Seventeen is the age that decides who every young soul is destined to be with forever. Dating back to Neanderthals, humans have always felt this natural pull to the other half of their soul. Made to make sure that the human population is reproducing...
Fun Fact: this was supposed to be a double update, but I've been sick for the past three days and now the fact that I already had a pre-written chapter a few days earlier is really helping out.
So...don't hold your breath because I'm not sure whether or not it's actually doable yet, but...I'm actually considering doing double updates every weekend just to speed this book along because I really want to get working on some stuff on my other account, including a new book and editing an old one. I think I'm going to attempt. Maybe. We'll see how well this goes. (Especially since my consistent author rep has been tearing itself to shreds with all that my regular life has going on.)
One more chapter and we'll have gotten halfway through this entire book - can you believe it?
What's your favorite part of the book so far? What do you think will happen next? Theories? Ideas? [It doesn't necessarily matter, but I've already written and edited my plot several times, so nothing you say will be copied or used.]
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It's only been half an hour's worth of football practice when my phone is ringing for the second time, happily annoying the crap out of my entire team.
Everyone knows it's my phone, too, and Coach is definitely lecturing me about it later on after practice. I wonder who's calling, and why. The only person I can think of that could be calling is Biana, who calls everyone and is on her phone all the time. She wouldn't call me three times in a row, though.
"Go pick up the damn phone, Keefe," Coach grumbles to me, his ears turning slightly redder when it starts ringing for the third consecutive time.
I nod, keeping my eyes down while the other guys on the team snicker at me. My eyes meet Fitz's for a second, and he raises his eyebrows suggestively. I flip him off as I turn around, jogging back to the stands to see who's calling.
When I see FOSTER in all CAPS, I pick up instantly, my heartbeat picking up even more than from the exercise.
"Dex, give it back!" I hear her voice in the background as a few concerning noises sound faintly.
I clear my throat. "Yeah, Dex, give it back! I'm in the middle of football practice and there better be a very good explanation for the lecture I'm about to get from my Coach." I'm very conscious of every second passing by.
I hear shuffling by the phone for a good five seconds, assuming that it's been passed back to Sophie.
"Hello?" she says shyly, her voice half annoyed and half tired and defeated, which concerns me. "Oh – sorry for interrupting football practice. You can, uh, go back to that now if you want. I can tell you some other time, it's fine."
I'm curious. "No, Foster. I'm here now. You called me three times. What's up?"
"I-I got my results back," Sophie stutters over the phone, and I can just hear how nervous she is. "My family wanted to tell everyone altogether. But it's fine. You're busy, it's fine, I'll tell you later."
My heart leaps five inches in my chest. "Where are you guys meeting up?"
"Keefe – no – you're in the middle of something –"
"We're at her house!" Dex shouts from somewhere behind her, from where I guess that he's been eavesdropping on our entire conversation.
"Give me ten minutes," I tell her.
I'm met by her protests. "Wait – Keefe, you don't have to. I'm serious. Keefe—"
I hang up on her, throwing my phone into my bag and jogging back over to Coach, glad to see that the rest of the team are doing a drill and he's supervising. "Coach, I really need to go. It's urgent."
He gives me a look, just to emphasize how pissed off he is at me. "You know my policy on missing practice. I want sprints tomorrow."
I wince. "Yes, Coach. Thank you, Coach."
I run back off the field, taking off my helmet and stripping as much sweaty gear as I can before I grab my car keys and run off the field, making a beeline for my car. I dump everything in the trunk and slip into the driver's seat. (Yes, literally. That can happen when you're sweaty.) I start the car and pull out maybe the fastest I've ever pulled out in my entire life, my heart beating in my chest as my thoughts race a hundred miles a minute.
This is it. My soulmate might have cancer. This is when I find out.
The entire idea itself is completely surreal, and I almost hold my breath, trying to drive as safely as I can on the road despite my need to get to her.
She's already heard the news. She's possibly already gone through something shocking to her without me. Is she okay?
"Stupid, Keefe. It's not like she's reliant on you. She can handle herself," I mutter under my breath, gripping the steering wheel even harder in an attempt to reassure myself. Naturally, it doesn't actually work, and if anything, I run my fingers through my hair more often afterwards.
This could affect both of our lives in a great way, or it could be detrimental to both of us. And it's more likely going to be in a detrimental way. My soulmate could have a shorter life because of this. She's a fighter, but she's already been weakened so much by this.
I'm more than scared for the both of us.
I pull into her house, barely managing to turn off the car and pull out the keys before I sprint up her steps. I test the door, relieved when I find it unlocked. I don't even kick off my shoes before I'm going towards her living room, hoping that's where she is.
For a second, I think she isn't, but after scanning the room full of faces looking at me, I finally spot her hidden behind Dex's scrawny form. Tear trails run down her cheeks, and she hugs a pillow, not giving away anything with her expression.
It makes me tense up even more, if possible. I head over towards her, ready to push through anyone that gets in my way. But not even Grady does.
My fingers curl around her shoulders as I pull her close, burying my head in her hair, which smells heavenly as usual. I close my eyes for a moment, composing myself with her touch, taking a deep breath before I open my mouth.
I don't know if it surprises me more, or most other people in the room. I speak quietly.
"Sophie, are you okay? How are you feeling?" are the first two questions out of my mouth. I don't ask her about the results, instead waiting on her answer, realizing that I want to know the answers to the first questions out of my mouth before I even want the test results. "Tell me you're okay."
