Chapter 30 #2
By the time I staggered off the field, my shirt clinging to me and my legs like lead, the campus was dead quiet. The Den loomed in the dark, rows of empty seats watching me like silent witnesses.
I pressed a hand to my shoulder. The ache wasn’t too bad, but still a sharp reminder that no amount of ice baths or PT was going to fix the bigger problem quickly.
But pain I could handle. Pain was simple. The pills had been a crutch. I knew that.
But everything else? Not so much.
That’s when I felt it — the prickle of being watched. I straightened, scanning the stands. At first, it looked empty, just shadows and concrete. Then I caught it: a silhouette leaning against the rail of the lower deck, the shadows almost swallowing him.
Coach Sutherland stepped forward slightly.
Even from here, I could make out the set of his shoulders, the way he folded his arms across his chest like a man taking notes without a pen.
“Read your injury report,” he said softly. “What the fuck are you doing throwing out here?”
“Shoulder felt stiff, wanted to loosen it up.”
He nodded, sucking his teeth. “Report says to use a heat pack.”
“Sorry, Coach.”
“Doug’s your PT,” Coach Sutherland said as he stood there, calm and cool. “The new girl hasn’t been here long enough to be the one who looks after the starting quarterback.”
I heard the warning, enough to tell me not to shoot my mouth off. I wiped my face with the hem of my shirt, forcing my breathing to even out, pretending like what he said made no difference.
“Hembry is being pursued by pro teams,” Coach Sutherland suddenly said, and I felt my body still. “He’s been interviewing,” he added. “Keep it to yourself, but I don’t expect him to be here much longer.” Coach Sutherland straightened.
Hembry was leaving? Right after warning me not to rock the boat.
“That’s a great opportunity for him,” I said carefully, keeping my normal calm and cool exterior.
“Isn’t it?” Coach watched me, mockery in his gaze. “You can hand that pass over. I’ll keep that for you, for now.”
“Absolutely.” I walked forward with the pass held out.
“You’ve seen what you needed,” he added, and I almost stumbled. What was he saying? Or not saying? Suddenly, the ground under me felt less solid.
I handed over the pass, and he said nothing as I stepped back.
The silence between us stretched until my skin crawled. Finally, I slung my jacket over my shoulder and walked off the field as if I hadn’t just been subtly reminded that the only person I needed to worry about was the one watching me from the shadows.
But the weight of his stare followed me all the way off the turf, heavier than any reps I’d thrown tonight.
On my way back to the dorm, I clocked Yates before I was close enough to be seen. He was talking to a girl.
I'd seen him twice now, hanging around the arts building at times that didn't match any class schedule I could find.
I'd looked. That was worth looking into — so I'd looked up the arts faculty office hours, cross-referenced them with the times I'd seen him near the shed, and concluded they didn't match. I wasn't sure when I'd started tracking a professor's movements, but I knew why.
He watched her.
Not the way I watched her, which was my problem and mine alone.
The way he watched her was something else. The kind of attention that had nothing to do with the work and everything to do with the person doing the work. He was doing it now — to a girl who looked like a freshman, who had no idea what kind of attention she was getting.
I made my way over to them. I didn't have a plan. I was good at improvising.
“Professor Yates.”
He turned, and I watched the recognition settle over him. The slight shift in posture people make when they recognize me.
"Dante." He extended a hand. “Nice to see you again.”
“Is it?” I shook his hand and held on a beat too long — just long enough for him to notice. "I wanted to talk to you about Savannah.”
Something shifted in his eyes. Small. He covered it quickly. “Savannah? She's a remarkable student. Very talented.” He smiled at the girl, who was looking between us, unsure where she fit in the conversation. It was easy. She didn’t.
“You should go,” I told her. She didn’t need me to say it twice.
“Yeah, Savannah is remarkable.” I kept my voice easy, conversational, the same tone I used on the field when I told a receiver exactly where I needed him. No heat. No threat he could point to. “You seem to hover.”
“I don’t know what—”
“For someone not actively teaching her, and with her having no actual grade to earn, your frequent visits to her work shed are . . . interesting.”
He nodded, watching me carefully now. "I may not be her professor anymore, but she is very talented. I care very much about her future.”
“You already said talented.” I held his stare and let the silence run about three seconds longer than was comfortable. “I'm going to be around a lot, checking in on how she’s doing, making sure the people in her life are, you know . . .” I smiled. “Looking out for her the right way.”
He looked ready to bolt.
"I appreciate the work you've done in giving her a space to work in," I continued.
"But that arrangement you have with her is nothing more than an arrangement to use a workspace. You understand?” I stepped back, giving him room, because that was the other part — you never crowded a man when you were making a point.
You gave him room and let him stand in what you'd said.
“Of course.”
"Good. Remember that.” I gave a brief nod. “Good to see you again.”
I walked away.
I didn't look back. I never looked back when I made a play — you trusted the throw and kept moving.
When I got back to the dorm, both of them were waiting for me, the expectation of coffee long gone. I didn’t hesitate to tell them what had just happened and what I had learned about Coach Hembry. I didn’t mention my talk with Yates. Some things you handled on your own. That was one of them.
“That settles it. We keep our heads down,” Dustin said firmly, looking between Noah and me. “You’re on his radar for the wrong reason, us by extension, so we give him no excuse to throw us out. Agreed?”
Noah nodded slowly, and I felt a small kernel of defiance spark to life inside me.
“Dante? Agreed?” Dustin pressed. “This is so much fucking bigger than us, man. This is our lives.”
Noah licked his lips but nodded slowly. “Where we go in the Draft.”
He was right. They both were. I swallowed hard. “Agreed. We forget anything that’s happened recently and focus on playing.”
But inside me, the small spark of defiance became a flame.