Soon, the counter is spic-and-span and there are no more ingredients to sweep or put away. I wrap up the good brownies and put them in the fridge for tomorrow, wondering why my stomach keeps twisting.

Mable hangs her apron on a hook by the door. “All right, dear. I’m headed home. Are you sure you don’t need any more help?”

“Nope. I’m good. Have a great night, Mable.”

“You too, love.” She leaves through the dining room door as I survey the kitchen. Levi is frowning at the disposal with a wrench in his hand and some leftover brownie still on his shirt, and Mable’s blue apron is gently swinging back and forth from the hook.

Finding a fork, I scrape the remaining prank brownies off the red plate and into the trash. They pile up, a tower of deceitful chocolate in a white sea of discarded baking ingredients.

Like a tidal wave rushing for land, it hits me, and I instantly know why my stomach is twisting like a pretzel.

And the reason has ocean-blue eyes and chocolate brownie crumbs on his sleeve.

“No,” I say.

“Aw, come on, dude,” Zack whines through the phone the next morning. “I would do it for you.”

“You would drive an hour to come babysit my pet goat?” I tuck my phone against my ear and shoulder as I grab my mail from the front desk and start flipping through it as I head upstairs.

“Yes.”

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“You owe me,” he says.

“Since when?” I pass Pixie in the hall and give her a tight smile.

She smiles back and shifts past me as we go our separate ways. She’s probably thrilled about moving to New York. She should be. She deserves it. She deserves something more than… well, anything here.

Zack says, “Since I hooked you up with Savannah the boobtastic blonde.”

I enter my room. “I didn’t even hook up with her.”

“Irrelevant. Now, come get Marvin so I don’t get kicked off the team for bringing a goddamn billy goat to the first day of practice.”

“I’m not babysitting your goat.”

“Get your ass down here, Andrews. Or I’ll call up Sarah and tell her about the night you got wasted freshman year and blubbered all about how you wanted to kiss her pretty teeth and smell her golden hair.”

I stop walking.

“Golden hair,” he says. “You called it golden.”

I drop my mail on my desk. “I hate you.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “The best friendships are rooted in hatred and blackmail. See you in fifty-five minutes.”

By the time I reach the practice field, I’m royally pissed off and have decided that I’m going to sell Marvin on Craigslist before practice is over so I’ll never again have to do a goat errand. But I guess this is better than staying at the inn all day, thinking about today.

Charity’s birthday.

It’s definitely not as heavy as the anniversary of her death, but it’s still something. A piece of her. A reminder that she’s not here. It’s a cruel twist, her death being just a few days before her nineteenth birthday. One of many.

I park and walk through the familiar stadium gates and tunnels to reach the field where my former teammates are doing warm-ups. I wonder if Pixie will ever go to a football game in New York.

Coach McHugh sees me and blows the whistle to signal a five-minute break. Everyone disperses from their sprints and congregates around the bench as Coach marches up to me.

“What the hell, Andrews? Why isn’t your name on my fucking roster? And why aren’t you dressed for practice?”

I scratch the back of my neck. “Because I haven’t responded to Dean Maxwell and I’m not here to play. Where’s Arden?”

Coach’s face turns red like he wants to scream at me, but instead he screams across the field at Zack. “Arden! Get your ass over here.”

Zack jogs up to us with a pleasant expression. “What’s happening, Levi?”

I glare at him. “Where the hell is your goat?”

Coach shoots his eyes to Zack. “What goat?”

He shrugs. “I left him at the mansion.”

“What mansion?” Coach asks.

I flex my jaw as I stare at Zack. “Then why the hell did you have me drive all the way out here?”

“Because it’s time for you to get your shit together.” He looks at McHugh. “Coach, I believe Levi is here to scrimmage with us.”

I shake my head. “No. No, sir. I’m not here to scrimmage.”

“It’s shit-getting-together time and Levi has clocked in,” Zack says.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Shut up, both of you.” Coach looks me up and down. “Suit up.”

“What? No. I’m not here to play, Coach. I’m not even enrolled in school—”

“Too bad. You’re here and I need players. Suit up.”

“But I—”

“Suit your ass up!” he screams loud enough to draw the attention of every member of the team, who of course are looking at me like they’re glad to have me back.

Zack grins. I hate him.

But as I look around the field and smell the newly cut grass and upturned dirt, a piece of me aches to stay, to feel air rushing at me and to thrust a ball from my hands. And the idea of running and throwing and smashing into things sounds good.

I slowly turn to Coach and relent. “Fine. One scrimmage game.”

Coach gives me a warning look. “What’s that, now?”

“One scrimmage game, sir.”

“Good. Now quit gabbing and suit the fuck up!”

“Yes, sir,” I say, biting back a smile as I jog off to dress for practice.

The kitchen screen door squeaks as I take out the last trash bag of the day. Mable left early, so I’ve been on my own for the past few hours, which is just as well. I haven’t been much of a conversationalist today.

Partly because it’s Charity’s birthday and I wanted to indulge in a private stroll down memory lane in my head. But mostly because I made my decision about NYU this morning and I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.

I spent the past year struggling with my college plans because planning seemed pointless. Why bother plotting out the future when everything about life can change in an instant?

But life is going to happen to me no matter what. Not planning won’t keep the future from coming. So I may as well try—or better yet, hope—for something my heart wants.

So I have a plan now. And it scares the crap out of me. But it also makes me feel alive.

I hear tires on gravel at the front of the inn and then a door slam. Levi’s truck. I’d know the sound of his truck anywhere.

I throw the trash bag into the Dumpster just as he rounds the corner, looking worn-out and sweaty, but in that good kind of way. The way that feels liberating and strong and helps you sleep soundly at night.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say back, noticing he’s got a football tucked under his arm. “Where’ve you been?”

“Uh, practice.”

I lift my brows. “Football practice?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Wow. Good. Okay. Good.” I sound dumbfounded. I am.

He laughs. “I was surprised too. Zack kind of roped me into it.”

“Good for him.” I hold my hands out and he tosses me the ball. “Whoa,” I say, catching it and turning it in my palms. “I haven’t held one of these babies in a long time.”

“Do you feel powerful?”

“Like a god. Go long.”

He blinks at me and smiles. “Go long?”

“Yeah. Go. Long.” I wind my arm up to throw and wait for him to back up.