3. Cam

CHAPTER 3

CAM

S hit.

What am I doing back here in Thunder Creek? After all these years, this isn’t the triumphant homecoming I dreamed of.

But after the dustup in Chicago with the team, the only logical move I could come up with was coming home. Sure, I could have flown to Denver and stayed with my parents, but what can they do? They can’t help me get my mojo back. And the last thing I need right now is a lecture from my sister Ansley on positivity. Hard fucking pass. I’d rather go get my tarot cards read or visit a psychic before I build a ‘manifestation board.’ That’s some new age bullshit right there.

No, this is where I need to be, I feel it in my bones.

And in my dick, but now’s not the time to focus on Sloane and how breathtakingly fuckable she is. I shouldn’t fixate on those wide, hazel eyes, brighter and more sultry than I remembered. How her T-shirt slipped off her shoulder to reveal her smooth, tanned skin. The way the Georgia humidity curled up the chocolate brown wisps of hair around her heart-shaped face. That tiny strip of ass peeking out at me as she sashayed barefoot through the kitchen.

Kinda wrong to be lusting after Coach’s daughter, sitting out here on his deck, drinking his beer and acting all innocent. Like I hadn’t been fantasizing about peeling off his daughter’s clothes back there in the kitchen ten short minutes ago.

Like, all kinds of messed up.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“So, son—what’s really going on? And don’t sugarcoat it, either. You’ve gotta tell me the God’s honest truth, or I won’t be able to help you.”

Coach levels serious hazel eyes on me—the same mossy shade as Sloane’s—and it’s a little disconcerting. The question, coupled with the stare, has me stiffening and shifting uncomfortably in the hot sun. I pick at the label on the beer bottle, my toe tapping as I carefully select my words.

“I screwed up.”

Wow. Real enlightening.

“I gathered as much. How bad we talking? You in trouble with the law?”

“What? No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, then, so it’s nothing permanent that can’t be fixed. Get someone pregnant?”

I blanch at his bluntness, squirming. “Uh, no. I mean, not that I know of.”

“I would hope you’re smart enough to always use protection. In this day and age—and in your position—you have to keep things locked up. You understand what I’m saying? ”

“Yessir, absolutely. Every time. Not that there have been many times…” I stammer, my face heating. Coach chuckles, shaking his head.

“Sure, son. This isn’t a confessional, no need to go into all the details.”

My gut churns and I silently pray he’ll move on to a new topic.

“So it’s not the law, not a woman. Trouble with the ball then?”

“Sort of?—”

Coach takes a long swig of his drink before tipping his head to the side and studying me. The furrow between his brows is deeper than before, the skin around his eyes crinkled from the sun, but other than that, the man’s barely aged since I last saw him back in high school.

He waits, comfortable letting the silence between us stretch, long and loud. I kick my toe at a patch of dirt, a puff of dust rising into the air. My throat’s dry and tight. I take a swig of beer, but it doesn’t help much.

“Coach said I had an attitude problem. That it wasn’t worth dealing with my shit because I wasn’t scoring. So he cut me.”

My voice is low, my face burning with shame. This is worse than calling my mother and telling her the bad news.

Because Coach knows football. He understands exactly what those words mean. And just how badly fucked I am right now.

“All I know is ball, Coach.” The familiar feeling of panic claws its way through my chest, gripping my throat, strangling my voice. I can’t breathe, every muscle in my body tight, ready for action.

Except there is no action. Nowhere to run .

This is my new reality and I have no idea how to dig out of the pit I dug this past season.

Coach doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer up weak platitudes about how everything will work out or things always get better. Instead, he reaches over and rests his large hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly.

A sense of calm radiates from my deltoid all the way down my arm. Through my biceps, my forearm, until my fingers tingle, the pressure built up in my muscles releasing. Heat pricks behind my eyes and I blink hard, pretending to be sensitive to the bright sun. My chest opens up and oxygen surges into my lungs—it’s the first deep breath I’ve taken in days.

“You sure there’s nothing else? Besides a shitty attitude and a few fumbles? Now’s not the time to bullshit me, Crawford.”

I nod. “Yeah. That’s the gist of it. I let my emotions get the best of me this season. Took my eye off the ball.”

Coach sets his empty bottle down, scrubs his jaw. “That doesn’t sound irreparable then. I think with a month or two of hard work, we can get you back into shape. You can train with me—we’ll do two-a-days. Privates in the morning, then workouts with the high school team in the afternoon. Weight room most days of the week on your own.”

A fire, hot and bright, lights in my gut as I digest his words, process the plan.

Yes. I can do this.

I’m going to make it back.

I can fix this.

“I’ll expect you to help with the afternoon workouts. Show those kids how it’s done in the pros.” Coach narrows his eyes at me and I shoot him a wan half-smile.

“Sure, no problem,” I say. Even if I’m none too sure I’m the best man for the job at the moment. But it’s not like I can say no.

“Where you staying, son? Your parents moved out West, right? You still got friends in town?”

I shake my head. “Not really, sir. I planned to rent a room, maybe stay at the inn.”

“Nah. Don’t need you wasting your hard-earned money on accommodations. You can stay here, with me and Sloane. There’s an extra bedroom, no sense having it sit empty. Go grab your stuff. We can start training tomorrow. Have you back on the field by pre-season.”

Coach slaps my back, his face set with determination. I’m torn between the rush of cool relief that Coach still believes in me and a fluttery panic at sharing close quarters with Sloane.

Sloane Carter.

The perpetually off-limits good girl of my teenage dreams and dirtiest fantasies.

And now we’ll be spending an entire summer together under one not-all-that-big roof.

I’m not sure if I should be ecstatic or scared shitless.