will be there so we’d all love 2 have u. Please.
Where do I start? There are so many things wrong with this, I don’t even know where to start. If somehow Laney took my civility in Algebra to mean “may I please hang out with you and your boyfriend at his house?”, then I really need to work on my delivery.
“What’s wrong?” Whitley sits across from me, peeling away most of the bread from her sandwich.
I eat lunch with her almost every day, and except for the whole picking her food apart thing, she’s great company. My favorite thing about her? She’s always humming. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it, she’s completely lost to the music in her head. I find it especially precious that the song she chooses always fits the mood or scene too—it’s like she’s scoring the soundtrack of our day moment by moment. One day we were walking together after class and a downpour came out of nowhere, soaking us to the bone. Whitley hummed “Umbrella” by Rihanna the whole time we were running to the car. I didn’t comment on it out loud, mostly because I was busy running for cover, dragging her behind me, but I laughed inwardly at how cute it was.
“Evan? Hello?”
“Sorry.” I shake my head and grin at her. “What’d you say?”
“I asked what was wrong. That text you got obviously didn’t make you happy. Your face looked like you smelt a skunk.”
Whitley’s a very down-to-earth girl once you look past the fancy, never-chipped manicure and the bread picking, and a straight shooter. I’m more than used to that and like it, so I go ahead and hand her my phone. We’ll see what she thinks, since I’m having trouble wrapping my brain around it.
“Hmm.” She chews her lip and takes her time looking up from the phone at me.
Now I may not be the most perceptive guy on the planet. I’ll never be able to name the artist when you show me a painting, I don’t see meaning in brushstrokes and colors, and chances are I’ll never be able to distinguish between all the different shades of pink, which Whitley swears are legitimate, distinct colors, but I damn well know one thing when I see it—piss and vinegar. And the girl sitting across from me is giving me a look right now that’s full of just that.