Chapter 3
THREE
ETHAN
A full twenty-four hours passed and yet I was still sore. Every muscle was screaming at me, and it didn’t help that I’d had no time to rest. Coach still expected us to work our butts off at practice, not caring that we were in severe amounts of pain.
“I can’t move, bro,” Alex groaned as he walked into the locker room. “Somebody send for an ambulance.”
At least I wasn’t the only one suffering.
Cooper hissed as he sank down onto the bench beside me. “This is nuts, man.”
I didn’t try to argue because I agreed.
“How are we supposed to play Deerborn on Friday night if we can’t move?” Ryan asked. He didn’t sound particularly put out about it, more like he was musing over a philosophical question. Sprawled out on the bench across from me, Ryan stared up at the ceiling, his hands folded across his chest.
His question was a good one. How were we supposed to perform at our best if we were crippled with soreness after that excruciating dance workout?
I’d tried to explain that to Coach Reynolds but he’d just given me that hard glare, his bald head glinting in the sun as he’d pointed to the field.
“Stop your whining,” he’d barked. “Get back to work.”
I had the feeling any more complaining to Coach and our punishment would only get worse. The others knew it too, but that didn’t stop them from griping to me, expecting me to do something about it. That was the price of being the team leader, I supposed.
One by one the guys finished up and headed out, until it was just me and Ryan in there. I was procrastinating, and I had a hunch Ryan was doing the same. He hated his home almost as much as I dreaded mine.
“Can I grab a ride?” he asked when I was packing up my bag.
Also, he needed a lift home. Unlike me and most of the other seniors on our team, Ryan didn’t have a car.
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“You want to come over and jam with the band?” Ryan asked. “The guys are coming over in a half hour or so.”
“Can’t,” I said. “My dad’s gonna be home for dinner.”
The rest went without saying. My dad was kind of a jerk—if he was going to grace us with his presence at dinner, then we all had to be there.
No exceptions. Besides, if he got wind of the fact that I was using my precious free time to play guitar with Ryan’s band, he’d totally lose it.
If it wasn’t football, schoolwork, or some other activity that would make the higher ups at Yale take notice—it wasn’t worth my time.
“Maybe this weekend,” Ryan said.
I threw my dirty clothes into a laundry bin. “Yeah, maybe.”
Probably not.
“I need you to listen to our new stuff,” Ryan said, following me out of the locker toward the parking lot. He smacked my arm making me wince. No part of my body didn’t ache today. “Hey, did I tell you the news? We scored a gig at The Tailgate.”
I stopped to face him. The Tailgate was an all ages club two towns over, and every band in the state wanted to get a spot in their lineup. “Seriously? That’s awesome, dude.”
He ducked his head. “Yeah, well. Tony’s brother knew a guy…
” Tony was the drummer, but even if he had connections, I highly doubted that would be enough to earn a coveted place in the lineup.
The band was good, but Ryan was great. He wrote all the songs and was the singer and frontman, as well as the lead guitarist.
“Congratulations, man. You deserve it.”
He shot me a little smirk. “I do, don’t I?”
I shook my head. My best friend was a moron.
“You’re going to come, right?” he asked. “It’s in a few weeks.”
“Of course,” I said. If my dad lets me. That part was unspoken but understood.
I dropped Ryan off at his house and then headed home, walking in just in time to hear the tail end of my dad’s call with one of his staff.
My little sister Chrissy was perched on a stool at the kitchen counter and she gave me a smile and a wave when I walked in.
Chrissy was twelve and a good kid. Super sweet but a little too sensitive—especially for this household.
I tried to shield her from the worst of it, but my parents had what some might call a ‘toxic’ relationship.
I wasn’t sure why they were even still together, but I assumed it had to do with keeping up appearances.
That was all that ever seemed to matter to both of them.
In fact, it sometimes seemed like that was the only thing they had in common.
My mom was stirring something on the stove when I walked over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Set the table,” she whispered, so she wouldn’t disturb my dad’s call.
I dropped my bag near the kitchen door and moved past Chrissy to get out the silverware. The moment my dad ended his call, he turned to face me. “Good, you’re home. Now we can eat.”
No hello or how was your day, son? No one had time for niceties in this household.
“Elaine, is the food ready?” he asked.
“Almost,” my mom said.
“Why isn’t the table set?” He glared over at me and Chrissy, like this was an actual problem.
I held up the silverware. “Working on it.”
“It would have been done by now if you’d come right home,” he said, his tan, weathered face growing redder by the second as he worked himself up over nothing.
Everyone said I was the spitting image of him, with my dark hair and tall build, but I sure as heck hoped that was where the similarities ended.
“You were hanging out with your buddies, weren’t you? ”
Seriously, one would think ‘hanging out with buddies’ was some sort of criminal offense from the way he acted.
“Jack, leave the boy alone,” my mother said, her voice mild and the words coming out by rote. This whole scene was basically performed on autopilot by all of us. We each had our roles to play in this family and none of us ever missed our cue.
“I’ll get the water glasses,” Chrissy said, right on time. My little sister was forever trying to please my parents.
I supposed I was, too, but as the eldest it wasn’t always so easy. Nothing I did was ever good enough, especially for my father. I couldn’t even come home from practice the way he wanted.
“Just don’t be late on Thursday,” my father continued. “We’ve got a dinner at the Falconers house and they expect the whole family.”
I stopped in the middle of placing a fork at my father’s spot at the head of the table.
The Falconers were the biggest donors to my father’s re-election campaign, which meant they were very important people in my father’s eyes.
My dad was the mayor of this town and the upcoming election was the center of his universe.
From the way he talked, one would think he was running for president and not for re-election as mayor of our little town.
Technically, we were a small city, but no one in his right mind would consider this a thriving metropolis, more like an oversized suburb.
Dread knotted my stomach as I stood there staring at the place setting before me. Finally, I cleared my throat and lifted my head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the dinner on Thursday.”
Everyone froze. Even my mother stopped fussing over the stove and turned to stare.
“What do you mean, you don’t think you can make it?” My father’s voice was calm. Too calm. Like the calm before a storm.
I tried not to notice the way Chrissy’s face paled as she hovered at the counter behind him.
“I told you about Coach Reynolds’ punishment, remember?”
My father’s brows drew together in abject confusion, like I was suddenly speaking Greek. “What does that have to do with you? You didn’t get into trouble at that party.”
I cleared my throat again. “No, sir, but Coach still expects me to go to that dance academy since I’m the captain and—”
“That’s horse hockey!” My dad didn’t believe in swearing so ‘horse hockey’ was about as harsh as it got.
I shrugged. “I don’t like it either, Dad.”
“Did you talk to him about it?”
“I did.”
“And?” My dad planted hands on his hips like he was about to face off with my coach right here and now.
“And…I couldn’t get through to him.”
The silence was deafening. This was just about the worst sort of failure on my part.
My dad was a big believer that everyone in this family ought to be a leader.
But unlike Coach, my dad’s idea of being a leader didn’t mean taking a punishment along with my teammates.
It meant being able to persuade and command.
Persuade the powers that be and command the underlings, that was one of his mottos.
“I tried, Dad,” I said when I couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“You tried.” He shook his head. “Well, you didn’t try hard enough.”
I swallowed down a protest. It wouldn’t do any good to argue. If anything it would make things worse. I focused instead on the way Chrissy was fidgeting with the forgotten and empty water glass in her hands, anxiety making her pale features tighten.
“I’ll try talking to him again,” I said, already dreading this conversation.
My father ignored this. “You’re a Morrison,” he said, as if I’d forgotten my own last name. “Morrisons don’t take no for an answer.”
He turned away, moving over to the refrigerator, no doubt to grab a beer for himself. I flashed Chrissy a reassuring smile but she still looked stressed.
Still facing the fridge, my dad droned on. “Morrisons don’t give up, we get things done.”
That was another one of his famous mottos.
I mouthed the last part along with my father behind his back, and finally got Chrissy to smile.
She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing just as my father turned around to face me.
“If Coach Reynolds won’t listen to reason, then talk to someone else. ” He frowned. “Your time is valuable.”
And he should know. My dad had every second of every day planned out for me, and had for as long as I could remember.
“Yes, sir,” I said, relieved when my father turned to ask my mother about what we were having for dinner, officially putting an end to the conversation.
But one thing he’d said had gotten me thinking.
If Coach Reynolds wouldn’t listen to reason, maybe there was someone who would.
Sure, the lady who ran the academy was equally terrifying in her own way, but it had seemed like she was just as unhappy about us being in her class as we were to be there.
Maybe she would see reason—maybe I could get her to talk some sense into our coach.
It wasn’t much of a plan but it beat the idea of wasting two evenings a week in a dance studio. I didn’t tell the others what I was planning to do because I didn’t want to get their hopes up, but the moment practice ended the next day, I took off for the academy.
I roamed the halls until the last of the girls filed out of the classroom and then I headed in, hoping I could find the teacher on her own.
I found someone all right…but it wasn’t the teacher.
What I found when I walked into that studio—it took the wind right out of me. I had to reach out and steady myself against the doorframe as I watched her—this vision of grace and beauty as she glided across the floor, spinning and turning, her eyes closed like she was lost in thought.
Lost in a beautiful fantasy, judging by the way a smile turned up the corners of her lips and her expression turned dreamy.
She leapt and spun, moving across the floor like it was a lake and she was the swan, even though in my head, that sounded ridiculous and a little too sappy—even for me. But there was no other way to describe it.
I could have stayed there and watched her for hours.
I had no idea how much time actually passed before she took off running—but not like a line backer was coming after her type of running, this was graceful and delicate—only to stop suddenly.
Almost as if at the end of the dance floor, someone was supposed to be there to catch her and lift her up.
But she was alone.
She sighed and then giggled as she opened her eyes. I felt frozen, standing there, waiting for her to see me. I knew I should have run away. Left and never looked back. I mean, what kind of creep just stands there, watching a girl dance?
Apparently, me.
Before I could get my brain to command my legs, she turned and her gaze landed on me. It was strange, but suddenly, she seemed to be timid. Her body curled in on itself and she began shielding her body like I’d just walked in on her naked.
Collette’s cheeks turned beet red as she glared up at me. “What are you doing here?”