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“Excuse me?” Nate’s voice was all gravel and growl. “When the f—” He glanced at Skylar’s coach, who was too busy scribbling on her clipboard to pay attention to the mini-drama unfolding in front of her. “When did you see him with his shirt off?”
“At the beach on Monday,” Skylar said, all big eyes and innocence. “That was when I ran into him and Kris and invited them to the game.”
“I see.” Nate’s jaw flexed like he was mulling over whether to say something else, but the coach finally looked up and introduced herself.
“I’m Coach Karsten,” she said in a brisk, efficient tone. Kris appreciated her no-nonsense attitude, though the coach would look much better with a shorter haircut and a pop of lipstick. That scraggly shoulder-length thing she had going on did her no favors.
Coach Karsten ran through Skylar’s performance during the game and in the camp overall. Kris was about to excuse herself—the discussion seemed more relevant to the Reynolds family than outsiders, and she didn’t want to keep Teague here longer than necessary, considering he’d already given up his night for her—when the woman said something that stopped her in her tracks.
“The man we were speaking to earlier is the women’s soccer coach at Stanford.” No noticeable change in Coach Karsten’s expression, but Kris detected a glimmer of pride beneath the words. “Skylar made a big impression on him tonight. There’s a good chance he’ll offer her a full cost-of-attendance sports scholarship if she plays her cards right.”
Silence fell.
Skylar was bouncing with excitement, but Michael and Nate resembled statues. Kris’s pulse kicked up a notch, and even Teague looked impressed.
“Holy shit!” Nate finally burst out. He swept his sister into a hug again and flashed Coach Karsten an apologetic glance. “Sorry about the language.”
A hint of a smile. “I’m a soccer coach. I’ve heard worse.”
That broke the ice. Soon everyone was laughing and hugging and jumping. Kris’s heart was in her throat. She’d worked closely with Skylar on her college applications over the summer and knew how much Stanford meant to the younger girl. It wasn’t just about her future; it was about her mother’s legacy. Joanna Reynolds had been a Stanford alumna who’d chosen to use her English degree to mold young minds instead of chasing Pulitzers and writing the next great American novel. Education had been important to her, and Skylar wanted to follow in her footsteps—but as a science, not English, major, because “Shakespeare issoboring.”
The Reynoldses wouldn’t be able to afford the top-tier school on their own, but a cost-of-attendance scholarship covered everything—tuition and fees, room and board, travel, even personal expenses.
“It’s not set in stone yet,” Coach Karsten warned. “He’ll be monitoring how Skylar does during her school’s regular soccer season, and the competition for full cost-of-attendance scholarships istough.Stanford has already recruited most of its incoming players, and there are only one or two spots left. She has to be at the top of her game. No slacking off.”
“I won’t,” Skylar interjected. “I won’t slack off. I’m going to get that scholarship.” Determination turned her words to steel.
The coach’s mouth softened into a proud smile.
There was more discussion about soccer and nutrition and training tips.
Kris stifled a yawn. She was excited for Skylar, but she was also exhausted. It’d been a long day and talk of macronutrients didn’t exactly fire her up.
“I’m heading out,” she said during a lull. “Congratulations again, Sky. I’ll see you at the workshop tomorrow?”
“Yep.” Skylar glowed. “Good night. Thanks again for coming.”
Kris and Teague walked off the field, with Kris making it a pointnotto look in Nate’s direction. They were halfway to the parking lot when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
“Kris, wait.”
She stopped, her heart thundering in her ears. “Go ahead,” she said when Teague shot her a questioning glance. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
Caution lined his handsome features. “You sure?”
She nodded.
“Okay. Call me if you need anything.” Her friend cast another glance over his shoulder before he disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Kris readjusted her icy mask and turned.
Nate stood a few feet away, looking like a god beneath the bright stadium lights. His hair gleamed like a halo, and the shadows sharpened the lines of his already-knife-like jaw and cheekbones. His expression was inscrutable.
“What do you want?” Cool. Crisp. Clear. No hint of the painful inferno raging inside her.
“I wanted to…” He paused, a muscle working in his throat. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for Skylar.”
“‘Thank you’ accepted.”
