Page 9

Chapter 9

GAbrIEL

M oths dove and swooped under the parking lot lights as I stepped into the night air. After cooking its citizens during the day, you’d think Texas would give us a break at night. But no. It was still hot, still humid. Even with the temperature, I caught my reflection in a car window and realized I’d been smiling to myself.

I’d just started as April’s coach, and I liked it—a little more than I suspected was normal. It had a lot to do with her drive. If I could bottle up her determination and add it to my other athletes’ electrolytes, my team would be unstoppable. There was this raw potential just waiting to be sculpted. April had been fighting through her triathlons with, what seemed like, the minimal guidance Clay had given her. With some support and actual coaching, she could fly.

After her magic mile and planking, I’d had her change into her swimsuit, and we went over to the natatorium side of the rec. I’d used my GoPro to get footage of her doing a few laps. Once I got home, I’d analyze her form and see what drills she’d benefit most from. When I asked her what kind of drills Clay prescribed for her, she’d said he just gave her an amount of time to swim for each workout.

There was no way he was pulling that shit with some of his more competitive athletes, but he’d done it with April because he knew he could get away with it. Her days of having half-assed coaching were over. She’d have targeted workouts for training and actual nutrition plans for races, as well as a carefully crafted weight training plan—nothing intensive, but a little would go a long way to increase her power and endurance.

I was excited about the untapped potential of a new athlete. But I couldn’t pretend that was the only reason for my smile. There was also something about how she called me Coach—with a mischievous glint to those hazel eyes. Those eyes sparkled. They dared.

Most of my athletes called me Gabe, but the ones who called me Coach certainly didn’t send a current down my spine like she did. I shouldn’t have had any such reaction to an athlete. Ever. It was unprofessional and not at all the reason why I’d asked her to join my team. I was there to help her achieve her goal of crossing the red carpet. That was it.

I sat in my truck but didn’t start it. I was only switching out my shoes—an older pair of Brooks with too many miles for running—to the newest pair of Nikes I bought at Just Tri. Though excited to have April on the team, meeting with her cut into my training time. I had seven miles to get in. Luckily, the street in front of the rec had a sizable hill, so I’d get in some incline work.

After twenty minutes on said hill, I treated myself by turning into a residential neighborhood. There were longer stretches without lamps, but I’d take a potential ankle twist over going back up the hill to see if the other side provided better lighting.

As if to punish me for that decision, a form in the dark moved when I rounded a corner. I ripped out a headphone to hear a, “What the fuck?” I willed my eyes to adjust in the dark as the human-shaped silhouette moved away.

“Hey!” I put out a hand. “Sorry! I’m just a runner. Forgot my light at home.”

There was a pause before I heard, “ Gabe ?”

I squinted, trying to put a face to the voice. “Trevor? Is that you?”

“Yes! Jesus, man! Do you know how horrifying it is to come across your tall ass in the dark? I thought a fucking Dementor had turned the corner.” Something clinked. “And some protector you are. You didn’t even bark.”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to his dog. I chuckled. “Are you seriously relying on Johnson for protection?”

“This isn’t Johnson. It’s the pit bull . . . Can we move to a lit area?”

“Good idea.”

We bumped into each other several times before finding our rhythm toward the streetlight.

“So you’re still trying to hide the dog from your landlord?” I guessed.

“She caught me sneaking him in this morning.” He sighed. “I have three days to get rid of him, and I’m not allowed to walk him at our apartment complex.”

“I didn’t realize some apartments had that rule. My landlord has two pit bulls: Sonny and Cher.” They seemed to smile widely at everyone who passed by the office.

Trevor’s shrug became visible as we neared the light. “Every place is different.”

We stopped under the lamp. The dog in question sat and looked up at me. His head was entirely too large for his body, but he was kind of adorable in a he’s-so-ugly-he’s-cute kind of way. I knelt and let him sniff my hand, which he promptly licked.

“It’s not your fault you’re a pit bull. Is it?” I asked him. Lines of missing fur crossed over his muzzle, and there was another long line above his eye, just like my own scar. My thumb brushed over it as I rubbed his head.

“I wish I could keep him longer. He could use someone kind,” Trevor said. “He ducks every time I lift my hand.”

Someone had been beating him. My blood ran cold. A ghost of my dad’s yelling wisped through my mind, and I had to fight to keep from flinching even at just the memory.

“I’ll take him in.” The words were out of my mouth before I had time to consider what having a dog would even look like for me.

“What?” Trevor asked, just as thrown by my response.

“Just until the no-kill shelter has an opening,” I clarified. “I’ll take him.”

“That’s—thank you. I really appreciate it.”

I stood, suddenly nervous about becoming responsible for something other than myself. “What does he need? I’ve never had a dog before.”

Trevor laughed. “I’ve got extra dog bowls and toys he can have. How about you give yourself a couple of days to think about it? If you are still up to it, you can bring him home.”

“Okay.”

“Is this your first pet?” Trevor asked, and I could tell he was trying very hard to hide the amusement in his expression.

“Does the goldfish I kept alive for less than a week count?”

Trevor nodded once. “You know what? I’ll send lots of articles on dog care.”

“I’ll read them,” I promised the dog sitting at my feet. “For both our sakes.”