42. Chapter 42
Chapter 42
TEAGAN
Ispend the rest of the day with an anvil in my chest.
After spending a disgusting amount of time debating on what to do with the playbook, I took it with me.
When it comes down to it, my integrity is what matters to me the most. Even if I left in the locker room for someone to find, Chance will pin it on me. Clearly, it’s what he wants, and nothing is going to stop him. Instead, I’m better off taking it to Coach myself, explaining to him what happened, and hoping like hell he’ll believe me.
By morning, nerves coil in my stomach like a bed of snakes.
After tossing and turning all night, I’m exhausted and feeling pretty shitty about how my showdown against Chance will go. Having the truth on my side is all I’ve got while he and Turner have history.
I sling my gym bag over my shoulder and tell Tommy I’m heading to the field early to take care of something, then set off across campus. It’s a cool morning, cloudy with a chance of rain, which suits me just fine considering the ominous gray clouds match my mood.
When I finally reach Coach’s office, I want to puke. Any confidence I had before is long gone, replaced with the certainty that he’ll take one look at the book in my hands, condemn first and ask questions later.
If I’m lucky, he’ll give me a chance to explain, but in the end, he still might not believe me.
I take a deep breath and draw closer, hovering just outside his office door. It’s cracked open, but I assume he’s alone since it’s so early. That is, until I raise my hand to knock and hear a familiar voice from inside and my stomach drops.
Chance.
I knew he’d come after me, but I’d hoped to beat him to the punch.
I peek inside the door, careful not to show my face as I make out a sliver of the room, enough to see Coach clap Chance on the back. “It’s been my pleasure to watch you grow over the years, son, and no matter what happens out there on the field today or the rest of the season, you’ve earned your success. You’re gonna go far.”
Lowering my hand, I swallow over the bile rising in the back of my throat.
I knew Turner and Chance were close but hearing him call him “son” makes my skin crawl.
Turner thinks of Chance as family.
He’ll take his side every time.
Which means I’m fucked and not just with football, but Lane, too.
“I appreciate it,” Chance says. “I never would’ve gotten to where I am without you.”
The sound of footsteps startles me and I scramble back, hovering in the shadows of the hallway as I try to catch my bearings.
The door swings open, and Chance steps out.
My pulse skitters. His grin widens. “Nichols.” He saunters closer, a picture of casual ease. “Come to talk to Coach? I assume you have information about the playbook.”
My nostrils flare. “You smug son of a bitch.”
“Guess it’s your word against mine.” He taps his chin. “Wonder who he’ll believe.” He starts to brush past me, but I block his path.
“At least I have my integrity. At least I didn’t throw my whole fucking team under the bus just to prove some kind of point.”
All the amusement in Chance’s expression vanishes and he shrugs. “I’ll still get drafted.”
“You’re a dick.”
Chance smirks, something dark and dangerous gleaming in his eyes as he leans into me and whispers, “Tell me, does it bother you that her father thinks of me as a son? That he’ll always be Team Lockhart?”
The muscles in my jaw flex. My fists vibrate with the need for release, knuckles turning white as my nails bite into the palms of my hands.
This is what he wants, to goad me into a response.
He’s probably hoping I’ll snap and get my ass benched.
Instead, I lift my chin and smile. “Does it bother you? That Lane chose me?”
There’s a flicker of anger in his eyes, and I know I have him.
This is about Lane.
Disgust curls my lip as I look him up and down. “I wonder what it would be like to pine after a girl for years, only for her to choose the rookie?” I say, throwing Chance’s words from months ago back in his face.
“You think she chose you?” Chance bites out. “Newsflash, Nichols, you were her second choice, only because I walked away.”
My eyes widen, a low hum in my ears as I try and make sense of what he just said. If I’m to believe Lane, she never had feelings for Chance. Nothing happened between them.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, “does it haunt you knowing I got there first? That I was the one to pop her cherry.”
My heart seizes in my chest.
Time stops.
The world tilts.
Impossible. It’s fucking impossible.
I try to breathe, but fire fills my lungs as pain lances through my chest.
Everything hurts.
Chance hums in approval, then delivers the death blow as he chuckles and bites his lip like he’s recalling a memory. “Damn, she was responsive. Or, at least she was with me. She was so fucking—”
I lunge for him, blind with rage as the roaring in my head spills from my mouth. My fists meet his face. Not once but twice, catching him off-guard before he gets in a punch in of his own.
His knuckles catch my mouth. My lips splits and blood coats my tongue as I deliver a right hook of my own.
Behind us, a door creaks, but I’m too busy blocking a punch to make sense of it, too angry and preoccupied with tearing Chance fucking Lockhart limb from limb to give a fuck.
My pulse pounds along with the throbbing of my fat lip.
I vaguely register the presence of several people now in the hallway watching, their faces a blur as Chance and I dance around each other, fists raised at the ready.
I barely make out Tommy as one of the onlookers before Chance barrels toward me, body cocked like a weapon as his shoulder catches me under the ribs and slams me back into the wall.
The air whooshes from my lungs, and I struggle for breath.
“I don’t believe it,” I manage. “There’s no fucking way you and Lane—” The words form a lump inside my throat, but I push past it. “She told me you were never together.”
Chance laughs, raising his fists in a protective stance as my left darts out again, barely missing him. “What? You think she somehow had a baby on her own? Damn, Nichols, that’s basic sex ed. What do they teach you in those Podunk-ass schools of yours? Let me fill you in. Girl meets boy. Girl likes boy. Girl and boy fuck. Was fun. It’s just dumb luck the condom broke.”
“Chance, stop!” Lane’s voice breaks through my rage like the crack of a whip.
I turn, startled, to find her standing in the din of the hall, a Wildcats jersey with my number hanging off her petite frame, her long auburn hair striking against the blue. And when her eyes meet mine, the sorrow I see in their jeweled depths tell me everything I need to know.
She lied.
My ribs crack, cleaving my heart in two.
Suddenly, I’m standing back in my living room months ago, finding out Knox was the one who hurt my sister. One of my best friends. Someone I trusted.
“Why?” I ask as I stare at her.
She says nothing as her gaze shifts, fear replacing the sorrow I see as she glances behind us, her voice soft as she says, “Dad?”
I spin around, dizzy with the whiplash of emotions as my eyes find Coach Turner, and I remember the sound of the door.
He saw the whole thing go down.
His mouth his drawn, his face pale like he’s seen a ghost. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one she lied to, but this knowledge does little to stanch the bleeding.
“Dad, I can explain,” Lane pleads behind me.
I glance at Chance and watch with little satisfaction as the blood drains from his face.
“Tell me it’s not true,” Coach croaks out, straightening his spine as if preparing for the blow.
“Dad, I . . .” Lane swallows. “It’s true.”
My lungs don’t want to work.
I tell myself to breathe, but I still can’t seem to draw a breath; it’s as if someone punched me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me. Whoever came up with the expression “it’s as easy as breathing” clearly never experienced this kind of soul-crushing heartbreak because there is nothing easy about it.
I manage a small sip of air at the sound of footsteps approaching. Somewhere behind us, the assistant coach’s voice cuts the tension. “Hey, Turner, you’re needed down here on the field.”
Coach nods, his gaze empty, emotionless. “Go on. I’ll be right there,” he tells Mulvaney.
He sighs, shoving a hand through his thinning salt and pepper hair, and I recognize the same pain in his eyes as the one currently ripping through my chest.
“What a clusterfuck,” he mutters.
It’s the most honest thing I’ve heard all day.
He bows his head then lifts it again, as if he can’t decide what to do with himself, which emotions to allow. “Get to the locker room,” he barks. “Both of you. I’ll be there in a minute. We have a game to play. There’s no delaying it, not even for . . .” He waves his hand in front of him, then drops them and turns toward his office. “We’ll sort this shit out later.”
“Dad—” Lane tries again, her voice thick, but Coach ignores her, slamming his office door in reply.
When I turn, Tommy and the other spectators are gone. Only Chance, Lane, and I remain.
I can’t look at him; it makes me physically ill to even be in his presence right now, and I have a moment of panic wondering how the hell I’m supposed to play football. How am I supposed to pretend the last hour of my life never happened?
“How could you?” Lane asks, her voice trembling.
Of course, she’s addressing him. Why wouldn’t she?
My stomach sours and I take a step back, afraid I might lose the protein shake I downed on the way here.
“Doesn’t affect me any. I’ll have a spot on the draft either way. In fact, I’m supposed to get called up early.”
Lane scoffs. “Of course. It’s always about Chance. You got what you wanted, so now you don’t care who you hurt in the process, all because of some misplaced jealousy for something you never wanted in the first place. Because you don’t want me and Sophie. You never did. You just can’t stand the thought of someone else having us.”
I take another step back.
I can’t be here.
Can’t bear to hear this.
“I might. One day,” Chance says, and my stomach heaves.
I throw my hands up in front of me as if shielding myself from whatever else they’re going to say. “I can’t do this,” I choke out. “I can’t fucking do this,” I say and then I turn.
I push past Chance, knocking into his shoulders in my haste, and take the hall in long strides, but before I can reach the locker room door, Lane’s voice calls behind me.
Her footsteps pound on the cement beneath her feet as she runs after me, and I have half a mind to dodge her and keep going. I could walk away. Get in my car and drive until I’m far away from here. Hell, maybe I’ll never come back.
Maybe the physical distance will somehow give me the strength to face everything I just discovered. Maybe then it won’t hurt so fucking bad.
I reach for the locker room door at the same time a small hand clamps down on my shoulder, and Lane blocks my path.
“Move,” I grind out, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just stands there with watery, red-rimmed eyes while I try my best to avoid her gaze.
“Teagan, you have to understand. I?”
“You lied!” For the first time since she appeared in the hallway behind me, I meet her eyes. “You lied straight to my face when I asked if you and Chance were ever together. And for a minute, I thought, what if he’s the father? But when I brought it up, you were so insistent it was some nameless, faceless guy from summer camp, and I felt like a fool for even thinking it. But this whole time I was right. Or maybe I knew all along, but I just wanted to be wrong so badly that when you lied, I believed it.”
“I know. God, Teagan, I’m so sorry. If you’ll just hear me out, let me?”
“Explain?” I take a step back, away from her reach, as I run a hand over my mouth. “I told you lying is a deal-breaker for me. You knew my past. You know I can’t handle secrets and that I need transparency.”
“I know.” Tears streak down her cheeks, and damn if my first instinct isn’t to make them stop.
And that’s the fucking problem. I’d do damn near anything for this girl. I’d take a bullet. Walk through fucking fire. Stand on a bed of nails. Anything.
But I’ve made a big enough ass of myself these last few months and all it got me was a broken heart.
“Do you, though? Because the one thing I needed, Lane, the only thing I asked for, was the one thing you couldn’t give me.”
I skirt around her to get to the locker room door while she follows my movements, slamming a hand over it as I grip the handle. “Don’t leave things like this. Please, Teagan. I love you.”
My knuckles whiten with my grip, her words sending shockwaves through my heart until the ripple effect is felt every-fucking-where.
My throat works, and I wonder if it’s my heart lodged in the back of it. I wonder if it’ll ever settle back inside my chest.
“I have a game to play,” I say.
Then I open the door and disappear.