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He was… proud.
Fuck, I couldn’t remember the last time he’d said those words to me. The broken lost kid in me stood a little taller. But I wasn’t a teenager anymore and this moment wasn’t going to fix years of tension between us. There was too much unresolved shit, things we’d both said out of frustration, too many things we’d never had the balls to say.
“I should probably go congratulate them,” I said, my skin too tight, the air in my lungs too thin.
I needed her.
I needed Peyton.
But when I stalked away from my family and found her, she wasn’t alone.
Hughes was spinning her around, the two of them laughing and hugging. Golden blonde hair fell down her back like a river, her eyes wide with pride. Bryan dropped her to her feet and gazed down at her with that look. The way a guy looked at a girl when he wanted more than just their smiles and laughter.
Don’t do it. Fuck. He leaned in, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her closer. Panic etched into Peyton’s expression as she stared up at him like a deer caught in headlights. And I stood there… watching them, unable to do anything as another guy—a fucking teenager—kissed my girl.
Yet, she wasn’t, was she?
We hadn’t made any promises to each other.
Peyton pushed him away, staring up at Hughes with confusion. She said something to him and then backed away, spinning on her heel and taking off into the crowd. He let out a deep breath, running a hand down his face and muttering a string of cusses. His head whipped up, finding me across the field. I dropped my gaze, stalking off in the direction of Peyton. It was a bad idea, going after her. But all rational thought had gone out of my head the second I saw Bryan put his fucking mouth on her.
The constant barrage of congratulations and handshakes made getting through the crowd like wading through mud. But eventually, I reached the opposite side of the field and scanned the bleachers for any sign of Peyton.
But there was nothing.
Fuck.
Where was she?
“Coach,” Bryan jogged over to me. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I said, forcing myself to remember he was just a kid. A kid who had far more right to kiss Peyton than I ever did. “Congratulations, Hughes. You deserve it.” Squeezing his arm, I gave him a nod. “Don’t you have family to celebrate with?”
“My parents couldn’t make it.” Disappointment etched into his expression. “They… they’re out of town.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But you know what they say, when your parents are away—”
“It’s time to play.” Laughter crinkled his eyes. “You’re not like the other coaches.” Something passed over his face, but I excused myself, ready to get the hell out of here.
“You’ll be at the party tonight?” he called after me.
“Yeah,” I glanced back.
He gave me a curt nod and I couldn’t place the strange expression on his face.
* * *
The secondwe entered Bell’s, the noise hit us like a tsunami.
“Holy shit,” Kaiden breathed from beside Jase.
“Soak it up, ladies,” Jase said, beaming with pride as he stepped aside to let the entire team enter ahead of us. He took the time to shake each player’s hand and congratulate them individually. A true leader and respected coach.
Part of me envied him, his relationship with the guys, the way they looked up to him.
“Xander,” he said, motioning for me to go inside. “We couldn’t have done it without you.” Understanding passed between us. He’d seen just how nervous Kaiden was, and I suspected he knew what had happened.
I slid my hand against his and gave him a thin smile. “I don’t know about that, Coach.”
