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Chapter Eighteen

ROWAN

I t’s been a week since I last spoke to Ruth, when I blurted out that stupid thing, and I haven’t heard from her once. Not even when I reached out to apologize. I don’t know why I feel such a desperate, clawing urge to make it right, so strong it’s like it’s choking me sometimes. Maybe it was how her voice flattened as soon as I said it, like a wall slamming down or a mask slipping back into place.

I know I was an asshole, I just wish she’d hear me out. I don’t want to lose the friendship we’d been building over a slip of the tongue.

My thoughts get cut off by a large body slumping onto the bench next to me. We’re in a ten-minute break during afternoon practice, and I’m fuckin’ tired. Fitz had us running laps and doing tackle drills for the last two hours. He’s on form today, pissed about the whole kidnapping thing and stressed about the upcoming Allbreck game. I look to my left and see Christian slouched over, pouring water over the back of his neck as he breathes hard.

“You good?” I slap him on the back.

“Yeah.” His words come out as a wheeze. I’d worry if not for the grin he shoots me. This kid seems to have endless energy. I get a headache if I spend too much time with him, but he’s a damn good running back. Water droplets run down his dark skin, dropping off his chin and soaking the collar of his shirt. “This is fun, right?”

I huff out a laugh. “Sure.”

“I think Darius nearly busted my ribs back there.” He says it like it’s no big deal, like that wouldn’t be a season-ending injury. Tension creeps into my shoulders at the idea that he isn’t taking care of himself.

“Make sure you ice that shit.”

“Okay, Coach.” He laughs, knocking his shoulder into mine before jumping off the bench and running toward a cluster of guys from the practice squad.

Coach. Fuck. It’s not the first time Christian’s said it to me, and I know he doesn’t mean anything by it. He was teasing me like this long before word got around that I’m going staff next year, but it’s another reminder that things will never go back to how they used to be.

I’m not an idiot. I’ve always known things were going to change when I accepted the coaching job. I just thought I’d have more time. All I want is one last season with my friends, playing my favorite game. But it’s like my time as a student-athlete is already gone. As hard as I’m trying to cling onto it, it’s like holding steam in my fist.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been chasing this thing with Ruth so hard. She doesn’t seem to want anything from me. She doesn’t treat me like my year’s already over, I’m just a regular guy to her. Every time she gives me shit or shoots me that big, dimpled smile, it feels like I’m getting back some of the time that’s going by so fast.

I pull my phone from where it’s stashed under the bench and furiously refresh my messages, hoping that something’s changed in the last hour and she’ll have sent me some meme or a bullshit question about home repairs.

Nothing.

“Ainsley!” Fitz’s voice booms across the field. “Get over here!”

I start walking across the field toward him until he raises an eyebrow, the walk turning into a run until I’m just feet away from him.

“Coach?”

“Where’s your head at, son?” He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve been four eggs short of a chicken all morning.”

“Sorry.” I hang my head, pissed I’ve let my emotions affect my game. No matter what’s been happening in my life, I’ve always managed to keep it off the field, but apparently, Ruth’s upending everything.

“Don’t be sorry, just tell me what’s eating you.”

I don’t know how to explain it. I can’t exactly tell him that my mind’s been stuck somewhere else, or he’ll have a whole bunch of questions I really don’t want to answer.

“Look.” Fitz steps closer. “I need you to be a leader, son. We’ve got a big weekend coming up.”

“I know, sir.” On Saturday, we’re playing Allbreck for the first time this season, and there are rumors that their team isn’t what it has been. This could be our first chance to beat them on the field in a long time, and you could cut the tension with a knife. We all need to be on top form, and that means not messing with anybody’s head.

It isn’t that I don’t trust the guys to know about my friendship with Ruth. I just know most of them have a chip on their shoulder when it comes to Allbreck. They wouldn’t take it well, and with things already strained between us, I don’t want to give them any excuse to create more of a wedge.

Besides, as Fitz said, I need to tread carefully to avoid dragging the team into a harsher spotlight than we’re already in. If I’m coming clean, then it’s got to be done at the right time, and in the right way. Anything that looks even a little bit like a member of the coaching staff getting close to a student could be bad news for everyone.

“Get to it then.” He turns on his heel to talk to our offensive line coach, effectively dismissing me.

“Rowan!” Darius yells at me. “Dude, can you help me out?”

I jog over to him. He wants to go through some positioning on his tackles; Fitz had been riding him during practice, and for good reason. Darius is going to make one hell of a player, but he’s untrained. All that raw talent could go to waste if someone doesn’t help him rein it into check.

As much as I hate the way my friendship with the team has changed, coaching is still my dream job. There’s something special about watching someone you care about get better with every game, taking notes you give them, and turning into a player performing to their fullest potential.

Darius and I run through a couple things before Fitz calls us to huddle up. All thoughts of Ruth are forgotten as we start a practice game, the energy on the field crackling at the thought of our next real opponents being the team we’ve been chasing after for so long, finally ready to put them in their place.