Chapter 33

Chapter 33
Amelia's POV

"Samuel!"

My heart skipped a beat!

Samuel—head wrapped in white gauze, one leg already over the windowsill—froze halfway through his climb, staring at me with the expression of someone caught red-handed doing something stupid and fully aware of it.

"Shh—keep it down!"

I instinctively lunged forward to grab him.

Samuel caught me. He pulled his leg back from the window ledge, steadied himself, and drew me into his arms as if he'd never intended to jump down at all.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"I was just about to come find you!" he said.

I stared at him. "By jumping out the window?"

"Well, the doctor won't let me leave." He scratched his hair, looking perfectly innocent and sincere.

"Lots of people came to visit, but not you. I figured you probably didn't want to deal with crowds, so I should go find you myself!"

I exhaled. Long and slow.

"You were planning to jump from the second floor with a head injury to find me?"

"I'm wearing shorts underneath."

"That's not what I'm worried about!"

He looked slightly guilty. Just slightly.

"My injury isn't serious," he said, reaching up to unwrap the gauze. "Look, I'll show you—"

"Sit down!" I immediately commanded.

"Don't touch the bandage!"

That sentence worked equally well on golden retrievers and Samuel.

He finally settled down. A few seconds later, he picked up a box of cookies from the pile of gifts beside the bed.

"Ahem, want some cookies?"

"This flavor's pretty good. I was bored earlier and tried them all."

Only then did I notice how crowded the room actually was.

Every flat surface held flowers—lilies, sunflowers, roses, crammed into paper cups and borrowed vases. A teddy bear nearly as large as a small child occupied the chair by the window, tilting its head as if watching us.

Popular beyond words.

Joseph was right—he had a fan club.

Yet he'd wanted to abandon this entire room full of gifts to find me.

In my chest, my heart gave two heavy beats.

His questions kept coming.

"When did you join?" he asked. "The cheer squad. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I needed housing reduction," I said, "and scholarship credit."

"That's great!"

"Not for you."

"I know," he said, genuinely unconcerned. "You don't need to do anything for me. I know that."

He said solemnly, "If I can occasionally appear in your plans—that's already more than I dared imagine!"

That was Samuel's problem. He rarely asked for anything, mostly just waited, as if he'd decided long ago that he didn't deserve to ask, so he was always patient and compliant around me.

He never asked. So I always couldn't help wanting to give him more.

I thought of the message I'd sent after long deliberation that had gone unanswered.

"I sent you a message last night. Did you see it?"

"Did you?" He immediately checked his phone, looking genuinely unaware.

I watched his expression shift from confusion as he scrolled to something more cautious.

"Joseph?" he muttered to himself. "He told me last night it was spam?"

My eyelid twitched. I never expected this kind of conversation between those two.

"You... were with him last night?"

"He came to the training field, we ran into each other," Samuel said. "Come to think of it, it is pretty strange—he moved into the school dorms at the beginning of this semester, multi-person room, happened to be with me."

He scrolled through the screen, speaking slowly. "He mentioned it yesterday and then put the phone face down. I was too tired, forgot to check and fell asleep. The next day before the game, the coach collected our phones..." He didn't finish.

That message had been buried at the bottom.

"But Joseph... why?"

I probably knew why, but I didn't know how to tell Samuel.

Both of them, at different points in time, had said certain things to me.

But now the three of us were trapped in a relationship without a clean name or neat solution.

"Well, his sudden move to campus is probably to get closer to Aria," I tried to change the subject. "To complete the task assigned by his family, I suppose."

Samuel frowned. "Really? I haven't heard him mention that much. He does talk about his ex-fiancée a lot though. Many times." He glanced at me sideways. "Do you know who that is?"

I felt even more awkward.

"Never heard of her."

There wasn't one—I never agreed to it!

Samuel's expression remained doubtful. He had an unusual sharpness at this moment.

"I don't think it's about Aria..."

I cleared my throat lightly. "Speaking of which, when I was preparing for the performance on the sidelines, two of your teammates seemed to come by..."

The change in his face was immediate.

"Which ones?"

"I don't know. Two guys together."

He sat up and gripped my shoulders, somewhat anxious. "They mentioned wanting to get contact information, but, um, listen, those two always act like that when they see pretty girls. They're not funny enough either, not suitable for friendship..."

I laughed. "I was running through the routine in my head at the time. I turned them down before they finished talking, didn't even catch their names. Just remembered to ask you now."

He slowly exhaled. The pressure on my shoulders released.

Then he reached out and pulled me close with an arm marked by bruises, holding me there without moving. Warm, solid, with no intention of letting go.

"Today," he said softly, his voice muffled against my hair, "when you rushed out from the sidelines and hugged me, I almost thought I was hallucinating."

He paused. "I wouldn't dare dream of something this good."

"You have a head injury."

"It's not about the head injury." He tilted his head slightly. "Even now I want to hold you tight every moment, to make sure I'm not dreaming."

His breath fell warm and damp on my hair.

"Samuel."

He looked up at me questioningly. "What is it?"

"Why," I said quietly, "didn't you ever tell me football was like this?"

Come to think of it, I'd always been too busy.

Although I'd funded his participation in games, even when he played in the All-American Bowl, I'd only sat outside, listening to the sounds from inside while doing my own work.

I knew he worked hard because I'd seen him pass out from overtraining in high school.

But I'd never really watched him play—until today.

He blinked. "Like what?"

I pointed at his bandage. "Do you know how scared I was when I saw half your face covered in blood?"

Samuel laughed. "It's fine, people don't die in games..."

"The latest reports show approximately 10-15 college-level players are permanently disabled each year!"

"Really?" He started to scratch his head, then stopped when he touched the gauze.

"I always thought it was okay. Get hit, stand up, continue. Actually, when I worked at the factory before, you know, before you gave me money—it was more dangerous. I have a scar on my stomach." His hand was already moving toward the hem of his shirt.

I knew where that scar was—long, running across his left side.

Every time we were intimate I could see it, but I'd never asked about it before.

Strange. Why had I never asked him before?

I'd thought I knew him well, but now I realized...

I'd never truly cared about him.

I reached out, touched that scar, then squeezed his beautifully defined abs.

His Adam's apple bobbed and he made a pleased sound, like a golden retriever having its belly rubbed.

I withdrew my hand. "How did you get it?"

"When I was seventeen, passing by a punch press while moving cargo. A flying piece of metal cut me." He pulled his shirt down, his face tinged pink. "See? Football isn't that dangerous."

"How could you be near something like that? You were in a processing plant? That's not legal!"

He laughed again. "I know, but actually, I'm grateful to that little factory."

I looked at him disapprovingly. He smiled and held me tighter.

"Do you know why I play football?"