Chapter 20
Dustin
I’d just finished a brutal set of routes — the kind the coaches called ‘conditioning’ and the rest of us called ‘punishment for existing’ — when Dante flagged me down near the sideline.
Spring training had started in earnest, and it was tough. I was ready for it; the team was ready for it — new play calls, redshirts coming off the bench, trying to prove why they deserved to play, injured players trying to convince the coaches they were healed.
It was a fun time.
I jogged over to Dante, a player whose spot was secure. He wasn’t out here to convince anyone of anything. Even from here, he looked . . . off. Not panicked, but the quarterback version of ‘locked in,’ which meant something was wrong.
“What now?” I asked, wiping sweat off my forehead. He didn’t answer immediately, which was never a good sign. “Spit it out,” I said.
He exhaled. “Hadley and Sav left campus.”
“Hadley and Savvy?” I stilled. “Left, as in . . . ?”
“Left,” he repeated. “I’m not certain, but I think . . .” He frowned. “I think my girlfriend hijacked Hadley’s trip.”
“What trip?” My heartbeat thundered in my ears like I’d been tackled from behind. “Why?” I demanded.
Dante gave me a look like I already knew the answer. And unfortunately . . . yeah, I did. Hadley, plus a car, plus Savvy? I doubted it was for a spa day.
“Where is she going?” I asked, throat tight.
“No idea. Sav said Hadley needed to check something out—” Dante paused — “off campus.”
“Where off campus?”
He hesitated.
“Dante.”
A jaw-tightening beat.
“They’re going to Nashville.”
“Why?” I stepped closer. “Tell me she didn’t find him.” I looked at him. “Tell me they aren’t going after him.”
He shook his head quickly. “No, an old friend of Hadley’s.”
“She has friends?”
Dante snorted and failed to hide his grin. “You need to know more about the woman you’re hooking up with,” he said, rolling his eyes.
I swore loudly enough that two freshmen flinched.
“Dustin,” Dante said, lowering his voice, “you need to calm down.”
“Calm down?” I stepped closer to him so no one could overhear us. “She’s digging into this. Off campus. Without telling anyone.”
“She told Sav.”
I hesitated. “Willingly?” I demanded. He shrugged. “Right. That doesn’t count.”
Dante arched a brow. “Why doesn’t it count?”
“Because—” I stopped. Yeah. I couldn’t say, because I’m scared for her. Couldn’t say because anything involving Mason Sterling made my skin crawl.
Dante exhaled through his nose. “Look, Sav said they’ll be back later tonight. She thinks it’ll be quick.”
“Nothing about this is quick,” I snapped. My hands curled into fists. “She’s found something,” I muttered. “She doesn’t know how to stop.”
“No,” Dante agreed. “She really doesn’t. Which is exactly why you can’t keep kissing her when she’s in the middle of blowing this whole thing open.”
I glared at him. “Not helpful.”
“Not trying to be helpful,” he said. “Trying to keep you out of trouble.”
I dragged a hand down my face, pulse still racing, lungs too tight. “She shouldn’t have gone alone,” I said.
“She didn’t.”
“That’s not comforting.”
He sighed. “Look, I get it.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do,” he said quietly. “You don’t want her digging because you’re scared she’ll get hurt. But you also don’t want to push her away. And you definitely don’t want to admit you care.”
I stared at him.
He shrugged. “You’re transparent, Dust.”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay,” he said with a smirk. “We’ll say opaque. But not by much.”
I looked away, chest tight. Savvy and Hadley . . . on a road trip. I wasn’t sure Nashville was ready for them.
“When they get back,” Dante said, clapping my shoulder, “don’t lose your mind.”
“My call, not yours,” I snapped.
He laughed. “Yeah, I know. Just . . . maybe wait until after they tell us what’s happening? Then we can both lose it.”
I gave him a nod to say I understood.
Practice was supposed to clear my head. Spring training always did — the rhythm, the structure, the way everything narrowed down to one clean line: run, cut, catch.
But now? My head was full of bad ideas and worse feelings, and practice was not going to fix either.
“Slater!” Coach barked. “Get your ass in position!”
I jogged to the line, but my brain stayed in Nashville. Hadley and Savvy. Together. Driving God knows where to meet God knows who, chasing a story that could get Hadley thrown into the center of a scandal the university buried so deep they salted the earth.
“Let’s go, Blues!” Dante called. He eyed me like he knew exactly how screwed up my head was. “Focus.”
I lined up and saw Noah watching me. He smirked.
“Thinking about journalism girl?” he asked under his breath.
“Thinking about how I’m going to smoke you on this route,” I muttered.
He chuckled. “Right. Because your brain has totally been present today.”
“Shut up.”
He winked. “Touchy.”
The whistle blew. I exploded off the line — or I tried to. My steps were off, my timing late, my legs too tight from nerves I refused to acknowledge. Dante threw the ball exactly where it needed to be.
I was not where I needed to be.
Trash-talking defense got in my head. Noah, the fucker.
The pass grazed my fingertips and hit the turf.
Coach’s whistle shrieked across the field. “Oh for . . . Slater!” He stomped over, face red, hat barely clinging to his head. “What are you doing? Thinking about dinner? Thinking about your hair? Thinking about—” He cut himself off and squinted at me. “Are you thinking? On my field?”
I clenched my jaw. “Won’t happen again, Coach.”
“It better not. Because if you miss one more route, I’m sending you to run stadiums until your legs fall off.”
“Yes, Coach.”
We reset.
Dante jogged over. “You good?” he asked, his voice low.
“No.”
“Cool,” he said. “Can you be good for two hours?”
“Shut up, Spence.”
He smirked. “Glad we clarified.”
I stepped back into position.
Focus.
Focus.
Stop thinking about Nashville. Stop picturing Hadley leaning over a laptop, fingers tapping, that look on her face like the whole world was a problem she was about to solve.
That look that made her eyes brighten and made her impossible to look away from.
The way she tapped her pen on her notebook when she was trying to pretend nothing affected her.
Stop caring where she is, who she’s with, and whether she’s safe.
Stop noticing things about her in general.
Whistle.
Snap.
Route.
I planted on the wrong foot. Noah read it instantly and cut me off. Dante had to adjust mid-throw, and the ball sailed out of reach.
Another incomplete.
Coach made a sound like he’d swallowed a whistle.
“Slater! What the fuck did I just say?” he screamed at me.
I closed my eyes, counted to five, tried not to punch something.
Dante jogged up and leaned in. “Dude. Get your head out of your—”
“Don’t,” I snapped.
He lifted both hands. “Just saying. You’re not doing her any favors by imploding during drills.”
“I’m not—” I stopped. There was no point lying to the man who’d known me for three years.
Noah jogged up to us and patted my shoulder like I was a malfunctioning vending machine. “You want to talk about it?” he asked.
“No.”
“Want to pretend you’re not thinking about it?”
“I am not—”
He raised his eyebrows. “Awfully loud for someone who’s not thinking about something.” He smiled a wide shit-eating grin. “You’re making me look really good, though. Keep it up.”
I swore under my breath.
Coach blew the whistle again. “Reset! Move it!”
We lined up for the next rep.
My lungs were tight. My hands were shaking. I’d never been this distracted on the field before. Not even during last season’s championship drive.
“Back to the route, Dust,” Dante called. “Ball’s coming hot.”
I didn’t answer. I just ran. I improved my footwork, held a cleaner line, and caught the pass.
But the moment the ball hit my chest, all I heard was the echo of my own stupid voice inside my skull: Nashville.
An old friend. Something she’d thought she found.
I threw the ball back to Dante harder than necessary.
He caught it, eyebrows raised. “There he is.”
Only I wasn’t here, not fully, and I wouldn’t be until she was back on campus, where I could see she was safe. Not until I made sure the story she was chasing didn’t swallow her whole.
* * *
The locker room after practice always smelled like sweat, detergent, and existential dread. Dread that Coach saw you fuck up and was waiting with the tape for your own private viewing.
Today it smelled like all that plus my own frustration stewing in the air. I peeled off my pads, tossed them harder than I meant to, and sat heavily on the bench.
My phone buzzed in the locker behind me — probably nothing important, but my pulse quickened anyway. Maybe it was her. Maybe she’d messaged. Maybe she’d . . . I stopped the thought.
Noah dropped onto the bench across from me, stretching his legs out and looking completely relaxed. Yet he watched me with the amused patience of someone utterly delighted to see me fall apart.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
“Am I?”
“Yeah, it’s weird,” he said slowly. “You’re quiet in a . . . ‘she’s gone and I’m losing brain function’ kind of way.”
I leveled a look at him. “You’re enjoying this too much,” I snapped at him. “Can you drop it?”
He didn’t. Obviously.
“So,” he said casually, “she’s your girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Mmm,” Noah hummed. “Would’ve been a more convincing denial if you hadn’t clenched your jaw. I thought your jaw dislocated.”
I stared at him. “You know I liked you better when you were the strong, silent type, right?”
“Yep,” he said cheerfully. “But you forced me out of my shell. Now, did she tell you she was road-tripping to Nashville?”
“She didn’t tell me anything.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding sagely, “and that would be the problem.”
My phone buzzed again. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to look.
Noah smirked. “This is weirdly entertaining. Want me to look?”
“I can look at my own goddamn phone.”
He held up a hand. “Dust, I say this as a friend, but you are projecting pacing-the-cage energy right now.”