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Chapter Three
DALTON
My feet stay frozenon the concrete patio. The air, suddenly too thick and heavy, heats a few degrees. I struggle to catch my breath as I fixate on the expanding ringlets circling the splash.
Holy shit. This is not possible.
The thrumming in my ears drowns out Coach’s voice. I stand shell-shocked and wait for the blonde to reemerge. She sputters as water sheets off her face, but the moment those wide, blue eyes turn to meet mine, the entire world stops spinning. Life hits pause as my brain catches up to my eyes and confirms the girl in the pool is Cassie—my ghost—and Coach’s very unattainable, untouchable, and I-will-end-your-career-before-it-starts daughter.
Fucking rotten lemons.
This can’t be happening. She can’t be the same Cassie. Cassie’s last name is Green not...Greenburg.
I blink and then blink again, staring numbingly at eyes mirroring the same shock as I feel. She’s still as beautiful as I remember. Even with wet, messy hair, the girl steals my breath. No matter how much time has elapsed, no matter how hard it hurt that she left without so much as a goodbye, the woman still wields power over me. And I know at that moment why every other female hasn’t measured up.
“Dalton, head back inside the house.”
Coach’s low, menacing tone pulls me out of this endless time warp capsizing my body. I pull my gaze away and try to focus on my new coach—the same man who’ll have my head if I so much as glance at his daughter. Coach’s face is red and blotchy. Dread seeps into my bones. I’ve already blown my first impression. I’m sure standing here ogling his daughter doesn’t score any bonus points. I somehow muster a nod and retreat into the house without a backward glance.
The breath I was holding sputters from my lips the moment my feet hit the hardwood floor. Safe inside, I think clearer. I shrug out of the jacket I put on to stop Coach’s prying eyes from staring at my tattoos and stumble to the oversized island separating the kitchen and living room. I grab hold of the cold granite slab. I’ve been physically knocked on my ass by my father’s upper hand, but this feels ten times worse.
I actually found her.
Three years after searching Cessna University’s large campus, countless nights scouring the internet, and repeatedly dialing her cousin’s number that had clearly blocked mine, I finally found my ghost without even trying. Relief clashes with anger. Cassie lied to me. If she lied about her name, what else has she lied about?Us?Was I just a means for her to lose her virginity? Or some act of defiance against her overly strict father?
I close my eyes to keep the room from spinning. I’m suddenly five years old again and sitting on the concrete steps in front of the elementary school, waiting for a mom that never came. I don’t want to be the one that gets left behind all the time—that weak, helpless boy crying over a loved one who failed to love him back.
Fuck that.
Anger stabs my heart, but it’s aimed more at myself than at her. The blame is on me. I fell for this girl who never wanted to be found. That’s the essence of her wish, right? The fact she didn’t want me to find her. They say actions speak louder than words. Well, her lack of communication speaks volumes.
Had I listened, I wouldn’t have wasted a year chasing after her, and I wouldn’t be here playing for a wannabe boot camp team. I’d be drafted. That, I guarantee.
Coach’s loud voice filters in through the sliding glass doors. Words such as indecent and ungodly are tossed around. He’s clearly upset at their choice of swimwear. Given what I know about him, I’m not surprised, but he’s beyond ridiculous.
But then, Cassie speaks. Her melodic voice sets me back from my hard stance and wraps around my chest, thawing my cold heart. I try to resist the sound, but I can’t stop picturing her embarrassed expression whenever I called her Choir Girl.
Shit.How is living under the same roof as her going to work? My friends back home know I push the limits and don’t care about rules. I’ve been low-key these past few years, focusing on baseball. And that good deed left me smack dab in boot camp hell. But having the girl I spent all of freshman year searching for is temptation overload. It’s like dangling a mouse in front of a tomcat and expecting him not to play with it. That situation never works out.
Coach cannot find out that the boy who chased his daughter that summer in Bellow Bay now stands in his kitchen. That would drive the final nail into my coffin. The man lives for his rules. That was evident when we got alone in his truck, and he laid down the law.
No showing up late to practice.
No talking back.
No questioning the play calls.
Show respect to coaches and teammates.
The list went on and on before segueing into the social aspect.
No alcohol.
No dancing.
No staying past curfew—especially during away games.
No cursing.
