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Chapter thirteen

Hudson

“Again!” Coach shouts. His voice cuts through the air like a whip, sharp and unrelenting.

The turf feels like it’s swallowing me whole. My lungs are burning, legs like cement, but I keep going. Stopping isn’t an option. Not tonight. Coach is on a tear, barking out orders like this is the championship game tomorrow, not just another grueling practice. Every time I think we’re done, he demands more.

Seb’s up ahead, his strides slowing, shoulders heaving like he might collapse at any second. Benny’s next to me, barely keeping pace, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Every stride is a fight against the urge to just stop. My stomach twists in protest, nausea bubbling up with every push forward. If Coach yells “again” one more time, I’m pretty sure I’ll lose it, physically, mentally, all of it.

“Last one!” Coach roars, his voice echoing across the field.

And I almost fucking cry at the idea of going again.

We all know that’s a lie. He’s been saying “last one” for the past three laps, and every time we cross the line, he just resets the clock, like we’re stuck in some endless torture cycle.

I grit my teeth, focusing on the rhythm of my steps, even though my muscles are screaming. It’s the only way to survive this, just one step, then another, then another, until the pain is background noise. I tell myself I’m not gonna give him the satisfaction of breaking me.

But then Benny pulls up next to me, his face flushed, drenched in sweat. “Who’s that?”

“What—” I snap, glancing sideways at him, but his head jerks toward the sidelines as we move into the final lap. I follow his gaze, and my whole body stumbles, feet dragging against the turf like they’ve forgotten how to move.

My chest heaves, vision swimming, and for a second, I think my brain is playing tricks on me. It has to be. I shake my head, but it just makes more sweat drip into my eyes. There’s no fucking way I’m seeing what I think I see.

Daphne.

My Daphne.

Hugging Coach.

My first thought is that it can’t be real. My heart was already hammering from the sprints, but now it’s pounding for a whole different reason. I blink hard, trying to clear the sweat stinging my eyes, but she’s still there. Scrubbing my arm across my face, I blink again as we come to a stop, and it doesn’t change a damn thing. She’s laughing, her face bright, her arms wrapped around Coach like they’ve known each other forever. But how the fuck?

My brain scrambles to make sense of it. Hallucinations are a thing when you’re over-exercising, right? Heat exhaustion, dehydration, whatever this is, it’s messing with me. That’s gotta be it. Because why the hell would Daphne be here? Why would she know Coach?

Then she moves, tucking her hair behind her ear, and I catch the exact tilt of her smile. I’d know it anywhere. I’ve been thinking about her a lot over the last couple of days and how easy it was being with her. There’s no denying it. It’s her.

“Hudson!” Benny’s voice is like cold water dumped over my head. “You good, man?”

I whip my head forward, trying to act normal, but my stomach’s in knots. “Nothing,” I mutter. “I mean, I’m fine.”

Benny snorts at my clipped tone, and I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Seb jogs up from behind, catching the tail end of the conversation. “What’s he freaking out about now?” he asks, his face as red as ours.

Benny doesn’t miss a beat. “Not what, dude. Who. ” He jerks his thumb toward the sideline, and I want to kill him.

I risk a quick glance back. She’s still there, her body angled just enough that I catch her soft curves and internally groan at the memory of her riding me.

Fuuuuuuck.

Nothing about this can be good.

Seb follows Benny’s gaze, then does a double take. “Oh. Who’s she supposed to be? His daughter or something?”

The idea of her being Coach’s daughter makes my knees feel weak.

“She’s hot as fuck, though,” Benny says, and I hiss, but he doesn’t take notice.

Oh my god, I feel like I’m underwater. Please don’t be my coach’s daughter. Please. Please. Please. I watch him wrap his arm around her shoulder and pull her to his side, and while I can’t compare, that looks a lot like a fatherly hug from a guy who loves his daughter.

My body is exhausted, and my brain is playing catch up in a way that’s making me dizzy.

“Don’t tell me you can’t see how hot she is?” Benny says, clearly ignoring me.

I don’t know if she can see us from this far down the field, but I can sure as shit see her. And he’s right, she’s a smokeshow, even in her simple leggings and pink sweater.

“Coach will absolutely have your balls if you go near her,” Seb says, matter of fact.

He’s right, and yet here I am, knowing exactly what it’s like to be inside of her. My mouth waters and not in a good way. More in a I’m-gonna-upchuck-everything-in-my-stomach kinda way.

I’m fully unprepared to come face to face with her, to deal with any of this. Coach would know immediately that I fucked her. I’m shit at lying and he has a sixth sense, and I just know he’d know. The man can sense bullshit from a mile away.

If I wasn’t breathing heavily from all this training, I’d be hyperventilating.

Coach’s whistle cuts through the air. “Bring it in.”

My legs feel like they weigh a ton, but I force them to move, falling in line with the others as we jog toward the center of the field. Heat envelops me from my body, trying to regulate after that brutal bout of suicides, but that’s not why my chest feels tight. I don’t get nervous, not during games, not during practice, not even when Coach decides we need to “dig deep” and break ourselves on the turf like today. But right now? My pulse hammers in a way I don’t recognize, and I hate it.

I trail behind a few of the guys, not wanting to be at the front of the huddle. I’d like to keep my balls where they are, and putting myself in front of her will do the opposite, I fear.

Glancing over a few of the guys, I see her lean in to Coach and just catch her saying, “See you later, Dad.”

Well, there’s my confirmation.

She turns to walk away, her blonde hair blowing in the breeze, her full hips swaying. Fuck me . Do not get hard here, Hudson. Do not.

“Who’s that, Coach?” Benny pipes up, sounding way too curious for his own good. His grin practically screams death wish.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous,” Nate adds, digging his own grave. Nice knowing you, man.

Coach’s nostrils flare in a way that has us all bracing. It’s the same look he gets right before he tears into us during halftime when we’re playing like shit, right before the yelling…

“I’m only going to say this once,” Coach growls, his voice dangerously low as he points at each of us like he’s marking targets. My stomach twists.

“If any of you so much as look at her, let alone talk to her or—God help you—touch her, you’ll wish you’d never worn this jersey. Endless burpees. Suicides until you’re begging for mercy. And that’s just the beginning. Do I make myself clear?”

The team mutters their agreement, but I barely hear it over the sound of my own funeral march playing in my head.

It’s official.

I’m a dead man.

***

The shower beats down on me, scalding hot, as I keep my head under it, hoping it’ll somehow wash away my sins.

My hands move on autopilot as I scrub the evidence of that brutal practice as fast as I can. The aches in my muscles are nothing compared to the racing in my mind.

Images, sounds, sensations of that night flood me like a tsunami. I’m reeling, unable to figure out what to do next.

It’s funny how we never even touched on the obvious, where we’re from, what schools we go to. The conversation just flowed naturally, until suddenly, we were back in my hotel room.

One little snippet of information would’ve stopped me in my tracks and I wouldn’t be in this situation.

Well, okay, maybe not totally stopped me, but it would’ve made me think with my head and not just my dick. Maybe. Probably.

I turn off the faucet, yank a towel from the rack, and rub at my face harder than I need to. My teammates’ voices echo in the locker room, laughter and shouts about plays and plans for the weekend. Normally, I’d jump in, toss some jokes, maybe egg on Seb about how he can’t handle his liquor. But I don’t even glance at them. I don’t have time for small talk.

This isn’t something I can sit on. I need to talk to Jay.

I’m half-dressed when I grab my bag and bolt for the door. Someone calls my name, but I’m already out, jogging through the hallways until I’m across campus, pulling my hoodie over my head. The cooler September air bites at my damp hair, but I barely notice. Jay’s dorm isn’t far, just across the quad.

I trust Jay with everything. We’ve been through a lot and he’s always helping me fix my screw-ups, but I’m not sure he can fix this one. If Coach finds out I slept with his baby girl, he’ll have my balls in a vise for the rest of the season. He could bench me. Oh fuck, my chest is getting tight again. I can’t be benched. I can’t lose everything I’ve worked my whole life for. Everything I have planned for my future.

I take the stairs two at a time and knock on Jay’s door, harder than I mean to. There’s a muffled “Coming!” from inside, and a second later, he opens it, wearing sweats and a confused look.

“Hudson. What’s up? You look like you’re about to puke.”

“Can I come in?” My voice comes out rough, and he steps aside without another word.

I drop my bag near the door, the sound louder than I intended, and start pacing the length of his room. My hands find their way into my hair, tugging at the strands as if that’ll shake the words loose. Every breath I take seems a little too shallow.

“Fuck fuck fuck. I’ve fucked it. I’m a dead man,” I chant, feet slapping against his floor rhythmically.

“What are you talking about?”

I pause, looking up at him, his eyes are wide. Fuck, I don’t know if I can say it out loud.

“I’m in so much shit, man.”

“What have you done this time?” he asks with a hint of judgement. He has every right to take that tone, because over the last two years, he’s helped me out more times than I can count. He’s saved me at midnight when a girl wouldn’t let me leave her dorm. He’s picked me up from a random girl’s house at dawn. He’s even shown up at a costume party in a borrowed onesie, pretending to be my scorned boyfriend to get me out of a hookup gone wrong. The guy is a best of friend as they come.

But this feels like peak Hudson-level screw-up territory. I need a second to brace myself, to at least pretend I have this under control.

I stop pacing and lean against the wall, rubbing the back of my neck. It’s now or never. One deep breath, Hudson. “So, at the Gracie concert, I met someone.”

He looks at me expectantly. “Yeah, I know.”

Shit, it feels like I can’t breathe. I close my eyes and purse my lips, trying to force the words out, but they’re tripping over themselves on the way. “Well, that someone happens to be... I mean, I didn’t know she was... I didn’t know who she—” I stop, groan, and begin pacing again. My admission is a mess, just like me.

“Hudson,” he interrupts. “Get there faster.”

Right. I guess just rip the band-aid off.

“I slept with Daphne!” I shout, my blood pressure spiking as I fold onto his bed, chest heaving. A moment passes, and when he doesn’t answer, I turn to face him. Did he not hear me?

Jay’s eyebrows knit together. “Daphne? Who’s Daphne?”

Oh right, he has no idea who she is.

I swallow the fear wedged in my throat and squeeze my eyes shut. “Coach’s daughter.”

There’s a beat of silence that’s broken by Jay’s sharp inhale.

“The coach’s daughter ?” he shouts, making me open my eyes again to see he’s stood up from his desk chair.

“Yeah,” I mutter, watching him pull his glasses off and clean them on the edge of his shirt, something he always does when he’s stalling or holding back. He carefully blinks and puts them back on, holding my focus now.

“The coach’s daughter,” he repeats, and I just nod slowly. “Hudson… do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Yeah.” My throat is as dry as sandpaper. The knot in my chest feels like it’s doubled in size and is moving into my esophagus, threatening to choke me.

Jay shakes his head, his mouth opening and closing, like he’s searching for the right way to break it to me. Then, finally: “Coach is going to kill you. Like, actual murder.”

“Yeah,” I repeat, the word barely scraping out.

Jay lets out a long, low whistle, leaning back against his desk. “Shit, man. I… I don’t think I can help with this one. Do you know if she’s told him?”

Sitting up, I blow out a harsh breath. “Do you tell your parents when you hook up with someone?”

“Fair point,” he says, rubbing his chin. “But if Coach was normal with you at practice, chances are he doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t know I know her.”

“What did Daphne say when she saw you?” he asks.

“Uhhh.” I twiddle my bracelet from my sister, running my fingers over the beads that read 2 nd Place . Usually looking at this would distract me or make me smile, but not now.

“Hudson?”

I look up but avoid his eyes. “Yeah?”

Jay presses, leaning forward like he already knows the answer but needs to hear me say it.

I wince, my hand instinctively going to the back of my neck. “I maybe...kind of...hid at the back.” Each word drags out painfully. “I didn’t want her to see me, not in front of her dad. If he clocked me, he’d know I know her, and he’d assume the worst.”

Jay collapses back into his chair with a sigh. “Dude.”

“I know.”

“He’d be right to assume the worst,” Jay says flatly. His glasses slip down his nose just enough to add to his disapproving vibe. “You slept with his daughter.”

“Fuuuuck,” I drawl, dragging my hands down my face. “I’m screwed if he finds out.”

Jay lets out a low chuckle, but there’s no real humor in it. “If? Hudson, this is Coach we’re talking about. The man’s like a bloodhound for trouble, and you’re practically waving a neon sign over your head that says ‘guilty.’”

With a rumbling groan, I flop forward, my head in my hands. “What the hell do I do?”

Another moment of silence passes between us, and I really think I might have to transfer if I want a shot at the pros, because this man has the ability to derail my future career before it’s even started. Do I think he’d go that far? I have no intention of finding out, though. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“No, you know what, it’s going to be fine,” Jay says, resolution coating his words as he stands up. “We need to make sure your reputation isn’t soiled any further, and Coach knows you’re a slut, so we need to change that immediately and make sure he sees you being…whatever the opposite of a slut is.”

“A monk?”

Jay laughs, but I don’t find it funny, because if he’s about to say what I think he’s about to say, I might cry. “Don’t say it.”

“You’re gonna have to go without sex.” Well, shit, he said it. “Or, at the very least, be discreet. Don’t give Coach a single reason to dislike you. Keep your grades up, because we both know he checks. Be the perfect student and football player. That way, if he ever finds out, you’ll be ‘reformed.’”

I groan ever louder this time. “This is gonna blow up in my face. What if I see her around campus?”

Jay claps his hands together like a man with a plan, completely ignoring my misery. “Think about it, Hudson. If Coach sees you as a responsible, upstanding team player, he’ll be less likely to assume the worst if this ever blows up. And the campus is huge, so the chances of you seeing her are slim.”

I shoot him a look. “If this blows up? You mean when.”

“Not if you stick to the plan,” Jay counters, grinning as I look over to him. “No hookups, no scandals. Just football, studying, and being a model player.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” My head lolls back against the chair. “Do you know how many people throw themselves at me? It’s not my fault I’m irresistible.” The joke feels sour on my tongue, because at this rate, I’ll never sleep with a single person ever again.

Jay snorts, folding his arms. “Maybe tone down the ego while you’re at it. It’s not part of the reformed monk vibe.”

Like it’ll shield me from this nightmare, I drag a pillow over my face.

Welcome to my sexless life.

Again.