Win Me Over (28 page)

BENNETT: She's fine. I came home late last night. On my way back to the hospital soon.

Callie's breath caught. He'd gone home last night? And not called, messaged, anything? Here she'd imagined him at the hospital, distracted, focused on Tate. But he'd been in a car alone, gotten in bed alone, and woken up this morning … alone. And never once needed her. Wanted her. Thought of her.

Didn't consider that she'd be worried about him. Or need
him
?

CALLIE: Wow. Thanks for letting me know. I've been really worried.

She knew she sounded pissed and that wasn't fair. But it also wasn't fair for him to shut her out all of a sudden.

BENNETT: We'll talk soon.

Was he serious? She pulled up his number and called. He answered on the third ring, even though she knew he'd just been holding his phone.

“Hey,” he said, his tone short.

“What the hell, Bennett? Are we strangers?”

Her question was met with silence. She waited a moment before speaking again. She softened her voice. “Don't shut me out.”

More silence. She wanted to know what he was thinking, feeling. If he was angry, sad, scared. She knew he had to be all three. “Bennett, talk to me. I'm scared for Tate. And you. You know this wasn't your fault, right?”

“Callie…” It was barely a whisper; she hoped she'd broken through. “I can't deal with this right now.”

“I'm not supposed to be something you have to deal with. I want to be there for you.”

“I need to do this on my own.”

“Why? You don't
need
to; you're choosing to.”

“Maybe I want to, okay?” He was practically yelling now and Callie was dumbstruck. She couldn't even speak. He blew out a breath; thank goodness he didn't yell again when he spoke. She wouldn't have been able to handle it. “I said I'd call you and I will.”

“Don't bother.” She hung up, angry and yet hating herself for treating him this way when she knew he was in pain. But so was she, damn it. The worst part was knowing the pain was only just getting started. She knew full well that Bennett Clark was going to break her heart.

*   *   *

Monday Callie showed up for team practice early, her heart set on seeing Bennett in the hall, the gym, anywhere. He never did call her over the weekend. Not Saturday night and not all day Sunday. Even after she hung up on him, it had taken all of her willpower not to call or text him again. Beg him to speak to her, let her come over.

She walked into the gym and set her stuff up on the front row of the bleachers, just like she did every other day. It was almost impossible to not think about the last time she'd been at practice, gone through this same routine. Back when she'd been happy. When it felt like something had changed in her life. For the first time she'd begun to consider that maybe life was better when you had someone you were willing to risk everything for. Put above yourself.

The problem was, it couldn't be one-sided, and if he didn't need her then clearly she'd been mistaken. She hadn't entirely given up on Bennett, but every day her heart cracked a little deeper. Too much more and it would be irreparable.

Footsteps sounded on the gym floor and Callie turned, hoping it was Bennett. It wasn't; instead a few of her girls were early, too. She waved and gave them a forced smile as they placed their backpacks against the wall.

She knew that Tate had remained in critical condition through the weekend; she only had to stay tuned into the local news to find out.
Preston High School football player Tate Grayson in critical condition after a sack at Friday's game
was at the top of every news hour since Friday at ten. Online social media had continued to buzz with discussion and updates; everyone was using the hashtag #tatenation. From family, friends, to strangers from all over the United States, people were posting on his Facebook wall and tweeting, the students had rallied over the weekend, churches had prayed, and rival schools had sent flowers to the hospital.

It was touching to see the community come together to support him, his father and sister, and one another as they feared for the worst but hoped for a recovery.

Because of the overwhelming changes that had taken place in the past forty-eight hours, Callie didn't have anything planned for practice today. She was going to see how the girls were doing; maybe they needed to talk. She hoped they'd give her the slightest clue on how Bennett was doing. She was shocked when they all showed up five minutes later—all early—with an idea.

“We want to raise money for Tate's medical bills,” Mindy said. “My parents were talking about how Tate's dad is single and these bills will be huge. He might need years of physical therapy. We just have to do something.”

Callie nodded her head. “It's a good idea. We have the money from the Little Pantherettes Clinic, but it's not a huge amount. If you're all willing to add a few more fund-raisers to our schedule in the spring then I am.”

The girls looked back and forth between one another. Callie waited.

Jessica spoke up. “Tate's dad needs the money for these hospital bills. They don't have much. We have to help if we can. We can give him the clinic money and do something else now to try and earn more.”

Everyone nodded their heads, adding their agreement.

Callie stared at Jessica for a moment. She remembered their discussion the night of the bonfire. Jessica liked this boy. This had to be devastating for her. Callie could see the redness around her eyes, hear the unshed tears in her voice.

“Okay, I'm all for brainstorming. I've done a ton of fund-raisers in my time; let's see what we can do,” Callie said. She sat down on the gym floor and the girls all scooted in close.

Within an hour they had an entire plan laid out, the first part of which was a Tate Nation Day at the bakery, which they planned for that Wednesday. Callie planned to take some of the dance clinic money and use it to purchase all the extra ingredients she would need and then she'd have one full day to prep and bake with the team's help. Most of the girls agreed to be there Tuesday evening, but a few even planned to ask their parents to excuse them from school the next day so they could do more. Callie appreciated that; she couldn't do all the baking herself.

The entire day's profits would go to the Grayson family. The girls were also going to hit the pavement and start asking local retailers to give. It was worth a try, and Preston being as tight as it was, Callie had a feeling the effort would yield good results. She didn't know how much these medical bills would be or how much this would help, but the girls needed to feel like they were contributing. They would do what they could.

“I'm going to ask my mom…” Jessica spoke up and then hesitated. Everyone looked at her. “My mom is on the board for the dance competition at the Millard. I know they're giving the money to charity. Maybe they could give some of it to this.”

It hurt to be reminded of the dance competition. Callie could only hope that Bennett still planned to participate, even if he wanted them to end things. But then again, how could she expect him to focus on something so ridiculous when one of his players lay comatose in a hospital bed, with everyone unsure whether he was going to live or die?

“Jess, I think it's up to you if you want to discuss this with your mother. We can never earn
all
the money for Tate's medical bills; we can only do what we can do. Anything is better than nothing.”

Jessica nodded. “I think I'm still gonna try. If that's okay.”

“Of course,” Callie said.

When they'd finally wrapped up their plans for the week, she dismissed the girls, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly exhausted. And sad. Wednesday night was the dress rehearsal for the dance competition. She supposed she'd show up and hope for the best.

 

Sixteen

Tuesday would go down as one of the most stressful of Callie's life, but she was grateful for the distraction. It had been an early morning, arriving at the bakery at four along with Emma and Eric, bless them. Callie's four senior captains had also shown up about eight—officially excused from class—and together they'd proceeded to bake nearly a thousand cookies of various flavors, three hundred cupcakes, and about two hundred muffins. Tomorrow morning they would bake six trays of cinnamon rolls. The dough was currently rising in three gigantic bowls in the refrigerator.

They were anticipating big crowds all day and hoping to sell out. Corinne Wilson had come to help, designing fliers, which had already gone up all over Preston, the surrounding towns, and even into Kansas City, according to a few girls who'd e-mailed their parents at work with instructions to forward the fliers on to their fellow employees.

Callie wouldn't be surprised if it worked. Locals loved to flock to Preston on the weekend; many people loved the little town and would be happy to come and show their support for a young man in need.

Word of their sale had spread fast and many people had already called and placed their orders, which they would pick up tomorrow. Several of the dance team mothers had come into the shop and decorated; the whole front of Callie's Confections was decked out in blue, yellow, and white streamers, pennants, and signs. Several classes had made giant get-well cards and sent them over for display. Callie intended to send the cards over to the hospital after the big sale.

Around seven o'clock, Callie wiped her brow with the back of her arm and glanced around the kitchen. She'd nearly depleted all her supplies in addition to what she'd bought the night before. She didn't regret it, at all. A few girls and their mothers were still out front cleaning up after their busy day of baking, decorating, and planning. The front, public space, of Callie's Confections had sort of become Tate Nation central station in a matter of twenty-four hours.

Eric peeked through the swinging door. “Barbara alert. I repeat, Her Hines just pulled in out front.”

Callie laughed. “I got it. Thank you.”

Callie threw her apron into a cotton hamper and went out front. Her mother walked in, a smile on her face and her hands balancing a giant cardboard box. “Hello, everyone. I need some help. Eric, I've got four more of these in my trunk.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Eric ran out front to do Barbara's bidding. As he usually did.

“Mom, what is all this?”

Barbara let the box slam to the floor with a loud thud. “Dad and I called in a favor. Remember Jimmy Banks over at Tent's and T's? We've been sending him business for years. Told him we needed these immediately. Go ahead and look.”

Confused and a little concerned, Callie bent down and opened the box. It was full of blue material. She pulled one out and tears sprang to her eyes. They were T-shirts; across the front was “#tatenation” in yellow; the back was a giant 12. Tate's jersey number.

“Oh, Mom.” Callie stood and wrapped her arms around her mother, squeezing tight. She could barely hold in the tears.

“Well, don't cry, sweetie. I thought you could sell them. Make some more money.”

“Thank you, Mom. These are perfect.”

The girls circled around to ooh and ahh over the T-shirts. Barbara beamed, and Callie knew why. Her mother loved to help others. Take care of people. It wasn't a weakness or a lack of self-confidence. No, it was all strength. Callie could only hope she would one day be as amazing as her mother was.

*   *   *

By nine o'clock Callie felt like she could barely walk. Her legs ached, her feet were swollen, and her head felt too big for her neck. She couldn't believe what all they'd managed to accomplish in a little over one day. They'd finished the evening sorting T-shirts, packaging cookies and muffins for quick sale, all while the girls and even their moms had shared stories about Tate. There had been some crying but also laughing.

Preston was a small town; these moms had known Tate for a long time. Since elementary school, preschool even. Everyone was grieving for what happened and what might happen. They were all trying to remain optimistic, but it was difficult. The news kept spouting statistics about concussions and comas. None of it sounded good.

Callie locked up the bakery and got in her car, but instead of driving home she headed for the highway that led to Bennett's. She was done with waiting for him. It had never been her style to let someone decide her happiness; she figured why start now.

When she pulled up the porch light was on, but the inside was pitch-black. She parked and walked to the front door. When she rang the doorbell, Misha's yappy bark sounded from within the house.

Callie rang once more, waited and then finally decided he must not be home. She blew out a breath, got in her car, and headed back into town. She'd overheard someone talking about how Bennett hadn't been back to school since the football game and that worried her. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed someone. If he didn't want it to be her, fine. But he couldn't keep dealing with this alone.

Callie drove through town and finally pulled into the drive of her duplex. There, sitting on her front step, was Bennett. Her heart leapt at the sight of him and then just as quickly sank. Even when the shine from her headlights hit him he didn't look up, his head resting in his hands.

She got out and shut the door, quietly making her way up to him. He was like a feral animal: one quick move might scare him off.

“Bennett,” she said quietly.

He lifted his head slowly and met her eyes. His shone in the porch light, red and exhausted looking. He was in just sweats and a T-shirt despite the fact that it was cold outside. His shoes weren't even tied, and the sight of him so broken ripped her heart out. She knelt down and placed her hands on his face. “Talk to me.”

“I'm okay,” he said.