Chapter 25
MILO
The field seems smaller somehow as I walk from one goal post to the other. I grip the football harder in my hands. The last time I was here I thought I knew what mattered most—the game.
It was a chance to prove that not all Carter men were failures. That there was more to my lineage than regret, bad choices, and prison bars.
I learned too late that it wasn’t the game that changed me but a girl.
My eyes widen as I look up and see that girl, as if my thoughts have summoned her.
I walk over to the bleachers where she’s sitting, the sun pressing heavy on her bare shoulders. Her red lips spread into a soft smile. “Well, this is weird,” she says.
“What’s weird?” I ask.
“Both of us being back here,” she answers softly. “How’s it feel?” She nods toward the field.
But I don’t really care much about the field.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I’ve never played the part of coach. I hope Dusty Hollow knows I’m not the same boy who left all those years ago.”
“Oh, I don’t know. If you squint hard enough, you still look almost eighteen,” she teases. “Same field, same smile, same Milo.”
I climb the two steps and sit beside her on the metal bench. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and for a moment I just want to freeze time . . . to trace her jaw, pull her close, and breathe her in.
“You know, I didn’t mean to hurt you when I said those words,” I murmur quietly.
“Same books, same cookies, same Sadie?” she asks, and there’s a heaviness to her words, as if each one is weighed down with worries.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I just—”
“Hadn’t seen your ex-girlfriend for a while and discovered she still read the same books and baked the same cookies and was basically the same Sadie? You weren’t wrong.” She sighs, her gaze toward the field instead of me.
I feel her tense beside me and watch as her feet start to bounce softly. A nervous tic she had in high school. I wonder if she knows . . .
I reach out putting my hand on her knee, squeezing it. Her gaze snaps down at my hand on her leg, and her bouncing suddenly stills.
“I can’t be here right now.” Her words are a whisper.
I retract my hand. “Okay.”
Her brown eyes slide over to mine. “I can’t be in Dusty Hollow right now,” she clarifies.
“Oh,” I reply. “Well . . .”
She stands up to slip a piece of paper from her back pocket before she sits back down with a thud and hands it over to me.
I unfold the paper even though I know what it is.
The list.
I don’t need to read the words to be reminded of what’s on it—they’re tattooed on my brain, much like how my skin will be at some point.
“What’s next?” I ask.
“Go somewhere without a plan,” she answers swiftly. “Can you leave tomorrow?”
Sadie could ask me to go anywhere, any day—and I’d follow her.
“My time is yours,” I reply.
“Good.” She nods before she stands. “Pick me up at my house? 8 a.m.?”
“I’ll be there,” I say.
She smiles at me and my heart hammers. “Also, I left something in your classroom, Mr. Carter. You’ll find it where I used to sit.”
When she turns to leave, it takes every ounce of restraint I possess to stay seated until she’s out of sight before I sprint to my classroom, probably beating any 40-yard dash time I ever accomplished.
My classroom is familiar, ghosts of people I once knew sitting in desks and whispering as the teacher talked. I go to her seat, which will always be hers no matter who sits there.
I inspect the desk until I spy a folded note taped to the bottom. I grab it and unfold it quickly.
Hot Shot,
Something you don’t know about me:
When my dad was in the accident, I didn’t cry for six weeks. I was so mad I couldn’t cry, but I figured I was in a drought season from crying over you. So, I did what I do best. I solved problems, and the biggest problem was my dad’s business.
I hate my job, but I don’t even know what I’d do if I didn’t have it.
I just want the chance to figure it out. Is that so bad?
Bookworm
My heart twists.
I want her here right now. I want to pull her in close and fight every lie she believes in her head. I want to lend her my strength until she remembers how strong she really is. I want her to know she doesn’t have to do hard things alone.
Which means, Sadie needs a teammate.
And wherever she’s going next, I already know my position.