Page 10

CHAPTER 9

SO UTTERLY ALONE

SAGE

Sage walked down the wide hallway, following David and Coach Dixon, barely registering their urgent, hushed conversation as they walked to the locker room at half time.

The team’s first preseason game was off to a rough start. It was typical for teams to play at least one game before the official start of the season. The games were viewed as a trial, and often featured a shifting roster that served to give players the chance to prove themselves before the launch of the regular season.

Sage was barely holding it together.

When she’d walked out of the players’ entrance into the gymnasium before the game, there had been a sharp pinch in her chest and a heaviness that settled on her shoulders at the sight of the bleachers slowly filling with students, the gleaming wooden floors with the green eagle painted mid-flight in the center circle, and the new nets hanging from the baskets.

If she hadn’t had a job to do, Sage would’ve gotten the fuck out of there. She would have turned right around and torn off her low heels, running and running and running until the bright lights faded and the burning in her lungs drowned out the what-might-have-been ’s.

But there hadn’t been time for that.

She’d needed to make sure the bench was stocked with the team water bottles and that the balls were in position for warm ups. She’d forced herself to breathe, trying to fill her lungs completely with every inhale, wiping her sweaty hands against her slacks and focusing only on what was in front of her.

And she had. As soon as the team started warming up, the pain faded to a dull ache that was easy enough to ignore. Her attention was pulled to making sure the players’ names and numbers were accurately written in the official book, and then loading up the tablet where she would be taking in-game stats.

While the team warmed up, David paced in front of the bench, alternating between shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy slacks and snapping his fingers absently at his sides. If the guys on the court looked nervous, then David looked positively terrified.

But she hadn’t had time to think about it, as the horn signaled the countdown to the start of the game.

As soon as the ref tossed the ball up and the game began, tracking stats required every bit of her attention. She made note of where on the court players were taking shots, and documented passing errors, rebounds, and assists.

It was a different side of the game than what she’d experienced as a player. As a player, her world had narrowed the second that she stepped onto the court. Instinct took over, and while she’d been trained to keep an ear out for her coach’s voice, she would fall into the flow of the game like a fish swept along in a current.

But now, she watched the game from the outside, noticing patterns and missed opportunities. Her feet twitched in her heels as she felt her body react to an opening that she, were she on the court, would have immediately taken advantage of. It was excruciating to be on the sideline, but there was also a sense of appreciation for the beauty of the game that caught her off guard.

Southeastern, though, was playing horribly. Passes weren’t connecting, shots were rushed, and their defense fell apart the second the offense attacked the basket.

It wasn’t like there was a lack of skill on the court. No, they were all undeniably talented. But it almost looked like each player was going at a different speed. Like they were going to the right places and making the right passes, but no matter what their timing was off.

They’d finished the half down 15 - 48 against a team who, on paper, they should have been evenly matched with.

As she slipped into the locker room behind David and Coach Dixon, she looked more closely at David. She’d heard his voice barking out plays throughout the first half, his efforts to sound encouraging quickly giving way to frustration as their play continued to decline.

Now, his shoulders drooped, his brows were knit low over his eyes, and his expression was tight as he stood at the edge of the locker room. The guys sat on the low benches, their jerseys drenched in sweat, and their gazes cast down onto the floor. Only Jenks and Monty looked up, and while they both were clearly frustrated, they looked directly at David.

Sage hung back as David and Coach Dixon both said their piece. Neither of them said anything surprising: it was a lot of talk to your teammates, hustle back on defense, and you’re a team, damnit .

“How many turnovers do we have?”

David turned to look over his shoulder at where Sage stood leaning against a metal locker. She quickly navigated through the game software on the tablet. “Ten.”

David shook his head, and a thick piece of hair flopped down into his eyes. He pushed it back with his hand, only for the hair to immediately fall back where it had been. He exhaled slowly, and then turned back to the guys.

“You’ve got to go out there and execute the plays. You’ve got to play together and trust the guys on the court with you. Take your time on your shots. Let’s go.”

The guys got up, heavy on their feet, but they dutifully put their hands together in the center of their huddled circle. Sage shifted away from them, hovering by the door.

It was Jenks who called out, “Let’s go, boys. Battle on three!”

“One, two, three. Battle!”

The guys filed out of the room, Coach Dixon following behind them.

David paused at the doorway, and Sage watched as his eyes closed for a moment and his chest expanded and contracted in a deep breath. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, a game board gripped tightly in one.

“They’re going to get it,” Sage said.

David unclenched his hands, reaching up to push his hair back from his face. It was futile, really, his hair too long and unkempt to stay back. He cleared his throat, turning to face her. “Sure.”

She cocked a brow at him. “You know this is just the beginning, right?”

His mouth curved up into a strained smile. “Right,” he said, but Sage could tell that he didn’t believe it. She could already see the defeat in the heaviness of his posture.

Fuck. He’d never survive a whole season thinking like that .

“They need you, you know,” she said, taking a half step closer to where David still hovered by the door.

He barked out a harsh laugh. “I’m not so sure about that.”

She could tell that she wasn’t getting through to him. Whatever it was that weighed on him felt greater than early season jitters. For whatever reason, the man who was supposed to model confidence and bring conviction to the team was floundering.

Sage brushed past him as she reached for the door handle. “Cut yourself come slack, Coach,” she said, unable to think of anything else to say.

When the door shut behind her, she heard a loud crack that sounded distinctly like a board slammed against a wall.

* * *

By the end, any hope that Southeastern could have turned the game around was completely shattered. They lost 78 - 30, and the locker room was somber as Coach Dixon and David delivered their post-game speeches.

As the coaches were leaving, Sage approached David, slipping another honey lozenge into his hand with as much subtlety as she could manage. She didn’t look at him, but she heard the low, hoarse “thank you” as he moved past her.

When the coaches cleared out of the locker room, Sage went back to the gymnasium, hanging around long enough to wrap up her duties and email the game stat reports off to the coaches. She and Sarah, one of the equipment interns, cleared away the cushioned bench chairs and got the bleachers rolled back into the walls. There was nothing left to do at that point but go home.

As Sage climbed into her car, she tossed her blazer and bag into the passenger seat, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It was dark out, and as she drove the familiar streets she was suddenly overwhelmed, like everything she’d shoved away throughout the game came bubbling up simultaneously, demanding her attention.

She’d been in a gym today — not just a court with a hoop, but a true gymnasium where teams competed and played — for the first time in almost five years. She’d been close enough to a game ball that she could’ve jumped up from her seat and stolen it, moving through either teams’ defense to score.

Now she felt emotion rise in her throat and her vision blurred. She blinked furiously against the burning in the corners of her eyes.

She would not cry. No . She wouldn’t give another second of her life to mourning, not after all of those years had passed. Not after she’d rebuilt herself to stand strong on her own.

She wouldn’t think about the man who’d once held her future in his hands.

But still, when she pulled into her parking spot and turned off the ignition, she pulled out her phone and opened Instagram, thumbs tapping on the screen, typing a name into the search bar that she hadn’t let herself type in years.

Evan White .

His profile immediately popped up.

There he was. His smile was just as smooth, his teeth as vibrantly white as she remembered. His golden brown skin still looked like it had been sculpted by an artist, and his tight curls were still shaved close to his head.

He was still, objectively, the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life.

She scrolled through his photos, noting that he was alone in every photo he chose to share. Many of them were selfies in a gym mirror, featuring a peek of toned abs or a flexed arm.

Sage looked up from her phone, staring out at the tall lamp that illuminated the sidewalk.

What the fuck was she doing?

Without looking down, she pressed the lock button on the side of her phone, shaking herself as if she could break out of the painful melancholy that settled over her.

But it only grew when she got back to her dark apartment, painfully aware in that moment of how alone she was.

She hated the fact that she was reduced to loneliness after years of building herself up to be fiercely independent. Sage took pride in the fact that she needed no one.

Her education was paid for with merit scholarships, and the rest of her living expenses came from the hotel job she worked over the summer. After growing up with the constant sense that there wasn’t enough looming over her, it was the least she could do to free her mom and sister from the burden of supporting her.

It was why, even though the constant job postings drove her crazy, she couldn’t tell her mom to stop sending them. Because she knew that whatever job she took coming out of college needed to be enough to support herself, and it was up to her to make that happen.

She felt her chest tightening, her eyes still threatening to spill tears, and so she did the only thing that she knew how to do when it all started to feel like too much. She quickly changed and then ran down the stairs from her apartment, her old tennis shoes squeaking against the cement steps.

She was barely aware of her surroundings as she entered the fitness center, blinking against the harsh white lights. It was quiet, save for the whirring of one of the treadmill belts and the harsh, heavy breathing of someone exercising.

She glanced up, surprised to see someone else there.

But her surprise faded when she recognized the looming body of David Hughes running at a punishing pace. His face was reflected in the tall windows, and she could see his mouth pulled down into a frown. The skin on his bare arms shone with sweat, and his shorts revealed his long, strong legs.

Sage hesitated.

She should go. She should let him have the space. Based on how he looked after the game, he needed the processing and release of a hard workout more than she did.

But then she thought about him in the locker room, in that moment of vulnerability where he too had been alone, facing the pressure and disappointment of a team that wasn’t performing. It was obvious that he held himself, as their coach, responsible for their play.

Maybe, like Sage, he needed to not feel so utterly alone.

So she stepped up onto the treadmill directly beside him, even though they were the only two in the room. David glanced up, doing a double take when he noticed her. She thought he might say something, but he only gave her a silent nod before turning back to staring mindlessly out of the window in front of them.

Sage sped up to a run, subconsciously matching his pace, her long legs finding rhythm with his stride.

As her breaths lengthened and her lungs began to feel the familiar burn, she felt a quiet wave of relief in the simple fact that, in that moment, she wasn’t alone.