_________________________

I checked my phone screen again, seeing the bold 9:15 A.M. splayed across the top of the screen, and then huffed in annoyance, crossing my arms over my chest. With narrowed eyes, I scanned the locker room for the umpteenth time, but I was still in here alone, the only noise in the room being my occasional sigh every time another minute passes.

I glanced at the stack of papers sitting on the bench with the list of stretches and workouts I had spent all night researching and had half a mind to throw them out and leave. If Vincent wasn't going to bother showing up to physical therapy, then I wasn't going to bother putting effort into his recovery.

My angry thoughts were cut off by the sound of a large door slamming shut from the back of the locker room, followed by a string of muttered curses. I knew immediately it was Vincent. I turned around in time to see him walk into the main area of the locker room with the assistance of his crutches, his head down watching where he was going.

"Nice of you to finally show up," I greet bitterly, my arms still crossed against my chest.

Vincent looks up with bags under his eyes, which looked red from sleep- or lack thereof- and his brown locks were disheveled. "I left my dorm at eight thirty, alright? A man can only go so fast on crutches."

Still suspicious, I questioned hesitantly, "Really?"

He gives me a blank look. "Do you want to try walking all the way here on crutches, because I can assure you it takes some time-"

"No," I interrupt with a slight laugh. "I mean, did you really leave at eight thirty?"

Vincent nods vigorously. "Well, duh. I didn't want to piss you off on the first day of PT, or else you would've intentionally made my MCL worse."

I roll my eyes at him, but nonetheless, feel my previous annoyance and anger fade away. He was actually putting in an effort to get here on time, even after I chose the morning for our sessions just to piss him off. With a slight nod, I gesture to the ground, where I had cleared the benches to give us full access to the ground.

"Sit down," I order, and then walk over to grab the list of stretches. "By the way, you don't need to keep using the crutches as long as you have a knee brace."

He sits on the ground and groans dramatically. "Seriously? You couldn't have told me that yesterday?"

I sit down across from him and place the papers beside me. His legs were outstretched and he was leaning back on one hand, the other running through his hair, something I knew he did when he was stressed or nervous. I inwardly cringed when I realized I could recognize some of his habits: I was around Vincent and the other boys way too much.

"It was a good idea to keep off your knee for the first day or two," I tell him, and then raise my eyebrows. "Relax, Vincent."

I could see his tense shoulders remain stiff and he narrowed his eyes at me and questions snappily, "Why are you telling me to relax? You relax."

I roll my eyes again. "I can tell that you're tense. Are you scared?"

"Scared you're going to fuck up my knee, maybe," Vincent mutters under his breath, and then runs his hand through his hair again.

I take a deep breath and looked at him square in the eyes, waiting for him to meet my gaze before I spoke. "Listen, Vincent, I understand how important football is to you. Even though we don't always see eye to eye," That's an understatement. "I would never intentionally set back your recovery process, alright? You don't have to worry about that."

He eyes me suspiciously, probably trying to determine whether or not I was trustworthy, before he nods slowly. "That's almost nice of you, Webb."

"If you weren't always pissing me off, maybe you'd see my nice side more often," I point out.

Vincent's lips tug upward into the beginnings of a smile- not a smirk, surprisingly- and he nods. "Maybe if you didn't assume I was such a jackass, you would be able to tell that I'm incredibly good looking and-"

"Enough," I raise my hand to signal him to stop.

The weird part? His words, which usually irritated me to no end, instead made me smile a little. There was a playfulness in his tone that I wasn't accustomed to, and the smile on his own lips assured me that he was just kidding. So, for once, I didn't snap at him for complimenting himself, but instead just laughed about it.

"Are you going to relax now?" I question expectantly.

He fights against another smile as he nods. "Yeah, fine. I'll calm down as long as you finish before I die of hunger."

And that's how our session begins, with his muscles finally relaxing and I'm able to finally do my job. I go through two full pages of stretches and exercises with him, making sure to stretch out his knee and upper leg, only pausing when he winces in pain and his face screws up in discomfort.

From what I notice in our first session, I can see that the injury is not nearly as bad as it could've been, and Vincent got off lucky. That being said, he still needed to follow through with the stretches so his knee regains any flexibility he once had, so he wouldn't worsen his condition the next time he gets sacked.

It only took an hour and a half of physical therapy before we were nearing the end, but before I could explain one last stretch, my phone began ringing.

"How come you made me turn my phone off, but yours is still on?" Vincent whines childishly.

I get off the ground to walk over to my bag, where I had stuffed my phone before we began. "Because you're like the student and I'm the teacher. I can do whatever I want."

His expression turns wicked, and he smirks at me. "You know, I have a thing for sexy school teachers..."

I'm about to tell him to shut up and stop being so vulgar when my eyes scan the screen of my phone, and I see that it's my mom calling. Instead of silencing the call like I planned to do, I instead answered it hurriedly and began walking toward the other end of the locker room where the lockers were in rows, so Vincent couldn't hear me.

"Hello?" I answer quietly, glancing behind me to see Vincent still sitting on the ground where I had left him.

"Lily Bells!" An excited voice exclaims through the phone, and a grin instantly spreads across my face.

"Dan the man!" I exclaim back, and smile wider when I hear him chuckle.

"How'd you know it was me?" Danny inquires through his laughter.

I roll my eyes even though he can't see, and keep my voice playful. "Because I'm a mind reader, remember? I can read your mind all the way from school. I knew you were going to call me before my phone even rang."

His giggles continue on the other end of the line, and I feel light when I hear the sound of his laughter. It's been too long since I've heard any good news, and ever since my mother's phone call yesterday, I had been feeling like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. Now, hearing Danny laugh and clearly be in good spirits just made me feel even better.

"Lily, when do you come home?" Danny asks next, and some of the laughter is replaced with impatience. "I haven't seen you in three years."

"More like two months," I correct him, thinking of the last time I went home for break. "But don't worry, Thanksgiving break is coming up soon."

"I have to wait until Thanksgiving?" Danny whines. "That's so far!"

My heart becomes heavy in my chest when the weight of how much I miss him suddenly crashes into me, practically knocking the breath out of me. I say quietly, "It's only a few more weeks, Danny, then I'll be home. Just a few more weeks, okay?"

As I said it, I knew I was saying it more to calm myself down than him.

"Fine," Danny sighs dramatically, and I hear my mom speak in the background. "Lily, mom says I have to go. It's time for my nap."

"Okay buddy," I try to brighten up, but it's a lost cause. "I love you Danny."

"I love you too. Mom says she loves you too!" Danny cheers.

I smile as I whisper goodbye, and the line goes dead. My halfhearted smile drops as my hand slides down to my side, and I think about how good it was hearing him laugh again. Danny would be okay, I keep telling myself, and I'll see him so soon.

"Are you okay?"

I jump a little and hold my phone to my chest when I hear Vincent's voice so close behind me. I turn quickly and see him watching me with his unusually thoughtful expression, his brows knit together as his eyes dart over my face to catch my mood. In an attempt to get the attention off of myself, I force a smile and nod.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you ready to keep going?" I ask, and then walk past him, back to the benches in the locker room.

"That was probably the least convincing thing I've ever heard," Vincent scoffs from behind me, but I refuse to look at him in fear that he will continue to point out my lies.

So, instead, I ignore him. "We only have one more exercise left and then you're done for today."

"Lily," Vincent says, frustration lacing his tone, but I still don't turn to look at him.

"Come on, get back on the-" I start, but I'm cut off by a large hand wrapping around my arm and spinning me around until I met Vincent's gaze.

"Lily," He says slowly, his eyes searching mine. "Tell me the truth. Are you okay?"

And then the weirdest thing happened. I opened my mouth to tell him the truth. Without thinking, I almost began telling him about Danny and his condition, about how hard it was for my mom once my dad died, about how much I missed them both. But I realized my almost mistake the second before the words came tumbling out of my mouth, and pressed my lips together.

Vincent could see my unwillingness clear on my face, and his expression morphed to frustration, his hand dropping off of my arm and running through his hair instead. He turned around and shook his head, then spun back to face me again, dropping his hands by his sides. I could practically feel the annoyance rolling off of him in waves, but couldn't understand why he was so annoyed.

Right when I think he's going to yell at me for something, I'm still unsure what, exactly, he asks me a question instead. "Who is Danny?"

My already tense body feels ten times more stiff as I shake my head. "No one."

"So you were just talking to yourself on the phone?" Vincent asks dryly, clearly trying to keep his anger in check.

"Why do you care so much?" I fire back in a fit of my own frustration. "You act like you're entitled to ask me these questions, to know these things about me. Why do you care? You don't even like me."

His face goes hard and he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, like he was bothered I wouldn't volunteer personal information. "I don't know," Vincent says honestly. "I just... You kind of remind me of myself."

This caught me completely off guard, because as far as I was concerned, we couldn't be more opposite. I'm sure my reaction gave me away, because he set his jaw as he looked at me, like he was growing more frustrated that he couldn't make me understand.

"How do I do that?" I cross my arms and take a step back to put more space between us, feeling my defenses fly up.

Vincent shuts his eyes and takes a breath before opening them again and setting them on mine. When he does, I feel a breath escape my lips at the raw emotion, understanding it all to well. It looked like grief, like loss, like he had been around the same kinds of intolerable exhaustion that I've known the past few years.

I tensed up when I recognized the disposition he was referencing, when I understood why I reminded him of himself. It made me explode with the same curiosity he held for me, and I wanted to hear the words come out of his mouth to assure me that my assumption was correct.

But when he spoke, he said quietly, "I'm here if you need to talk."

His words send a chill down my arms, and the intensity of his gaze is too much to handle. I have to shut my eyes altogether to get away from his calculating stare, as his words repeat in my head. My heart was still thumping violently against my chest, so loud I could hear it in my eardrums, and I tried to tell myself that I didn't need help. But with every mental protest I made, they got weaker and weaker until I practically felt my conscious submit.

I open my eyes and meet his gaze with my own defeated stare, my shoulders slumping. "I just..." I shake my head and regain some composure. "Not today, Vincent. I'm too exhausted."

Instead of getting angry, like I assumed he would, he just nods. "Okay, not today. But soon."

I nod idly, too mentally drained to protest against his words, and save my refusal for another day. Instead, I laugh humorlessly and ask, "Who would've thought our first PT session would be so eventful?"

Vincent lets out a similar breathy laugh. "I sure as hell didn't."

At least we can agree on that.

. . .

"That was from the Beatles' White Album, but we're going to change it up a bit for this next one, so enjoy some old school Kanye," Anita announces, her voice floating through the stacks of CDs and albums from the speaker by the soundproof room, before replaced by music.

I continue stacking the old records that Tony, my boss, had me sort earlier. My mind was swimming with the words Vincent and I had exchanged earlier, questions about his behavior, and even curiosities about mine. I mean, I've always hated Vincent, and yet he says a few thoughtful things and suddenly I'm defeated enough to tell him my life story?

Thankfully, I put it off a little longer, so I could regain my composure. I couldn't tell him about Danny, it would make no sense to. It's none of his business. Besides, there was little he could do that would lessen the emotional burden I carried around each day I was away from him, away from my mom. All I could do for myself was work so I could send paychecks home to make things a little easier for my family.

"Lily!" A masculine voice from behind me shouts.

I jump in surprise, my hand flying to my racing heart, and turn to see what the commotion was. Max stood leaning against one of the bookshelves with an amused smirk on his lips as he watched my wide eyes take him in.

"Max?" I ask in confusion, my hand falling to my side at the sight of a familiar face. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to Tony," He says casually. "We were buddies in High School."

"You guys went to the same High School?" I ask in surprise. "But I thought Tony was like thirty or something."

Tony walks out from around the corner and narrows his eyes at me, barking, "I am not thirty! Never say anything like that again or I'll fire you."

Max looked at Tony and said, "Hey, lay off of her, you do have an older face."

Half because I was unsure whether or not Tony was kidding, and half because Max was defending me, I felt a little relieved and smiled at him when he turned back around. Tony muttered something under his breath and disappeared again, and Max chuckled and leaned in, as if he were about to tell a secret.

"He was a Senior when I was a Freshman," Max says quietly. "So he's a little older. Just don't tell him that, it might hurt his ego."

I giggle, which immediately surprises me. I don't giggle. However, Max seems to take pleasure in this, because he smiles wider at me when he sees me put my hand over my mouth, surprised at what just had come out of my lips.

"So, how's PT with Bradshaw been?" Max asks, leaning back against the bookcase.

I take my hand off my mouth and give him a teasing smile. "I haven't killed him yet, so I guess it's going well."

He chuckles, flashing his pearly white smile at me. "Good, wouldn't want you quitting anytime soon."

I grin back at him. "Of course not, I know the boys would be devastated."

"It would break our hearts," Max says seriously.

"Max, stop flirting with my employees!" Tony barks, suddenly appearing again with an amused look on his face. "You're distracting Lily. Save it for non work hours."

My cheeks heat up at Tony's words, and even Max seems to get flustered before he glares at Tony, who just smirks at him and walks away again. I look down so my hair hides my reddening cheeks, unsure why I was suddenly nervous around Max.

"I guess that's my cue to leave," Max says, bringing my attention back to him. "I'll see you at practice."

I smile back. "Yeah, see you at practice."

He nods and turns to leave, but turns back around after taking a few steps. "By the way, you look very pretty today."

With that, Max turned around and casually strolled out of the radio station, leaving me gaping at him in wonder, my cheeks still coated in a blush. Max Caulfield was a senior, one of the boys who has been insanely kind to me ever since I started working with the football team last year. Of course, he's very attractive, but so are half the guys on the team.

As I continue stacking the vinyls on the shelf, I think about how much seemed to be changing. Vincent, for one, was no longer trying his hardest to get on my nerves, but instead wanted to help me. I was in charge of the star player's physical therapy treatment entirely on my own and, to top it off, Max Caulfield was just flirting with me.

Who knew it only took a day for the world to turn upside down?