Chapter 1 #2
Rowan’s breath caught. What…? Why…? No. She lifted her chin. It didn’t matter why her ex-boyfriend was at her parents’ house. She’d stopped caring about him years and years and years ago. “Jenna, I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay. Think about it though. You should come…if you’re willing to share some of the spotlight.”
Rowan frowned as Jenna ended the call but quickly fixed her expression when a small group of fans gathered around her. Maybe not as many as she would’ve had a few years back, but still…
She happily paused for some pictures before slipping on her sunglasses and following Crue out of the hospital.
Jenna should know that when it came to Maple Lake, there was no question which Ludington daughter was more loved.
Returning to her hometown wasn’t in the songbook.
She needed to stay in Nashville and save the career she’d once sacrificed everything for.
Lucas Hemingway stood on the sideline of Maple Lake High School’s stadium and took in the perfect fall day.
Why would anyone want to leave Maple Lake and not return?
He couldn’t fathom that. Maple Lake felt stitched into his bones.
It wasn’t just the lake itself, though the way the morning mist hovered over the glassy surface could still quiet his mind faster than any sermon or song.
It was the rhythm of this place—the steady drone of the grain trucks during harvest, the laughter echoing from the student-section bleachers on Friday nights, and the nods exchanged at the coffee counter of the diner.
Here, people noticed if someone missed church or if their porch light stayed off too long.
They remembered the way his father had laughed, the way his mother used to braid Emmaline’s hair before school.
Life was slower, sure, but it was real—roots deep and tangled in soil that held memories generations older than him.
Several of his senior football players talked about wanting to get away after high school.
Lucas figured it was a marker of adolescence, that need to go out into the world.
He supposed he’d felt it once too. Most came back, though, after they’d seen that what was out there wasn’t any better than this.
Then they’d settle down, get married, and have children, restarting the cycle all over again.
Most. Not everyone.
Some would never be happy here. Therein lay the difference between him and, well, others.
He clapped three times to get the team’s attention. “Okay, water break’s over. Get your helmets on and meet me on the fifty. Defense and offense. Time to practice the plays I sent out to you guys yesterday. You did your homework, right?”
“I’m allergic to homework, Coach.” Xavier, the best kickoff-returner slash cornerback Maple Lake had seen in a long time, sprayed his face with water from the hydration station as a chorus of “So am I” sounded from the team.
“Are you allergic to sprints?”
Wisely, the team chose not to argue anymore. If they were going to win Friday’s game, they’d need to focus. And because nothing got them there better than a good set of sprints, Lucas was more than happy to deliver that punishment.
Beneath the cloudless sky, it felt much warmer than the early-October forecast had predicted.
He tugged at his T-shirt, unsticking it from his chest. A gray shirt was not the play.
Maybe if Tara saw these sweat stains, she’d be turned off.
Then the will-they-won’t-they speculation about him and Maple Lake High School’s gym teacher would be put to rest. He chuckled to himself.
Yeah, right. Tara was the one arranging morning workouts for them to do together.
She’d probably be more attracted to him like this.
And Lucas did not need her to come on any stronger.
Note to self: Check if Old Spice makes an anti-pheromone antiperspirant.
Tara. Tara would be happy with a life in Maple Lake.
Scotty, the second-string quarterback, gripped the football and took his place behind the center. Gotta love a freshman with ambition.
“For the first few times through, we’ll have Fink take the helm. Scotty, you’ll get your turn.” Lucas scanned the faces of his players. “Where’s Liam?”
No one answered, unless snickering counted.
“Come on, fellas. Where’d he go?” When they said nothing, Lucas turned to the one player who would love to rain on Liam Fink’s parade any day of the week and twice on Friday. “Xavier?”
The kid stepped forward. “I mean…he’s not not under the bleachers with a girl.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Lucas muttered.
Not again. Not after dozens of conversations in the locker room where Lucas had used his best counseling techniques to encourage Liam to focus on his future and not girls.
But the boy was young and lovesick—a feeling Lucas remembered all too well, only to be followed by a heartache that had taken a decade to heal.
He glanced around until he saw the sun glinting off a helmet near the stadium’s entrance.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Fink!”
Nothing stirred except a few players stretching their necks to get a view of whatever might be going on over there.
“Coach Rich will get you lined up and explain the routes to the receivers.” Lucas hesitated. Did Rich even know the plays?
Rich blew his whistle. “All right. Line up. Trips right. Jenkins, Sam, and Eli to start.”
After a lingering moment—the team didn’t respect his assistant enough to always listen—Lucas forced himself to step away…
briefly. He jogged over to the stands, questioning why he’d chosen a career working with teenagers.
Oh yeah. Because it was one of the most tumultuous times in a person’s life, and all too often, the people who should be there for them weren’t.
As he rounded the fence and stepped into the shadows, he found his team captain leaning against one of the steel supports with the casual air of someone who had nowhere else to be.
As suspected, a girl stood in front of him, too close to be a friend.
And not just any girl. His breath caught.
Rowan?
Noticing Lucas, she jumped back. “Oh, Coach Hemingway.” Not Rowan, although her wide eyes shone the same gray-green color, and her blonde-highlighted hair was styled the same way Rowan used to wear hers.
Like aunt, like niece, he supposed. Goodness, they even shared the same smile—the sheepish one Rowan had sported every time she had a secret, like when her feelings toward Lucas had inched from friendship to crush the summer before tenth grade.
Swallowing did nothing to ease the feeling that Lucas had been punched in the jugular. Why did his eyes still search for that girl after all these years? “Hello, Faith. Is something wrong?”
While Liam hunched awkwardly, Faith composed herself. “No. Why?”
“I figured something had to have happened for Liam to leave practice to…chat.” Lucas cocked his head and raised his brow at the boy.
“Sorry, Coach. Won’t happen again.” He smiled all goofy-like at Faith. “See ya later?”
She nodded. The scene was so familiar that Lucas could already see where it was headed.
The quarterback with just as much potential to play in college as Lucas had once had jogged past, avoiding eye contact, grabbed his helmet, and headed onto the turf.
Lucas turned his focus back on Faith. “Shouldn’t you be at talent-show auditions?”
Faith shrugged. “I don’t need to go. My spot is guaranteed.”
Again, just like her aunt. Talented and determined to have her name in lights. Liam was doomed to be collateral damage.
“Tell your grandpa I said thanks for lending me the tile saw.” He could’ve expounded. Tell your grandma I still read the Bible she gave me every day. Tell your mom she’s crazy for liking A Walk to Remember more than Dead Poets Society. And tell your aunt I’m doing just fine without her.
He didn’t stick around to watch her go. He’d seen enough Ludington women walk away from him to last a lifetime.
After practice, Lucas headed to the old, abandoned high school and got to work.
The smell of fresh paint clung to the humid air inside the gym, mixing with the faint ghost of sweat and varnish that had soaked into the floor sometime around 1954.
To Lucas, the building still felt like the past—its bones creaked and sighed, each pipe and beam remembering a thousand basketball games and pep rallies. But it also felt like promise.
Lucas dipped the roller into the paint tray, removed the excess, and then spread a swath of pale blue onto the cinderblock wall.
This shade was called Horizon, according to his business partner, Grant.
All Lucas cared about was that every stroke of paint brought the place closer to its new purpose: the Maple Lake Integrative Counseling Center for Adolescents.
“Hey, Coach.” A voice echoed off the walls.
Lucas turned to see Liam standing in the double doorway. Above him, the exposed rafters hummed with the brand-new HVAC system that had nearly given him a heart attack when he’d seen the price estimate one year ago.
“I wanted to see if you needed help.” Liam’s gaze slid across the half-painted gym. “Wow. This place is starting to look good.”
“Thanks,” Lucas said, though it came out more tired than proud. He should’ve hired out more of the remodel, but then he’d look at the dwindling funds and get back to work. “You don’t need to help though. I’ve got it.”
Liam picked up a spiral notebook with Lucas’s to-do list for the evening. “I don’t know. I think you could use me.”
Lucas arched a brow. “So, Liam, are you helping me out of guilt or the goodness of your heart?”
“Uh…neither.” The quarterback rummaged through the paint supplies bin until he found the squeaky roller. “How’s this place gonna work? Like, say someone’s parents don’t want to pay for counseling.”