Coach Ryland’s voice fades to background noise as he rehashes old wins, watching me for nods I easily give.
I take the opportunity to glance around Ruthie’s Café. It hasn’t changed. The same worn linoleum and metal chairs that scrape against it. The same smell of grease and salt. My eyes trace the walls of newspaper clippings highlighting Dusty Hollow football, but then I notice somethingdifferent . . .
“Hey, Coach,” I interrupt, pointing over at the collage of blue and red. “What’s that?”
His gaze follows my finger and he grins. “Your wall.”
“My wall?”
Coach Ryland stands, and I follow him toward what I now see are print-outs of articles and photos of me in my New York Giants uniform. A sharp pang vibrates within me as I look at the version of myself I sacrificed everything to become.
“You didn’t think we’d stop cheering for you, did ya?” he asks, putting a heavy hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “You’re our boy.”
I only played pro for two years. The beginning of my third year, I took a hit that destroyed my knee, and yet everyone here sees my career for what I won and not what I lost.
I swallow hard, nodding. “It was great catching up, Coach, but I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”
His mouth tilts up in a smile. “I haven’t stopped believing in you, kid.”
“I’ll try not to let you down,” I answer with a half smile.
“You never have,” he says, then squints. “Except for that one game where your running yards disappeared in the second half.”
A breath of a laugh spreads my lips a little wider. “Thanks, Coach.”
I walk out of the café, scanning the streets, and see Matt starting to close the grocery store for the day.
“Hey, Matt!” I yell while jogging across the street.
“Milo. Thought you’d be with Sadie,” he muses.
“She . . . uh . . . wanted to go herself,” I reply.
He shrugs. “Sadie’s not one to ask for help. She’s the one who helps.”
I nod, running my hand through my hair. “So she’s still volunteering at Firefly Farms?”
Matt laughs, opening the door and waving me in even though the sign is now flipped to closed. “Not just Firefly Farms. Sadie Summers is practically everything to everyone. Last year she wonthe Dusty Hollow Citizen of the Year award . . . for the sixth year in a row.”
I follow Matt into the old building.
“And she’s working for her dad?”
Matt crosses his arms, turning to me. “Can I ask you an honest question?”
Matt’s forehead is creased, and I spy silver roots in his orange hair, but it’s the way he says the words—as if there were sides to the Sadie-and-Milo breakup and he’s protecting Sadie. I understand it, even respect it. Sadie deserves to be protected.
I swallow down regret and nod. “Yeah.”
“Why are you back?”
“If I tell you that, the entire town will go up in flames with gossip.”
“You think rumors haven’t already been lit?” he questions.
“Good point,” I reply.
Small towns are good for many things. Skinny dipping in the kiddie pool during the summer is the only spike in crime during the year, and everyone is always happy to lend you a cup of flour when you’re baking cookies for the Sugar & Spice & Everything Nice Bake-Off, where Sadie always took home a ribbon for those chocolate chip cookies.
