Win Me Over Read online

  Callie whispered, “I have to go to him.”

  “It’ll be okay, sweetie; these things happen all the time at football games,” Lindsey said beside her.

  Callie nodded; Lindsey was right. They did. But this was Bennett’s game, his worst fear coming true. If anything happened to one of his boys it would destroy him.

  Suddenly the huddle parted. They were helping Tate to his feet, and the crowd cheered. He began to walk, with the help of Bennett and a paramedic, toward the sideline.

  Callie let out a sigh of relief. But it was short-lived … suddenly Tate’s legs crumpled and he went limp, Bennett’s arms shooting out to catch him as they all went to the ground. The frantic gasp of the crowd filled her ears, sending her body into a panic.

  “Oh my god,” Callie whispered. She got out of her seat, unable to sit still anymore. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She ran down the steps and stopped at the bottom railing, feeling helpless and afraid. She glanced at the student section; their eyes were all wide and frightened, hands over their mouths. One girl began to cry. Callie couldn’t blame her; the sight of Tate collapsing, taking Bennett to the ground with him, was almost too much.

  Within seconds two firemen were running out with a stretcher between them and it was all too real, too awful, as they laid Tate’s lifeless body onto it, strapping his torso, his legs, his head. Callie stood immobile, watching as they left out the same side gate and Bennett went with them, his expression completely solemn and unreadable.

  Callie ran down the aisle, sliding between standing onlookers and the railing. When she finally hit the steps she sped up, taking them quickly, and then broke into a run. The paramedics were at the edge of the parking lot, just beginning to load the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. She didn’t see Bennett anywhere.

  Just as she made her way around the back of the ambulance it flipped on its lights and sirens. Callie stepped onto the curb as it pulled out. She hadn’t seen Bennett get into the back, only the medics and Tate’s father, but it had all been a blur. Then she spotted the taillights of Bennett’s truck lighting up a row over in the parking lot. He was just going to leave the game? His team?

  She ran, heading around a neighboring car so he didn’t back into her. He’d backed out of his parking spot, ready to go, when she ran up alongside the passenger door and pounded on the window.

  He stopped—thank god—and rolled down the window, his eyes nearly glazed over. “Callie, I’ve gotta go.”

  “Let me come with you.”

  He shook his head. “No. You stay here.”

  She yanked on the handle, but the door was locked. “I want to come with you, Bennett.”

  The car inched forward.

  “Bennett!” she yelled. “Let me be there with you!”

  He looked out over the dash. “I’ll call you. Let me go, Callie.”

  His jaw hardened and the minute she stepped back he pulled away without looking at her again. She couldn’t believe it.

  He’d left her, too.

  Fifteen

  Callie paced her living room, glancing down at her phone one more time. Probably the thousandth time. The game had ended two hours ago, early, both teams too shaken to continue. The spectators had filed out of the stadium, shocked and saddened looks on their faces.

  She’d gone back to her seat to find everyone waiting for her, trying to be optimistic and supportive. But it didn’t matter. Bennett had shut her out and she was completely devastated. After the past couple weeks she had started to believe that there was something between them. A something that would make him want her with him in a traumatic situation. But he hadn’t. Even when she’d begged. It hurt way more than she ever would have guessed.

  Callie glanced over at her father sitting on her sofa. Her parents had driven her home and insisted on coming in. Staying with her. She was grateful. It was soothing to see him there watching television, and as if reading her thoughts, he turned and smiled, patting the cushion beside him.

  “Come over here, Callie Jo,” he said.

  She’d been up and down for the past hour. She was exhausted. She went to him, sinking down into the sofa, her head in the crook of his arm. The scent of her father was so familiar, Dial soap and cinnamon gum. She hadn’t snuggled up with him in years. She missed it, the feeling of someone taking care of her.

  “He’ll call when he can, sweetheart. He’s a man, our brains focus on one task at a time, and right now that task is this boy. When things calm down and he can stop worrying, he’ll remember to check in with you.”

  “What if things don’t calm down? What if he doesn’t stop worrying?” she asked, not wanting to voice her worst fear.

  What if Tate died?

  Her father took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling under her cheek. “Well, then we’ll deal with that if we have to. But let’s pray we don’t.”

  Callie’s eyes squeezed shut, a tear dropping onto her father’s sweatshirt. She couldn’t imagine how Bennett would take the death of one of his players. It was too awful to even consider.

  “I made some tea.” Barbara walked out of the kitchen holding two steaming mugs. “Come on, sweetie; it’ll make you feel better.”

  Callie sat up and took a mug, lifting it to her lips. It smelled rich. She took a little sip. It was delicious, a hint of Irish Cream mixed with half and half. She took another, the heat unfurling inside her, softening the tension in her shoulders. “What’s in this?”

  Her mother shrugged as she took her own sip. “Just a little something to calm your nerves.”

  Callie continued to drink, tuning out the sounds of her parents talking to each other. She knew they were worried. Tate crumpling right in front of her eyes … it was a sight she’d never forget. He’d looked completely lifeless. As awful as the sight had been, the thing that was breaking her heart was Bennett. Watching him run on to the field, then nearly carry Tate back before they’d both gone down … it was as if Callie could feel his fear. His pain. If she could just see him right now. Hold him. She squeezed her eyes closed and snuggled deeper against her father.

  After a while Callie shifted on the couch, turning her head to glance at the television. She sat up. She’d fallen asleep and didn’t even remember doing it. Her father patted her leg. “You okay?”

  “How long was I asleep?” She scrambled up and found her phone.

  No calls. No texts. Nothing.

  “Maybe thirty minutes or so,” her father responded.

  It felt like hours. “I think I’m gonna go lie in my bed.”

  She stood up and so did her mother. “I pulled down your comforter, got it all ready for you,” Barbara said. She followed Callie down the hallway.

  Callie slid off her jeans and sank down onto the cool sheets. She sighed when her mother covered her up and then headed for the door.

  “Mom,” Callie whispered.

  Her mother turned to her. “Yes?”

  “Will you lie down with me?”

  She couldn’t see Barbara’s face, it was too dark, but there was enough love in her voice for Callie to know she was smiling.

  “I’d love nothing more,” she said. Barbara slid under the covers on the other side of Callie and wrapped her arms around her. She closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Saturday at 8:00 A.M. Callie had had enough. She couldn’t wait any longer, and she wanted to know what was going on. According to the school Facebook page, the doctors had put Tate into a medically induced coma. He was critical, had a severe concussion. There was some bleeding under his skull.

  All Callie wanted was to hear from Bennett and she wasn’t sure if she was more shocked or hurt that he hadn’t been in touch by now.

  CALLIE: How are you? Talk to me.

  She went into the kitchen and started some coffee. She was grateful to her parents for staying all night, but she was relieved when they’d left a while ago. She wanted to feel sorry for herself in her own style. By crying a
lone. Something she hadn’t done over a man in a long time. Something she swore she’d never do again. How had she let her control slip away? When?

  Eric had been sweet enough to call this morning and tell her he and Emma would take care of the bakery today, so Callie didn’t need to worry about coming in at all. She was sure that they were thinking that she’d want the time to be with Bennett. Taking care of him.

  That’s not at all what was happening. In fact, he still hadn’t responded to her text.

  CALLIE: Do you want me to go let Misha out?

  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 tr
y. 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.