Sorry for the long wait!

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I ignore the cramp in my tense hand and continue copying down the notes from the PowerPoint in the front of the room. I have to squint to read the minuscule words on the screen and when I finally glance down at my page, I realize that my handwriting had started to sprawl down the page instead of across.

While I was attempting to continue on, the PowerPoint screen went black and my professor clapped her hands in the front of the class. "That's all for today. I'll see you all next Monday."

The entire lecture hall began moving around me, but I stayed seated in order to finish copying down the lingering words of the end of her lesson. As I was finishing my notes, I heard the ring of my phone match the vibrations in my back pocket, and I fumbled to bring my phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I mumble into the phone as I scribble the last few words I could remember.

"Lily!" A familiar little boy calls in my ear. Immediately, I drop my pen and a smile comes over my face. "Guess who?"

"Mom? Is that you?" I tease with a knowing smile.

My little brother giggles in my ear and a type of natural warmth spreads through me. "No! It's Danny!"

With thoughts of my notes forgotten, I pack up my backpack and head out the door of the lecture hall. "Hi Danny," I greet. "What's up, kiddo?"

I could practically see the smile on his lips when he replies, "I'm at the diner. Mom gave me a chocolate milkshake."

My smile turns sad as I realize that mom was either so busy or too broke that she had to bring Danny to work with her instead of getting a sitter. But a familiar spark of hope gathers within me when I realize the diner is better than the hospital.

"The diner?" I echo. "You must be feeling well, huh?"

"Yeah," Danny chirps back, sounding as happy as can be. It made my smile brighten again. "It's at a one."

He meant his pain, and on a scale one to ten. Ever since Danny first had to go to the hospital, he had to rate his pain on a scale of one to ten. He didn't always hurt, but he often felt dizzy or nauseous from chemotherapy and his medicine.

It's been awhile since he's felt so good. For years, it's been a constant struggle to keep him feeling at least okay at best, but usually he was bed ridden or attached to tubes in the hospital.

"That's good," I tell him as I continue walking through campus, my gaze on my moving feet. "I'm happy to-"

Someone roughly walks into me and the impact sends my phone flying to the ground. The only thing worse than the newfound pain in my shoulder was the sickening crack I heard when my phone landed face down on the cement.

I look up with wildly dazed eyes and meet Max's stare. He looked thoroughly annoyed that his walk had been disrupted, but when his gaze lifts to meet mine, his annoyance is replaced with a condescending smirk.

"Hey Lily," He drawls. "You don't need to run into me if you want to get my attention."

In my head, I'm telling myself to grab my discarded phone and walk away. But my mouth snaps, "Trust me, I don't want your attention."

His smirk only widens when he realizes how bothered I am. Before he can say something else to piss me off, I grab my phone off the ground, intent on storming off, but stop in my tracks when I see the state of my phone screen.

"That's a shame," Max shakes his head. "You should be more careful, Lily."

I look up from my shattered screen with pieces of glass completely missing and glare at him. "This is all your fault!"

Max simply shrugs and turns around to walk away. "Like I said, you should be more careful."

And with those wise words, he keeps walking away, even having the audacity to start humming like some god damn happy camper. "Fuck you," I muttered under my breath, and then looked at my phone again.

As I inspected it, I tried turning it on, but it was no use. My phone was gone. I throw it in the side pocket of my backpack and continue walking toward the radio station. I had a two hour long shift before I had to meet the boys at the field for their practice and, unfortunately, see Max's stupid face again.

I walked across campus lost in my own world, where I festered in my own annoyance and anger the whole time. Who the hell did Max think he was, huh? Just because he was a senior on the team didn't mean he could walk on water. His arrogance, for once, bothered me ten times more than Vincent's ever had.

"Lily?" I vaguely hear someone say amidst my inner monologue. "Lily!"

I snap my gaze up to see Vincent looking at me with a furrowed brow as he walked beside me. I frown at him. "How long have you been there?"

He raises his eyebrows. "I was walking with you for a good minute," He tells me, and I blink at him. I guess I really was stuck in my own world. "What's wrong?"

"Why do you assume something's wrong?" I can't help but snap at him.

It didn't matter that we've been making progress-- albeit miniscule-- with our 'friendship'. I always had a knee-jerk reaction to scream at him.

Vincent purses his lips and says, "Because you look pissed off and I said your name, like, five times before you finally heard me. Clearly something's going on in that head of yours."

I let out a breath and take my phone out of the side pocket to show the damage to him. Vincent's jaw drops at the sight of my phone; there wasn't a centimeter of the screen not so badly damaged that you could actually see uncracked glass. His hand reaches out and he takes the cellphone from my hands while he stops walking to properly assess the damage.

"Damn," He mutters under his breath, and then looks back up at me. "What the hell happened? Did you throw it at a gorilla?"

I stop walking and sigh. "Basically. I ran into Max."

I can't help but notice the pure hatred that scrunches up in Vincent's face upon hearing Max's name. "That hard?"

"Hard enough to send my phone flying," I tell him. "I wouldn't be so mad if I hadn't already sent my paycheck to my mom for-" I stop talking when I realize I was actually complaining about my personal life to Vincent. I shake my own head as if to stop myself. "Nevermind. I have to go to work."

Vincent watches me with a thoughtful look on his face as I walk away from him and toward the radio station. It was only when I got to the station that I realized I left my shattered phone in Vincent's hands by accident. Under normal circumstances, I would've been less than enthusiastic about leaving him with my phone-- who knows what kind of shit he would've done with it-- but I just shrugged to myself. It wasn't like it worked, anyway.

The next two hours of work were longer than they felt. I wasn't exactly in a working mood after the frustrating truth settled in that I would have to spend my next paycheck on a brand new phone. It was painfully obvious that my mom was still struggling at home, and I couldn't help dwell on the fact she wouldn't be able to rely on my help for a few weeks.

I spent two full hours stacking CDs and records in the back of the station. I got through about eight boxes of vinyl before it was finally time to leave. My excitement was only short lived when I remembered that it was time to face the very arrogant asshole that broke my phone, and ultimately caused my bad mood.

Anita was in the booth and playing the usuals— The Kinks, The Who, the Beatles— and, at the very least, providing me with nice background music as I got lost in my thoughts. I thought about my mom and Danny and how sometimes I wished I just stayed at home instead of coming to school.

My jacket was on an scarf around my neck the moment it was time to leave. I mumbled a goodbye to my boss Tony in passing and gave a small wave to Anita from outside the booth. I was dreading having to go to practice, but decided that the sooner I got it over with, the sooner it was finished.

So I use all the fake confidence I can muster and walk through the football field and into the offices with a smile on my face. It had become routine for me to put on a smile and pretend like things were fine-- I had been doing it since I came to school last year. Today was no different.

When I walk into Sandra's office, she doesn't bother to look up from typing an e-mail on her computer when I greet her. "Hi, Sandra."

Sandra doesn't move her gaze from the screen as she says, "Where are Bradshaw's progression forms for this week?"

"In the bag," I tell her, and she finally looks at me to give me a blank look. I stifle a sigh and tell her, "It's only Wednesday, I thought you didn't want them until the end of the week."

"I want them now," Sandra says sharply.

I let a deflated breath out as I say, "I'll go get them."

She simply nods and continues looking back at the computer monitor. I mumble under my breath as I walk to pick up the PT bag from the corner of her office. I unzip the bag and the first thing I see, beside the papers that Sandra requested I fill out every week, is an unopened iPhone box.

I stare at the box for a moment before I take it in my hands and open the lid tentatively. And, as I suspected, a sleek, brand new cellphone was inside the case. I looked at the phone for a long moment and tried to figure out where it had come from-- clearly, Max wouldn't be thoughtful enough to actually replace my phone after damaging it.

My suspicions were confirmed when I clicked the screen and saw my old screensaver pop up. The new phone had my sim card-- something that only Vincent would have access to when I accidentally left my phone with him.

"What's taking so long?" Sandra snaps from her desk. "Did you lose them?"

I grab the phone and slide it in my back pocket before retrieving the papers. "Sorry," I mumble as I hand them to her. "They were in the bottom of the bag.'

She ignores my lie and takes the papers from my hand. Instead of inspecting them, she simply adds them on top of her mountain of paperwork, and continues crafting whatever message she was sending.

I leave Sandra at her desk to gather things that I would need for my physical therapy session with Vincent today. Once I packed ankle weights, a resistance band, and a yoga mat, I left her office wordlessly and started for the field.

In addition to some of our nine A.M. therapy sessions, I've been instructed to take the time during practice to do extra stretches with Vincent. After the first week of so of his physical therapy, I could tell he was on track to getting better within the estimated three week period.

And even though we've been spending a lot of time together, I didn't think he would do something as nice as buy me a new phone. Sure, we've had a few good conversations, but we were really that close?

I thought back to the moment Vincent told me that he wanted to help me, to save me, despite the walls I built up. A shiver passed through me at the memory.

"Hey Lil," Andrew greets me happily. I blink at him and realize the large man had been barreling toward me. "Can you look at my calf before practice?"

All thoughts of Vincent flew out of my mind as I narrow my eyes at Andrew and go in full trainer mode. "What'd you do?"

He smiles sheepishly. "Trevor and I may have been messing around again..."

I roll my eyes at him and lead him toward the bench on the sidelines of the field. "I just don't understand how tiny little Trevor is hurting-"

"You did not just call me tiny!" A familiar voice cries from behind me.

I turn around with a sheepish smile and come face to face with a pouting Trevor. "Oh, hey Trev," I say slowly. "What I meant was—"

"That you're tiny," Andrew finishes with a smirk.

Trevor smirks back at him. "At least I'm huge where it counts. You can't say the same, huh Drew?"

My jaw drops as they begin bickering about the size of the penis and, eventually, I have to shout, "Shut up!" To finally make them stop. And when they do, both boys look at me like lost puppies, and I point at Trevor.

"Go away Trev," I say sternly. "And stop roughhousing with Andrew at parties."

"But—" He starts complaining.

"Three," I start counting down as his mother would, and his eyes go wide. "Two," I say threateningly, and surprisingly, it works. Trevor bolts away.

I smirk to myself and turn to Andrew. "Same goes to you," I tell him. "Stop messing around at parties or else you might end up seriously hurt. Coach wouldn't be happy if his best defensive lineman was injured because he was fucking around when he was drunk."

Andrew hangs his head like a scolded child and I smirk in satisfaction. It was funny seeing such a large, brutish looking man take orders from, well, me. But I appreciated his cooperation.

I checked a long cut and bruise on his calf before bandaging him up just in case. He thanked me and retreated to the field to meet with the other boys by the fifty yard line, and I stood there and watched for a moment.

"What happened to him this time?" A cool voice asks from behind me. "Trevor again?"

I turn as Vincent approaches me in casual athletic clothing and a small smile on his face. I stare at him for a moment and ignore his question completely when I finally open my mouth.

"Why did you get me a new phone?" I ask bluntly, watching his expression carefully for anything that would give him away.

He puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "Because you needed one."

"But—"

"It's not a big deal," Vincent cuts me off just as I had done to Trevor. "My dad has a ton of work phones anyway. I just took one."

If I wasn't mistaken, I would say Vincent looked kind of uncomfortable right now. He looked away when he spoke and seemed almost sheepish for some reason.

"I can't accept that," As I say this, he finally looks at me. "It's too much."

"It's not too much," He protests. "Seriously, it's not a big deal. And I'm not going to take it back if you try to give it to me, either. So you're stuck with it."

My lips twitch upward into a smile. Who knew Vincent Bradshaw could be so thoughtful?

"Thank you, Vincent," I say quietly. "I'll pay you back when I get the money."

"No you won't," Vincent tells me stubbornly. "I won't accept any money from you. Think of it as a thank you gift for helping me with my physical therapy."

And, because of Vincent, my heart warmed a little. The very man who I thought I had figured out as some arrogant asshole whom I never wanted to be friends with had made me smile. He continued to prove me and my previous assumptions about him to be wrong.

Something shifted as I looked at Vincent and suddenly realized how electric his eyes were, and how kind his smile seemed. Something stirred in the pit of my stomach when I watched him watch me softly.

"Seriously," I breathe. "Thank you." And then, as an attempt to take the attention off of myself, I ask, "Are you ready for PT?"

We set up in the locker room when all the other guys are out on the field. I drop the bag in the center of the locker room and unzip to rifle through the contents. While I'm grabbing my daily plans and some of the equipment, I hear Vincent rummaging about behind me.

A moment later, I hear music starting to play from a little ways away. I glance up and turn to see Vincent scrolling through a playlist before the song changes and he straightens up. A black speaker leaned against his backpack on the inside of his locker and played Kanye.

When Vincent catches my eye, he grins. "I usually work out with music. I've been meaning to bring my speakers."

"As long as you have Biggie somewhere on there," I say with a small nod.

He takes a double take to look at me. "You're a Biggie fan?"

I roll my eyes at the ridiculous question. "Is that even a question?" I grin at him. "He is a legend."

"But you like to read," Vincent splutters dumbly. "I didn't peg you as a rap girl."

I simply shrug. "Then I guess you had me all wrong."

Somehow, during our playful banner, my heart began to pick up speed. Something about the playful look in Vincent's eyes caught me off guard.

"I guess so," he says slowly, his eyes searching my face briefly.

My heart skips, stumbling over itself helplessly, and I grow even more confused. What was happening here?

"Um," I stammer lamely, looking anywhere but his gaze. For some reason, the moment felt oddly intimate. "So let's get started."

Vincent straightens up and nods once. When he runs a hand through his hair, he agrees, "Yeah, okay. Let's start."

And I tried to ignore the fluttering in my chest the whole time.