Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(5)

As she stared longer and longer at my face, I could feel the same burning heat that put the scar there eight years ago. My mind snapped back to the red sports car losing control on the highway, and careening into our lane. Before my mom could react, the car smashed into us head-on and a searing heat had cut through my face, like a knife soaked in flames.

It happened in one second. One second, one unexpected meeting, is all it takes for a life to change forever.

I could only recall flashbacks after the accident, fading in and out of consciousness. I remembered trying to mouth the word Mom, but when I had tried to move my jaw, my body answered with a throbbing pain. I could still smell the burning, plastic odor defusing from the airbags. I remembered the pressure in my head while I was hanging upside down, trying to unbuckle my seatbelt, and how every time I moved it felt like someone pressed a hot poker against the side of my face.

I shook my head to clear the memory of the accident. My mind snapped back to the locker room, to yet another painful encounter.

Bryn’s eyes were still focused on my scar. Her face was so close I could have counted her pores if she had any. Bryn was unquestionably the most beautiful woman I had ever encountered. In fact, the only uncertainty about her beauty was which feature made her the most stunning. Her long, wavy caramel-brown hair, sun streaked with blonde highlights, or her lush, heart-shaped lips. Her slender, sloping nose was sprinkled with perfectly placed freckles, as if applied by an artist’s hand. Maybe it was her high cheekbones, angled so finely you could run a finger along their smooth contour. Maybe it was her saucer-shaped eyes, the way they shimmered between dark and light blue, like waves.

No one had ever reacted to my scar this way. The only appropriate reaction was to ignore the scar. Now this sweet-faced simpleton was giving me the most honest reaction I had ever faced. I was good at pretending the scar wasn’t there. I was even better at dealing with heckling and mean-spirited teasing. But sincerity? I felt like I was talking to a child.

What did I do to my face?

I thought about her question. What would be a fitting response? I used to be a prostitute in Amsterdam until I got knifed by a jealous rival in a turf war. I was a stunt woman in a flying circus and fell face-first into a propeller. I’d been mauled while hunting big game in Africa.

But Bryn was my teammate, and I was team captain. I had a role to live up to. I could have verbally eviscerated her, humiliated her in front of everyone. Instead, I told her the banal, utterly lame truth.

“Car accident,” I said.

She reached her hand out toward me and I quickly leaned away, throwing my hand up to cut her off. Asking about the scar was one thing, but no one was ever allowed to touch it.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does it still hurt?” she asked.

I wanted to give her my death-glare so badly that my eyes started to itch. I eyed the rest of the team in warning.

“It happened years ago, Bryn,” I assured her. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“It just looks so painful,” she said.

Damn. She had crossed the line in so many places it was a zigzag. Enough was enough. “Well it isn’t. And if it hurts so much to stare at it then here’s a simple solution. Stop.”

“Sorry,” she said and finally averted her eyes. She looked down at her school-issued Adidas practice shoes.

Nervous eyes continued to watch my every movement. A few of my teammates stood near the door as if they were waiting for some kind of delayed reaction and wanted to secure access to the nearest exit. I cleared my throat.

“Bryn,” I said, my voice thoughtful. “You’re lucky. Today’s warm-up is captain’s choice.” A wide smile stretched across my face.

“What?” Bryn said and looked around the room at the other players. “I thought we were just lifting?”

“Have you ever run stadium steps?” I asked, ignoring her comment.

She blinked at my question with confusion.

Our outdoor football stadium, Camp Rodgers, had forty-eight steps—fifteen sets of them. And it was a nice, balmy eighty-eight degrees outside—probably the same percent in humidity.

“We’ll take it easy on you since you’re a newbie. Just two full stadiums today. Timed,” I said. “We want to see what you can do.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s today’s workout?” she asked me.

“That’s today’s warm up,” I clarified. I grabbed a timer off the bench and pulled a baseball cap over my hair. The cap kept my hair in place so it covered my scar. It had drawn enough attention for one day.

I slapped Bryn’s shoulder and guided her toward the door. I heard a few snickers behind me, and I turned to smile at Tuba before we left. I wasn’t above a little payback.

…

EMMETT

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Aaron running toward me like a bull released from a cage. I cursed through my mouth guard. I had two seconds, max. I gripped the ball harder and felt an unusual ache in my finger joints. I realized the problem. Note to self: don’t play the piano for three hours right before practice. Coach Keller would kick your ass. You’re here to play football.

I tucked the ball hard against my ribs. Part of my brain said to take the hit and go down easy. No one wants to risk an injury in pre-season. But you wouldn’t last five minutes in this game with that kind of surrender mentality. You looked a challenge full in the face and charged back at full speed, like knights in a jousting match.