Chapter Sixteen
SKYE
T he library was silent, save for the faint hum of the air vent and the scratch of Liam’s pencil on paper. His brow furrowed as he worked through the equations I’d assigned, the flickering light overhead casting shadows across his face.
“You’re close,” I murmured, leaning to point at his mistake. My arm brushed his, and the brief contact sent a jolt through me that I tried to ignore.
Liam shifted, turning his head to look at me, his proximity making it impossible to breathe evenly. “Close isn’t good enough,” he said, his voice low, the usual humor replaced with something quieter, heavier. “I need to get this right.”
The intensity in his gaze made my pulse stutter. “You will,” I said softly. “You’ve been improving. You just need to?—”
“To stop doubting myself?” he interrupted, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
I nodded, feeling my chest tighten. “Exactly.”
The pencil fell from his hand, forgotten, as he leaned back in his chair and looked at me fully. “Do you doubt me too, Skye?”
The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to answer. His eyes searched mine, not for validation about academics but for something deeper—something I wasn’t sure I was ready to give.
“Liam…” I started, but the words stuck in my throat.
“You don’t have to answer,” he said, his voice softer now. “I just—I want to be someone you can trust.”
The vulnerability in his tone cracked something inside me. “You’ve been showing me that,” I whispered. “It counts for more than you think.”
The air between us thickened, charged with words left unsaid.
I tried to focus on the printout between us, but his hand brushed mine, deliberately that time.
The warmth of his touch sent a ripple of electricity up my arm, and when I looked at him, the weight of his gaze made it impossible to look away.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he said, his voice low and rough.
“Liam—” I started again, but he moved.
Before I could stop myself—or him—his lips were on mine, soft but urgent. The kiss was a mix of pent-up frustration and something else, something I hadn’t let myself feel in years. His hand cupped the back of my neck, and I melted, my resolve crumbling as I kissed him back.
The chair scraped loudly as he stood, pulling me with him, and suddenly, we were pressed against the edge of the table. My fingers curled into his shirt, and his other hand splayed against the small of my back, anchoring me in place.
When he pulled back, his breathing was ragged, and his forehead rested against mine. “I know this doesn’t fix anything,” he said, his voice unsteady. “But I can’t—Skye, I can’t pretend I don’t feel this.”
I swallowed hard, my chest heaving as I tried to find the words. “I don’t know how to do this again,” I admitted, the truth spilling out before I could stop it.
His hand tightened on my waist, grounding me. “We’ll figure it out,” he said simply. “If you let me.”
The moment hung between us, fragile but electric. I nodded slowly, and though the future was still uncertain, for the first time in years, it felt like a step forward.
I t was late, and the kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of dishes and the occasional rustle of paper as Aunt Eileen sorted through a pile of mail on the counter. Uncle Tommy sat at the table, his head in his hands, the weight of the world etched into the lines of his face.
I rinsed the last of the plates and set them in the dishwasher, drying my hands on a towel before crossing the room. “You okay, Uncle Tommy?”
He didn’t answer right away, and Aunt Eileen gave me a look that said, Give him a minute. But I wasn’t sure we had that kind of time—not with everything hanging over him.
Finally, he let out a long sigh and straightened, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know anymore, Skye. Losing Jackson… I thought I’d seen the worst of it, but now it feels like the ground’s shifting under me.”
Aunt Eileen placed a cup of coffee in front of him and squeezed his shoulder before sitting down. “It’s a terrible tragedy, losing someone so young. It’s taken a toll on the team, on everyone. We’ll get through this.”
“It is. We’ve had several meetings and set up counseling for the players.” Uncle Tommy shook his head. “This isn’t something you just get through, Eileen. Jackson’s death—it’s changed everything. And now the questions… They won’t go away anytime soon.”
“What questions?” I slid into the chair across from him.
He looked up at me, his gaze heavy with exhaustion.
“The police have questions, and now the university’s digging into it more.
I don’t blame them, but it doesn’t make it easier.
They want to know what I’m doing to address the concerns about our leadership, and that spotlight, it’s landing on the assistant coaches. ”
I leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
Aunt Eileen shot him a sharp look before speaking. “The assistant coaches have been under scrutiny since Jackson’s collapse. With the way some players have been performing this season—huge gains in speed, strength, and endurance—people are starting to wonder if it’s all as clean as it seems.”
“They’ve explained it,” Uncle Tommy interjected, though his voice lacked conviction. “I asked the coaches directly—point-blank—if anything illegal was going on. They swore there wasn’t. They’ve had the athletes tested. No drugs, no enhancers. Just a new training program they’ve been implementing.”
“And you believe them?” I asked carefully.
He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. “I don’t know. One or two of them seemed defensive, but that could just be because they feel like their methods are under attack. They claim the program is responsible for the players’ performances. Better conditioning. Better drills.”
Aunt Eileen made a sound in her throat, something between a scoff and a sigh. “It’s hard to argue with the results. But it’s also difficult to believe it’s all as simple as they’re making it sound. Especially given how quickly the improvements have happened.”
My stomach twisted. “But Jackson…” I trailed off, unsure how to phrase my thoughts without accusing anyone outright.
“That’s the thing,” Uncle Tommy said, his voice low. “They swear Jackson was clean. He passed every drug test we gave him. I’ve even seen the tests. They keep pointing to preexisting conditions, overexertion—anything to explain it away. But none of it feels right.”
I nodded slowly. “And the other players? Have they said anything?”
Uncle Tommy’s jaw tightened. “Not a word. They’re loyal to their coaches. They’re defending them, saying it’s all legit. But loyalty only goes so far. If something else is going on, someone will slip eventually.”
“It’s a tightrope,” Aunt Eileen added, her gaze flicking between us. “If there’s nothing to find, pushing too hard could fracture the team. But if there is something…” She trailed off, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Uncle Tommy leaned back in his chair, staring at his coffee. “I put some feelers out. Steve Mack, Jackson’s position coach, was in talks with another college for a head coaching position. I just want to do right by these kids. But I don’t even know where to start.”
I placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “I’ll help you, Uncle Tommy. Whatever it takes, we’ll figure this out.”
His eyes softened, and he gave me a faint nod. “Just… be careful, Skye. If there’s nothing to this, I don’t want you stirring up trouble that could hurt the team. And if there is something…” His voice hardened. “The people involved won’t take kindly to being exposed.”
“I can handle it,” I said.
Aunt Eileen’s sharp look told me she wasn’t convinced. “I know you think you can,” she said, her voice firm. “But this isn’t something we want you digging into because you took on an internship that involves the team.”
“You might feel connected because you were the one who found Jackson, but this isn’t something we want you looking into, Skye.” Uncle Tommy leveled a stern gaze my way. “Leave it to the police to figure things out.”
I hesitated before nodding. “I promise.”