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In my defense, she’d caught me at a bad moment. And she’d shown up carrying zucchini bread. I hated zucchini.

I considered ignoring whoever was outside, but a second knock came—persistent motherfucker. I abandoned my coffee on the kitchen counter and made my way toward the front door, already preparing for whatever socially acceptable version of go away seemed appropriate for eight in the morning.

Except for all the people I expected to find standing on my porch, the Dean of Harbor Tech wasn’t remotely on that list. Or even close to that list. What the hell did he want?

“Hello, Mr. Kennedy,” he greeted with a warm smile. Michael Wirtz radiated grandfather energy with his white hair, deep laugh lines, and brown loafers. Even his suit coat had patches on the elbows. He held out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Michael Wirtz, the Dean of Harbor Tech.”

“I know who you are,” I replied, shaking his hand briefly. “What can I do for you, Dean?”

“Oh, you can just call me Michael,” he insisted. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Did I have a few minutes to talk? I glanced down at my flannel pants, old t-shirt, and mismatched socks. I hadn’t showered, my hair was a mess, and I’d ignored my beard for so long that I was rapidly approaching mountain-hermit territory. Sariah would’ve laughed her ass off if she knew just how much flannel had infiltrated my wardrobe with an alarming efficiency.

“I’m not holding your pajamas against you, Mr. Kennedy.” Wirtz chuckled. “I did show up unannounced.”

“How did you know where I lived?” I asked as I opened up the door wider. That part bothered me considerably more than him seeing me in my pajamas. I hadn’t even officially changed my address. I paid for a forwarding service because updating my information everywhere felt like a tedious nightmare I had no desire to tackle.

“Your father told me where I could find you. Beat running around town yelling your name.” He laughed at his own joke while I only managed the polite approximation of a smile. Of course my father had given him my address. I filed that annoyance away for later and led Michael into the living room.

The house had come fully furnished, which had been one of its major selling points for me. Unfortunately, the owners had decorated it sometime during the height of what I could only describe as wealthy people discovering Africa. Everything was dark wood and leather with animal prints and animal art. There were framed photographs of elephants, every blanket had some animal-fur design, and the throw pillows had goddamn zebras on them.

None of it was to my taste, but it required zero effort from me, so the zebras could stay.

“Can I get you anything?” I waited to sit until he shook his head and settled on the chair opposite him. “Is this about Jude?”

That was the only explanation that made any sense. My little brother was my sole connection to Harbor Tech, and even then, there was no conceivable reason the Dean needed to show up at my house to discuss him.

“No, Jude’s great. He’s a hell of a quarterback. A real star player,” Wirtz told me. “That doesn’t surprise me, considering who his big brother is.”

I just nodded. Compliments that somehow dragged my past into the conversation rarely led anywhere I enjoyed.

“You could’ve gone pro,” he continued.

“I know.” There wasn’t arrogance behind the answer. It was simply true. Football had been the one thing I’d been undeniably good at as a teenager. More importantly, it had given me somewhere productive to put all the anger I didn’t know what else to do with. Every practice meant hours away from home, and the game offered me the rules and structure I craved. There was also something comforting about obtainable goals and knowing exactly what constituted success, especially when I was lost in every other aspect of my life.

By junior year, colleges were scouting me. Senior year, we were undefeated. Enough people had told me I had a future in football that I probably could’ve built one if I’d wanted it. I hadn’t. Football had been nothing more than useful. It wasn’t the life I wanted. What I wanted was out—out of my father’s house, out of Everdale, and out of Maine.

“Instead, you somehow managed to go to a prestigious college when your grades in school here were subpar at best.”

“I did really damn well in college. And I went into the Army first,” I retorted, my tone sharper than necessary. Though I understood his comment. I knew exactly how unimpressive my high school transcript had been. Academics hadn’t been the problem. Giving a shit had.

At eighteen, I’d been angry, directionless, and desperate to get as far away from home as possible. I knew how smart I was. I just never applied myself. College required applications, money, and a vague understanding of what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t have that.

The Army required me to show up, so I did. Not surprisingly, I thrived there. I found the same kind of structure and rules there that I had in football. For a while, the Army gave me direction when I didn’t have enough of my own. It helped me stand on my own two feet and gave me the confidence to live my own life under my own rules.

“I know,” Wirtz said. “That takes discipline.”

“They teach discipline,” I corrected. Something about the word bothered me. Maybe it was because he emphasized it. Or maybe because nobody showed up at another man’s house before breakfast to compliment his discipline without wanting something. I leaned back with a sigh. “What do you want, Michael? This would be a whole lot easier if you’d just tell me.”

His pleasant expression never wavered, which was unnerving.

“I need someone with discipline to take on the head coach position for the upcoming season,” he told me. For a moment, I genuinely thought I’d misheard him. My mind struggled to comprehend what he was saying. “I need someone with the discipline to not sleep with half the cheerleading squad.”

“Right,” I scoffed. So that was why he was here. The scandal had already ripped through Everdale, despite apparently only becoming official this morning. Then again, secrets never lasted in this town. From what I’d gathered, multiple coaches had been involved with members of the cheerleading squad. There were pregnancies, accusations, overlapping relationships, and enough rumors about orgies that separating fact from bored-small-town embellishment had become damn near impossible. Though I wasn’t buying the satanic cult commentary Mrs. Grady had tried to sell me on my morning run. She found a way to bring everything back to either Bigfoot or satanic cults. “Well. That’s not an issue I’d have.”

Female cheerleaders were very much not a temptation. Neither were college students. I was in my thirties. I preferred adults who were a little more established in their lives. Generally. There was one college student who was apparently the exception.

Theo McLaughlin had been the exception to several rules lately.