Chapter 2
Hunter
then
“Let’s take it from ‘rock steady.’” Tossing my water bottle to the side, I hustle back to the grassy practice area, then tighten my ponytail and wait for the others to meander over.
I’m met with a cacophony of less-than-enthusiastic grumbles from the other girls, but I shrug them off. As head cheerleader, it’s my job to lead by example and create the Lake Chapel spirit our squad is known for.
“Line up. Come on, ladies! Let’s see some hustle.”
Once they’re all in formation, I nod toward one of the JV girls to let her know she can start the music. It’s a cheer we’ve been doing since middle school, but I want it to be perfect for the showcase.
By the time we finish up the fifth run-through, the May humidity has gotten the best of me and I have to wipe sweat off my brow. Then, after another swipe, this time over my upper lip, I rest my hands on my hips and focus on catching my breath.
“Grab some water, then we’ll stretch,” I announce to my team.
More grumbles.
I swear I’m surrounded by sourpusses.
I get it. The season ended months ago. Senioritis is oh so real, especially when the sun is shining and we’re just a few weeks away from graduation.
But a big-name college sports reporter who’s been following our high school’s football team for years is coming into town this weekend, so the athletic department is throwing together a spring showcase.
A friendly scrimmage between Lake Chapel High School and our closest rivals, South Chapel, has devolved into a weekend-long event, complete with a pep rally, a signing, and a festival to round it all out on Sunday. All because the media is obsessed with our quarterback.
“Heads up!”
I dodge to the right as a football whirls past my head. This is not my first rodeo.
The ball bounces a few feet away, close enough to the other girls that they squeal and scream.
With a huff of annoyance, I run after it and scoop it up. Turning, I toss it underhand to the starting quarterback for Lake Chapel High School.
“Sorry about that.” Decker grins mischievously, then eyes the group of girls who are now on their feet and apparently not so scared of the football after all.
Behind me, they’re inching closer, tittering and whispering as they crowd my back. The energy is suddenly much more lively and bright than it was a few minutes ago. I can’t imagine why.
“Thanks for doing this.” Decker lifts his practice jersey up to wipe the sweat off his brow.
An audible gasp escapes from one of the girls behind me at the sight of his sweat-drenched abdomen.
“I know it’s a pain to get the full squad together just for a friendly scrimmage—”
“We don’t mind!” Clarissa chirps, all bubblegum sweetness and pep now that Decker Crusade is in the vicinity. Wasn’t she just complaining about being hungover?
I fight back an eye roll, but Decker, clearly catching on, grins at me, eyebrows raised.
Decker and I have been pals for years. He’s one of the good ones. Maybe a little too serious sometimes, but still good.
“Are you done for today?” he asks.
“I am,” I confirm with a nod.
“Us, too.” He jerks his head toward the parking lot. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”
A disdainful scoff comes from behind me, making Decker’s grin go impossibly wide.
I take a deep breath in, centering myself. Once I’m sure I won’t burst out laughing, I turn and regard his unofficial fan club. “Why don’t you lead the girls in stretching, Clarissa? It’ll be good practice, seeing as how you’ll be captain in a few weeks.”
Without giving her time to argue, I spin and jog over to our pile of stuff and scoop up my bag. Once my water bottle is stashed inside it, I fish around for my keys.
Decker waits for me silently, then we fall in step together as we make our way to the parking lot.
“You guys looked good out there,” I say, hip-checking him playfully.
He doesn’t miss a step. “Thanks. Most of the seniors are planning to play at the collegiate level, so we’ve been lifting and conditioning together all spring. Honestly, though, I’ll be glad when this whole media charade is over.”
Based on the way his jaw ticks, it’s pretty clear he’s less than thrilled about this weekend’s festivities. Even though he’s the reason it’s all happening in the first place.
“Have you decided about next year?” he asks, popping the football up in the air, throwing a perfect vertical spiral that he catches easily.
He’s not prying, but I stiffen all the same.
He’s been declared for Lake Chapel University since our junior year of high school. Everyone I know has decided where they’re going.
I, on the other hand, still have no idea where I’ll end up, and the deadline to decide is next week.
Cheeks puffed out, I sigh. “Probably Lake Chapel.”
LCU is the easy choice. It’s our local college, a place I’m familiar with, and the campus is beautiful.
But more than that, Lake Chapel University has a great prelaw program.
I could live in the dorms if I wanted, and despite its proximity to home, it’s a big school, so I’d meet a ton of new people.
Trouble is, in an effort to keep my options open, I applied to thirteen schools. I never expected to get into all of them.
Lake Chapel University would be the logical choice. But the allure of the West Coast—or even one of the Ivies I considered a long shot until the big fat welcome packets arrived in the mail—is ever-present.
If only I were braver. Bolder. More of a risk-taker.
I applied to all those schools, never imagining I’d get into half of them. They felt like pipe dreams, not possibilities.
But now I’m frozen with analysis paralysis. The deadline is looming, yet I feel no closer to a decision than I did in the fall when the first welcome packet arrived.
I wish I had a sounding board. A person who would truly listen, who would challenge me, or offer wisdom or guidance. Someone who actually gives a shit about my thoughts and feelings.
My senior year of high school, that I’ve spent years looking forward to, has been overshadowed by my parents’ nasty divorce. I can’t seem to talk to either of them without “picking a side” and upsetting the other, so I stopped seeking out their opinions entirely.
“A fellow Crusader, huh? Will you cheer?” Decker asks.
I wrinkle my nose. The very idea grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
“Probably not.” If I’m sticking around Lake Chapel, I need to carve out an identity that’s mine alone. I don’t want to become just a facsimile of high-school Hunter. Daughter of Magnolia and Michael St. Clair. Head cheerleader. Straight-A student.
I want to be somebody new.
Who that person is, I’m not sure yet. But a little thrill shoots through me when I consider the possibilities of who I could become.
Decker slows as we reach my car, and once I’ve unlocked it with the clicker, he opens the driver’s side door for me.
Cradling the football against one hip, he grips the top of the doorframe of my white Audi coupe with the other hand and arches a brow. “So probably Lake Chapel, but probably no cheerleading? Any other probabilities you want to share?”
He’s just teasing me, but the words pack a bigger punch than I expect them to.
Stomach clenching with nerves, I cross my arms and lean against the side of my car. My back hits harder than I intended, and I wince.
With a sharp breath in, I meet Decker’s kind dark brown eyes and force myself to be blatantly honest before I lose my nerve. “Do you ever feel like your whole life has already been decided for you? Before you’ve even had a chance to make any mistakes or figure it out on your own?”
Decker’s eyes widen a fraction. He’s shocked by my outburst, I’m sure.
That makes two of us.
“I just mean—” I backpedal.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he says, cutting me off. The words are hushed, the confession just for me, and his expression goes soft. “I get it. More than you know. Hunter, what do you wa—”
“Yo! Crusade!”
Decker snaps up straight, his expression morphing into the self-assured mask he wears more often than not.
The moment is gone, the spell broken.
“I was hoping to catch up with you, man.”
I turn to the guy calling out behind me and do a double take. Not one, but two gorgeous jocks wearing South Chapel colors make long strides across the parking lot to close the distance between us.
“Hey,” Decker replies with a casual chin lift, as if we weren’t just on the brink of an emotional heart-to-heart.
It may have been the realest conversation I’ve had in a week. It’s not often I find a person who wants to talk to me about anything of substance.
“You both played well,” Decker says with a nod to the boys he scrimmaged with tonight. Turning to me, he offers a quick apologetic smile.
“Hunter, do you know Greedy and Levi?”
“No,” I say, pushing off my car. “I don’t think we’ve met before. Hey, I’m Hunter St. Clair,” I offer sweetly, extending my hand to the first boy to reach us.
He’s got wavy blond hair and, even at first glance, it’s obvious he possesses an effortless country-boy charm.
His eyes are the color of well-worn denim.
When he smiles, his whole face lights up, and a single dimple appears on the left side.
He’s got defined cheekbones and these full, plush lips.
Despite the mud smeared on his cheek and the sweat trickling down the side of his jaw, he’s striking. Beautiful even.
“Hunter?” He takes my offered hand in greeting, his warm, strong grip sending butterflies dancing in my belly. “Levi Moore. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Gosh, his eyes are magic. I can’t help but grin right back.
“I’ve been playing against these two since our Little Dukes U-12 days,” Decker explains. “Levi’s an exceptionally talented tight end. Too bad he never wanted to be a Crusader.”
Levi mutters a “hey now” and play-swings at Decker, but Crusade is quick to defend himself. The boys roughhouse for a minute, then football talk commences. I’ve officially lost them both.
The other guy steps forward and offers me his hand.