Guilt knots itself in my gut. “I’m sorry.”
“What was her name?” Landon asks.
“Jada.” Dominique lifts her eyes to Landon and her lips tip up in the corner. “She was really funny.”
I smile, my father flashing through my mind. “So was my dad.”
Each of the girls take turns going around the table and sharing a struggle they’ve gone through, or someone they’ve lost. I sit back and take it all in, watching as they form bonds that’ll help them navigate their remaining years at Breakwater High.
But when I glance at Landon, his eyes are already on me.
My eyes narrow. “What?”
“You really think I’m after your coaching spot?”
I hike a shoulder. “I never know what to think when it comes to you.”
He shakes his head like that disappoints him. “I don’t want all the added pressure of varsity. You can have it. I’m right where I want to be.”
“I guess time will tell.”
His head tilts. “You don’t believe me?”
“You haven’t given me a reason to.”
Actions speak louder than words, and though it was a long time ago, his actions told me everything I need to know about the person he is.
People can change, sure, but I won’t give Landon Fletcher the opportunity to prove it to me one way or another.
Chapter 10
Ainsley
The cool morningair hits my skin as I climb out of my Jeep.
The smell of the freshly cut grass stings my nostrils, and my shoulders relax. I made a call to Danbury yesterday to make sure the groundskeepers mowed the field before today’s games. Yet another thing the boys’ teams don’t have to worry about.
Varsity doesn’t start until 9AM, but I like getting here early, taking it all in. Other than the birds chirping, it’s quiet and peaceful and?—
What the hell is that sound?
My head whips around as I scan the parking lot for what’s causing that gagging, sputtering sound. I thought I was alone, but there he is, hunched over, bracing his hands on his knees, as he spills the contents of his stomach on the ground.
Fucking Fletcher.
I wait for him to finish puking before I walk over to him. “Aren’t you a little old to be hungover?”
His chest heaves as he stands upright. “I was with you last night. You know I didn’t drink.”
My nose scrunches as I pinch it between my fingers. “What are you, sick?”
He shakes his head. “You remember how I get before a game.”
My eyebrows jump as the memories flood my mind. Before every game in high school, he’d be vomiting somewhere—behind the bleachers, in the parking lot—always by himself.
“You’re anxious about the game?”
His eyes narrow. “Look, I really don’t need your judgment right now, so why don’t you go back to whatever it is you were doing before I got here?”
