Page 160 of Left Field Love

“We won’t be at Thanksgiving, Mom,” I say, then pull Lennon away.

As soon as we’re in the truck, she shoots me a questioning look. “Thanksgiving?”

“In Aspen. My mom keeps bringing it up. I don’t want to go. To be around her or my dad.”

“She’s your mom, Caleb.”

“She’s conceited and condescending.”

“She’s still your mom. Don’t take having one for granted.”

I nod.

The drive from Landry to Clarkson is a familiar one. But this time—for the first time—Lennon is beside me. I watch her stare out at the rolling countryside for most of the trip. She seems lost in thought.

I park outside of Archibald Hall three hours later. It’s predominantly a freshman dorm. I’m guessing Lennon was assigned here since she’s a senior year transfer.

“Time to see if those muscles are good for anything but looking at,” Lennon teases me as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

I smile but then sober, just staring at her.

“What?” she asks, running a hand through her hair.

“Are you okay?”

“I thought we agreed you were going to stop asking me that.”

“Okay. The next time we go for a drive and you say more than ten words to me, I won’t ask.”

Lennon rolls her eyes. “I’m good. Really. This is all just…a lot.”

“I know it’s a lot. That’s why it freaks me out when you shut me out.”

“I’m not trying to shut you out,” Lennon tells me. “I promise. I just don’t want you to think I’m a total mess.”

“Life is messy, Len. That doesn’t makeyoua mess.” I pause. “Although I’d still be here—even if you were.”

She smiles. “Thanks, Winters. Not just for all the boxes you’re about to carry.”

“But mostly, right?” I joke as I climb out of the cab. “You know you packed more for the horses?”

We survey the dozen boxes in the back of my truck.

“Are you complaining I didn’t pack more?” Lennon asks.

“No, definitely not,” I’m quick to say.

“That’s what I thought.” Lennon smirks, then grabs the nearest box. I snag two and follow her over to the entrance of her dorm.

Clarkson’s campus is busier than I’ve ever seen it. As a member of a sports team, I was eligible to skip the dorm experience. I don’t spend much time on campus, period. Aside from attending classes, all my time is spent at the sports complex or my house off-campus.

There’s a folding table set up in the lobby where a few student volunteers and staff members are checking students in.

Lennon reaches the front of the line and gives her name. One girl at the desk is leafing through a stack of papers; the other stares at me.

“All right, just sign here and then you’re good to go,” the girl says to Lennon.

“Aren’t you Caleb Winters?” the other asks.