Chasing Sunshine: A New Adult Sports Romance (NE University Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Hannah Gray

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Designer: Marisa-Rose Wesley, Cover Me Darling

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  contents

  prologue

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  thirty

  thirty-one

  thirty-two

  thirty-three

  thirty-four

  thirty-five

  thirty-six

  thirty-seven

  thirty-eight

  thirty-nine

  forty

  forty-one

  forty-two

  forty-three

  forty-four

  forty-five

  forty-six

  forty-seven

  forty-eight

  forty-nine

  acknowledgments

  about the author

  prologue

  Cameran

  Somehow, fear always seems to find its way back to you.

  Maybe it gives you a momentary break. A little vacation from that gut-wrenching feeling it brings.

  But eventually, it will return, more venomous than ever. Pulling you back into that deep, dark, bottomless pit of despair. It always ensures it is within arm’s reach, always clutching on to your heart, ready to strike at a moment’s notice, bringing you back to reality. Reminding you that you are just a passenger and it’s controlling the ride.

  For me, it’s always the same dream.

  The hospital bed.

  The white walls of the room.

  Me waiting for my friends to come in and give me the news.

  Informing me that my life as I knew it is over.

  Only, instead of my friends, it’s him, wearing that sick smile of his. Reminding me that I can’t escape him.

  I’d like to think I could pull myself out of the ruins and rise like the sun. But the reality is, I just don’t know. How much can one physically endure before their soul says, Yep, screw this. I’m out?

  I guess I’ll find out.

  one

  Cameran

  I pay the Uber driver and turn toward the college housing dorm that will be my home for the next nine months. Squinting up through the sun to make sure I am at the right building, I see the sign that says Mayflower Hall.

  “Welp, this is it,” I mutter to myself while scanning my surroundings.

  As I take in the huge, gorgeous brick buildings, offset by carefully executed landscaping, the smallest smile teases my lips. This is my fresh start. I can already imagine myself strolling through this little park area with a coffee in the quiet morning hours. Who knows? Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to do it without constantly glancing over my shoulder.

  Sliding my thumb underneath the strap of my bag, I manage to lift it higher onto my shoulder. I take a deep breath and exhale. “Okay, Cam, you got this.”

  My inner self mocks me. Yeah, sure you do. You are a goddamn train wreck. I’m sure everyone else will figure it out soon too.

  I have to give it to my inner self; she’s got a valid point. I am a bit of a train wreck. All right, I downplayed that. I’m like a train wreck that takes out an entire city, and then it catches on fire and burns to the ground. Yep, that’s me. Cameran Rose Steele, at your service.

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head slightly in a vain attempt to clear the negative thoughts just before I head into the building. Once inside, I see girls and guys swarming the halls. Some crying as they hug their families good-bye. Others already shamelessly flirting with one another. They look like regular, normal college kids.

  My heart pounds in my chest, thundering in my ears, so much so that I almost forget what I’m doing. I reach deep into my bag, fumbling to find the paper I was sent weeks ago with all my registration information. Looking down at the sheet, I scan for my room number. Room 144.

  I head down a hallway and see 139, so I know I’m not far. I walk a bit farther and turn left, and there it is.

  I hold my fist up to knock, just in case my roommate is already here. Shaking my head at myself, I push the door open. This will be my room too. I need to act like it.

  Thing to do at the top of my list this year: get my confidence back. It was taken from me a few years ago, and damn it, I want to find it.

  Stepping inside, I take in the room. There are two twin beds, one on each wall, separated by a large picture window with a view out onto the quad. My roommate has already moved in. Well, partly. I am wondering if she’s this messy or if she just hasn’t had time to properly put her things away. I’m not OCD or anything like that, but I always keep my stuff picked up. Just looking at her bed and her heap of clothes pushes me to the edge of breaking into hives. I guess I know which bed is mine, as the other one has a hot-pink comforter on it.

  Then, I remember the communal bathroom thing. Yeah, that part will suck. I know this is a coed building, so that will be kind of hard for me to get used to.

  Before I can think further on it, the door flies open, and a girl—about my height of five-four with the most beautiful, deep, dark red hair—rushes in. It’s cut in an angled bob and styled in messy waves. I take in her Rolling Stones T-shirt with her cutoff shorts. She is gorgeous. And really freaking cool. I glance down at my plain gray T-shirt and jean shorts. I don’t look bad, per se, but I’m definitely not as stylish as this chick. Then again, I didn’t come here to catch anyone’s attention. That’s the last thing I want. I need to keep my head down and just get through this school year.

  “Hi! You must be Cameran! I’m Anna.” She holds her hand out.

  I shake her hand and smile. “Hi, Anna. It’s nice to meet you.”

  I’ll admit, I do not love the awkward part of meeting new people, but who really does? I can’t help but wonder about their intentions. I guess having a past like mine will do that.

  This girl is going to be my roommate though. So, I really hope she isn’t a serial killer or something like that. Or worse, a spy sent here just to watch me. Rolling my shoulders back, I shake it off.

  You’re being silly, Cameran. No one is here to spy on you and report back.

  See? Total train wreck. Bring in the straitjacket.

  She watches me, smiling so wide that I can see her perfect white teeth. She enthusiastically bobs her head up and down. “Oh, wow! You’re so pretty! Please tell me you’re sing
le because we are going to chase some men this year! I need a winglady.”

  Letting out a nervous laugh, I blow a piece of hair out of my face. “Oh, ha-ha. No boyfriend for me. Though I’m not sure I would be the best wingwoman.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Oh, um, okay, that’s totally fine! I don’t judge!”

  I crinkle my forehead and look at her in confusion. “Judge what exactly?”

  She looks around awkwardly. “Ya know … if you aren’t … into men. Really, it’s no difference to me. My cousin, Nathan, is gay, and he’s one of my best friends.”

  My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “What? No! I mean, I’m not a lesbian! Not that there is anything wrong with lesbians. I just … I’m not one; that’s all. I’m straight.” I know I am stuttering and stammering, and my face is burning hot.

  “Oh.” She giggles and puts her hand over her mouth. “My bad. Why wouldn’t you be a good wingwoman then?”

  “I just meant, I’m kind of not the best at picking men up. I’m pretty awkward.” Clearly, Cameran. Case in point right here, in this very interaction. You are nailing it! “Plus, I don’t seem to have the best taste in men.”

  “Pfft, girl, none of us do. But nonsense, you are over there, looking like a damn Cover Girl model.”

  Feeling uncomfortable with the compliment, I clear my throat and change the subject. It’s odd; I know. I’m just not good at taking compliments. They make my skin crawl. “So,” I start, “have you always been here at New England University?” I ask with actual curiosity.

  “Mmhmm,” she answers while she sorts through some clothes.

  I inwardly sigh with relief that maybe she isn’t as messy as I first assumed. “Cool. What year are you?”

  “A senior. You?” she answers.

  “I’m a senior too. I just came from California. I went to Carver University. Some things happened there, so now, here I am,” I say with a grin, trying to sound normal enough that she won’t ask any further questions about why I transferred.

  She nods while rummaging through her heap of clothes. “Sweet. The weather there is a lot nicer than it is here in the winter!”

  I let out a small laugh. “That’s what I’ve heard. What made you come here then? With the snow and all.”

  She looks back up at me and shrugs. “My family lives in Maine. So, this is close enough for them to visit every few months. My dad isn’t big on airplanes. This way, they can drive since it’s only about six hours. But, yeah, it honestly feels like we have winter for half of the damn year.”

  Her voice sounds different when she speaks about her family. And not necessarily in a good way. I sense there might be something going on there. But not my business. I have enough skeletons dancing around in my own closet.

  “Oh, wow. That sounds sort of dreadful.”

  I make a mental note to set aside some of the cash I have left to purchase some winter clothes. Right now, I am limited to a small selection of shorts, a few pairs of jeans, some T-shirts from Target, and three hoodies. When I got to Massachusetts, I only had the clothes on my back and a backpack filled with only what I could fit. So, I had to stock up while not spending every penny I had. Lucky for me, Target’s pretty damn cheap.

  “What are you studying, my not-a-lesbian roommate?” she asks with a laugh.

  I can tell she has a sense of humor. Which is good because it will be nice to be around people who don’t take things too seriously.

  “I am going for a teaching degree. But I don’t know … it doesn’t seem fitting for me. You know what I mean? I just don’t feel connected to it.”

  Holding up the ends of her hair, examining them, she answers, “Yeah, I totally get that. I was studying premed and switched to graphic design the end of my sophomore year. I will tell you though, the teaching program here at NEU is one of the top rated in the country.”

  I smile and nod. I knew that because I’d looked into a lot of colleges before deciding on coming here. Granted, I’d researched them all in the course of three hours before making my choice, but I’d still shopped around.

  She jumps up and grabs her cell phone. “Well, I have to run to the school store to get a few books. Want to join?”

  I glance over at my bag. That one lonely, pathetic duffel bag. My whole life is packed inside it. I kind of wanted to stay and settle in, but I actually need to get books as well. I look over at her. She seems nice and normal enough. Because let’s face it; I could desperately use a friend.

  I shrug my shoulders and smile. “Sure. Why not? I need a few things anyway.”

  And with that, the spot where my heart should be grows a little bit with hope that I might have finally found a friend after being alone for so long.

  two

  Trent

  “So, should I, like, call you?” Erica—well, I think her name is Erica—says while squeezing herself into what could debatably be the world’s smallest skirt.

  “Oh, sweetheart, you’d have to have my number to do that.” I pull my shirt on over my head and head down the stairs, ready for Maybe Erica to leave.

  She mindlessly twists a lock of her bleached-blonde hair around her finger. She bites her lip and winks at me before purring, “Oh, come on, Trenty. I thought we had fun. Sure sounded like you did.”

  “It was fun. Anyway”—I open the door for her—“I got some shit to do today. I’ll walk you out.”

  Usually, I wouldn’t even offer to do that, but this chick seems like she has some potential stalker characteristics that I’d like to avoid activating. Plus, she’s got a nice rack, and she is obviously quite persuasive.

  At Coffee Hut, the university’s coffee shop, she kept putting her straw in her mouth, twisting her tongue around it, all while looking at me. I’m a guy. What do you expect? Besides, girls around campus know I’m good for one thing. And that one thing doesn’t involve exchanging phone numbers after we hook up.

  I’m sure a lot of people around campus might label me as a womanizer. But that’s bullshit because I am very up-front with them regarding my intentions. They basically jump at the chance to be one of Trent Kade’s one-night stands. Maybe I am a pompous asshole sometimes. And maybe I don’t always treat women the way they think they should be treated, but they all know how I am, and yet they throw themselves at me, begging me to bring them home just for a quick fuck. Do some of them think they will be the ones to change me? Unfortunately, yes … yes, they do. But that isn’t going to happen. I don’t do relationships. Never have, never will.

  After a few awkward attempts of trying to start a conversation, she gives up and slowly slinks off toward the door. But not before she shoves a piece of paper deep into my pocket. Once she’s out the door, I pull it out and glance at it. I shake my head and toss it in the trash can. Some girls just never learn.

  Of course, her number is in pink writing with Emery written below. Well, shit, I guess her name wasn’t Erica. Emery, Erica. At least I got the E part right.

  Pulling out my phone, I check the time. Shit, I have to go, or I’ll be late to practice. Coach practically has an aneurysm if any of us are late. Especially me, being the starting quarterback and team captain, I need to set an example for my teammates. What message would it send if I fucked off and didn’t show up on time? It’s never happened. I’ve never been late, and I don’t plan to start now. Football is the only thing that matters, and I can’t fuck it up.

  Grabbing my shit, I head out the door. I run plays in my head while I walk before jumping into my truck. A flash of white pulls in next to me. Mason jumps out of his jacked-up white Silverado and reaches in his backseat to grab his bag. Then, he climbs in with me.

  He looks at me with his signature goofy smile. “Hey, brotha. What’s up?”

  Ignoring his question, I start backing out of the driveway. “If we don’t haul ass, we’re going to be late. Then, you know what will happen.”

  “Yep, running doubles after practice. No, thanks. Hey, where’s Lane?”

  “He had to go in e
arly to talk to Coach about something.”

  Mason looks at me in question.

  I shrug. “Hey, don’t look at me. I have no idea what it’s about.”

  Mason drags his hand over his face. “Probably has to do with how much he’s been partying.”

  I nod.

  That could for sure be what Coach called him in for. We all do our fair share of partying, but Lane, he takes it to a whole new level. He parties a little too hard. He’s been known to go on benders for days at a time in the off-season. Which, I guess, isn’t a big deal. But he hasn’t slowed down much since this season started. And that’s going to be a problem. We all need to give one hundred and ten percent this season. We can’t have Lane fucking off and screwing us out of our perfect season.

  We make it to practice with just enough time to throw on our practice gear.

  We’re just walking out when Coach grumbles, “Cutting it close, boys, aren’t you?” all while never looking up from his clipboard.

  “Sorry, Coach, I had some car trouble, and Trent here was nice enough to give me a lift,” Mason chirps, his voice laden with his usual charm.

  Coach grunts something inaudible that sounds like, “Fucking kids,” and stalks off.

  It’s nearing the end of August, and the weather in Massachusetts is pretty fucking hot. It’s also muggy as hell, making it damn near impossible to breathe. Despite the heat, I’m ready to get to work. Everyone says the conference championship is ours this year. I hope they’re right.

  I’ve got high hopes for myself. The end goal is my name being called as a New England Patriot draft pick one day. It has been my dream for as long as I can remember. A lot of recruiters tried to persuade me to enter the draft sophomore and junior year, but I had my own plan. I want a college degree. Maybe that’s not what everyone else thinks is best, but it’s my life. This is my senior year at NEU. I want to leave here a champion.

  I turn the spray off to the shower and step out, wrapping my towel around my waist. These practices are brutal. Coach is getting us conditioned for the season. I make it a priority to stay conditioned all year, but these workouts, in shape or not, fucking suck.