Page 156 of Let You Love Me

“No way. We’ve worked too damn hard to get here,” Tommy says beside me. “None of us would do that.”

Coach holds a hand up. “I have every intention at finding out who it was. In the meantime, practice is canceled for today.”

Protests rise around me, some calling for the turncoat’s head on a pike. Others insisting we need the practice now more than ever.

“Quiet!” Coach snaps, and the ruckus fades. “Quite frankly I don’t give a fuck what you think we should do. The damage is done. I’ve seen the copy of the playbook they have, and it is in fact, ours. So, I’m going to spend the next twenty-four fucking hours in my office trying to come up with a plan, new plays, whatever it takes to do some damage control while also trying to figure out how the fuck this happened and who the hell is responsible. I expect all of you”?he points at each of us, moving across the room?“to keep your ears to the fucking ground and if you hear so much as a peep about this or have an inkling of who it was, I expect you to come to me tomorrow before the game, and no sooner. I don’t want to be bothered until then because I’ll be working around the clock to do damage control. It might seem like this effects only one game, but the ramifications couldbe far reaching if someone from Florida got it in their head to pass the book along. You might as well kiss the championships goodbye. Is that understood?”

He pauses and a cacophonous “Yes, sir!” trickles through the room.

“Good.” He nods and backs toward the door. “You’re on your own for the day. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Once he’s gone Greene slams his fist into a nearby locker and turns on us. “Whoever the fuck it was better turn themselves in right now, I swear.”

A rumbled ascent fills the room while I stand there shell-shocked. Any hope we had of pulling out a win tomorrow have all but vanished. All our hard work is for nothing.

Tommy sighs and slides two hands into his hair. “Well, there goes tomorrow.” He kicks the bench in front of us, then curses.

“It makes no sense,” I say with a shake of my head. “Why would someone do that?” And more importantly, who the hell would have access to Coach’s office to even snag his playbook in the first place?

“Maybe the mole got fucking paid?” Tommy throws out.

Maybe. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time money exchanged hands to ensure a win. Or maybe the same person who managed to gain access to the locker combinations also has access to Coach’s office.

The thought detonates inside my brain like a hand grenade, and when my gaze lifts in the direction of Chance Lockhart, our eyes lock.

My heart pounds a frantic beat as I run laps around the track. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve done, but it doesn’t matter. Most of the guys hit the weight room and finished conditioning morethan an hour ago but I, for one, couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not with my mind racing in a million different directions.

So, I run until my muscles burn and my lungs ache.

I run until the thoughts in my brain muddle and fizzle to nothing more than a blissful hum.

Slowing my pace, I come to a stop, bending at the waist to catch my breath before I do a few quick stretches, then head for the locker room.

I can’t imagine what Coach is thinking right now. Even if he can create a whole new fucking playbook, we don’t have time to learn them for the game tomorrow. Instead, we’ll be flying by the seat of our pants, with last-minute plays being hurled at us; it’s about the only thing we can do to try an earn a win other than pray like hell.

I shake my head as I enter the tunnel and head for the locker room, still unable to believe one of my teammates or a staff member sold us out.

Did someone offer them money?

For the life of me, I can’t come up with a reason good enough to hand our rival the blueprint for beating us, and monetary gain is the only thing that makes even remote sense.

Regardless of the reason, the betrayal cuts deep. Teammates are a band of brothers, and even though I’m nowhere near as close to these guys as I was with my teammates back in Riverside, if I’m feeling the sting of this, I can’t imagine what the veteran players on the team are feeling. The seniors must be shitting bricks right now.

And Coach . . . If I were him, I’d be beside myself.

It’s the best season he’s had in years and now, because of one selfish asshole, the team will take a massive hit.

It’s quiet as I duck under the archway into the hall that leads to the locker room. Hours have passed since Coach made theannouncement about the playbook, and most of the guys have probably gone home by now.

I tug open the heavy metal door, my thoughts drifting to Lane. I hadn’t planned on hanging out with her tonight on account of how important tomorrow’s game is—or was—but I can’t help but wonder what she’ll think when she finds out what happened.

I lift my head as I round the corner and freeze.

My eyes widen, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Seconds pass, but my brain still won’t compute.

Chance stands at my locker, a gym bag at his feet as he pops the combination lock off my locker, then bends and removes an item I’d recognize anywhere. The one I’ve seen Coach clutch during practice every fucking day for the last four months.

His playbook.