Beauty and the Baller(83)

I exhale. “Do you have a question, Keith?”

“Yeah.” He leans in and looks at the camera. “Hello, from Keith Bridges. We’re here in Blue Belle, Texas, a hot spot for talented high school football. Ronan Smith, former quarterback for the Pythons, is here with us. He’s been coaching here for two seasons. Last year he took them to state, and this year they’re hopefully going to finish the season undefeated. Isn’t that right, Ronan?”

I nod.

Keith smiles at the camera. “Earlier today, Stanford announced him as being a contender as their quarterback coach, and this station also got another tip . . .”

I inhale, my eyes widening.

He looks at me. “Is it true you’re slated as the next quarterback coach for the New York Pythons? I bet those Stanford people are going to be devastated”—he glances at the people around me—“as well as Blue Belle.”

Breath whooshes out of me. How the fuck? My old coach called me this morning; then Tuck called before the pep rally.

My hands clench as I force a smile. “You’re on private property without an invitation. Disperse, or the police will be alerted. Thank you.”

“Ronan, just answer the question!” he calls, but I ignore him.

My players have walked off ahead of me, their shoulders stiff.

Skeeter eases in, his hands in his pockets. “That was a surprise.” He watches the reporters pack up their gear. “Is it true?”

“It’s true New York called me, yes.”

“Ah, I see.” He looks away from me, his jaw tense. “We’ve got practice. I’m gonna head out to the field house and get ’em started if you need a minute to figure out what you’re gonna say.”

“Skeeter, look, I’m sorry. I just found out about the New York offer. Stanford isn’t going to happen. I just—”

But he’s already striding away. My jaw flexes. Now I can add him to the list of people I’ve hurt.

I look at Nova.

She’s wearing her cream leather skirt with a navy blouse, a Bobcats button pinned to it. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, accentuating her face, which is currently blank.

She picks up the necklace I gave her and runs it through her fingers. Her words are soft. “You said you’d be honest with me.”

“It happened this morning. Reggie and Coach Hardy called me. Then Tuck. I didn’t think anyone else knew, but . . .”

“We had lunch together.”

I sigh. “Nova—”

She grimaces. “New York is the perfect place for you. It’s your home.”

It was my home. It’s where my team is. Friends. Memories.

After I don’t reply, she lets out a little sigh. “I bet your phones are ringing off the hook. What do you want me to say?”

“Tell them nothing.”

“Got it. Just like you told me. See you in the office.”

Then she’s gone, headed back inside the gym.

I want to chase after her, but my ghosts from the past, the ones that still have their claws in me, hold me back.



Later, it’s game time in the locker room, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to my team. By the time I came to practice after the reporters showed up, the guys were already running plays on the field, and I needed time to think, so I left it alone, but now, there’s no avoiding it.

Dread hits me as I take in their downcast faces.

Then Toby walks in.

“You’re twenty minutes late,” I say as he plops his duffel down on the bench. “The rest of the team is dressed out and ready to play.”

He tugs out his clothes, then puts his back to me as he puts on his pads.

“Toby?”

The other players dart their gazes from me to him.

“You’re the captain, Toby. Answer me.”

He turns and lifts hard eyes up to me. “I’m still captain. Are you still our coach?”

Bruno grumbles under his breath, “Yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’,” then dips his head.

I rock on my heels, searching for the right words. I don’t know if I have them.

Toby jostles around for his helmet and face mask, then shrugs. “My mom didn’t feel well. I stayed with her as long as I could. Sorry.”

Worry inches over me. “Do I need to send someone to check on her?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I can send one of the assistants or Lois—”

“No!” he calls, then takes a deep breath, his chest rising. “She’s fine. It’s the usual. It’s nothing.”

Once he’s outfitted and sitting with the other players, I clear my throat and stand in the center of the room. My hands tap my leg. “All right. I know you have questions about what happened today after the pep rally.”

Bruno sits with his legs spread, his eyes not meeting mine. Milo slumps over, cupping his face. Toby stands, his jaw tight. Skeeter glares down at his clipboard. Lois wipes at her face with a tissue.

A long exhale comes from me at their silence. “As you know . . . from earlier . . . I’m on the short list for Stanford, but that isn’t going to happen, and I’m being considered for the Pythons. That’s no reflection on you. We’ve come far together and—”

“Are you going to leave?” comes from Bruno.