Chapter 13
thirteen
HOLDEN
Over the years, Amber periodically tried to friend me on Facebook, under a new account each time.
I always deleted the request and kept my account as locked down as possible.
Maybe I got too comfortable being home with her, only watching from afar.
I thought maybe with some life behind her, she might’ve finally felt some remorse and changed her ways.
But that’s the thing about a sociopath. They don’t change.
As I walked into the high school the next afternoon, there was a little bounce to my step, not gonna lie.
I pulled the gym door open, expecting to be assaulted by the sound of volleyballs pounding off the floors.
But it was quiet. Yes, the girls were there, and the net was up, but they were standing around, looking at each other like they didn’t know quite what to do.
Silas, who was never in the gym at that time, walked up to me, lips pursed. “All the balls are gone. Every single one. Christy ran to the store to see if she can grab a couple.”
“What? No. I put them away myself, right after the game.”
He waved toward the open storage closet. “See for yourself.”
I stepped inside the dank room. Sure enough, all the usual junk Alvarez had lying around—footballs, basketballs, tennis balls—every kind of ball was there, except our volleyballs.
And the weirdest part was that the two ball carts were tucked carefully against the wall, empty, making it obvious someone had taken them.
I swore. “Who would do that?”
“Dude. I don’t know. Super messed up. But now that you’re here, I can go check the security cameras to see if I can figure it out.” He stalked off.
Just then Alvarez came running in. Christy or Silas must’ve called him. “They gone? Seriously?”
I folded my arms across my chest, dumbfounded.
Volleyball wasn’t a hot enough sport in the Riverbend Athletic District for this to have been the workings of a rival school.
If it had been football or boys’ basketball, it would’ve been more understandable.
But I’d never heard of anything like this happening at Seddledowne, regardless of the sport.
“All of them,” I said.
He stood there dumbly, hands on his hips, swearing under his breath.
Anna jogged up, dark hair bouncing in a ponytail. “What should we do, Uncle Holden? It’s going to take Christy—”
I tilted my head like c’mon now. She knew better than to address her principal casually at school.
“Sorry,” she corrected. “It’s going to take Coach Thornbury at least a half hour, and that’s if they even sell volleyballs at the hardware store.”
She wasn’t wrong. And we had a game the next day. I could make them do wall sits or plank holds, but it wasn’t the best use of our time.
I cuffed her on the shoulder. “Go grab a TV from the library. We’ll watch game footage from last night.”
She nodded, grabbed her friend Brooklyn, and they took off.
“Ming! Jasmine!” - My hands cupped around my mouth. “Lead everyone in warmup.”
“We already did,” Ming yelled back.
“Shuttle runs then. Go!”
“Those were special or-duh balls,” Alvarez groaned, running both hands through his hair. “You cain’t just pick up navy balls with silver stripes at the sportin’ equipmunt store.” He shook his head. “We’ll be the only team in the district without matchin’ balls now.”
I snorted in my head. The things Alvarez thought were important. But I guess it was his job to worry about stuff like that.
Like Silas, he stalked off to his office, grumbling about having to order new ones. I texted Christy.
Me: Hey beautiful, find any balls at the store?
She immediately texted back.
My Last First Kiss: One. Thank goodness. Be back soon.
Then she sent me a kissy face emoji.
I smiled at the name I’d given her in my contacts. Man, that kiss. All her kisses. Yeah, I was addled. And I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Not even a little.
I stood there yelling out drills until Anna and Brooklyn showed back up with the TV. After a few minutes of wrestling with the Bluetooth, we had game footage up and rolling. The girls settled onto the bleachers to watch. I pointed out where we could improve.
Five minutes later, Silas came back in, a sour expression on his face. He jerked his head to the right, ordering me over. We walked to the other end of the court.
When we were out of hearing distance, he hissed, “I guess things went well with Christy last night.”
I stopped walking. “What are you talking about?” I’d already texted him that, yeah, we’d figured things out and were together now. Had he decided he wasn’t okay with that?
He leaned closer, voice low. “I didn’t find the ball thief because they erased fifteen minutes of footage. But I saw plenty of you and Christy going at it—you shirtless—in her office.”
The air seeped out of my lungs in a slow but steady leak. “Uh, there are cameras in her office?”
“Yes, Randy. The last principal and assistant principal had an affair, remember? There are cameras everywhere now.”
I said a word Mom would’ve popped me in the back of the head for.
“You better hope whoever stole those volleyballs didn’t see you when they were erasing the footage.”
My heart was pounding out of my chest. I scrubbed a hand over my face.
I might be a hormonal man, but I wasn’t normally stupid.
There was a reason I never kissed women first. A good one.
It was a protection. I would never have to worry that I’d crossed a line that might land me in court.
As a lawyer, I couldn’t afford that kind of press.
But, if this got out, it wouldn’t just make me look bad, it would put Christy in a terrible light. It was hard enough trying to acclimate to small-town life when you didn’t grow up there, but if the wrong people got a hold of this information, it could be devastating to her career.
“Do you think they saw it?” I asked, almost breathless.
“Nah. It was two hours before. I think you’re fine.” He shook his head, disbelief in his expression. “But you gotta think smarter than that, man.”
I ran a hand over the back of my neck. “I know. She just…messes with my head and I can’t think straight whenever…”
“Whenever she touches you?” He slapped me on the back. “She’s probably your future wife then.”
Christy and I spent our evening driving to the city to buy new balls. One wasn’t enough. It made scrimmaging doable, but nothing else. Hard to practice setting or serving with one ball when there were twenty-six players.
The next day, we were back in business, with twenty new balls—thanks to the Holden Dupree Spare Volleyball Fund—and a plan. We didn’t leave balls at the school anymore. They went into a large netted bag and I took them home every night.
“Settle down,” I called to the girls at the back of the game bus who were screaming about some up-and-coming artist’s TikTok video.
“Seddledowne, downe, downe, downe.” The entire bus yelled, jumping to their feet as they sang the words and did The Twist all the way to the floor.
“You have to stop using those words.” Christy smirked. “I think they do crap just so you’ll say it.” Then she winked.
She was right, but it’s what my dad had said—still said—whenever he thought his kids were out of hand.
It might take years to break the habit. Besides, it was fun seeing them so happy.
Sometimes I looked for reasons to say it just so they’d do their funny dance.
It added energy to the group and built up their team spirit.
I made sure the bus driver wasn’t watching before I lowered my eyes and gave Christy a hungry smile.
She rolled her eyes and mouthed the word, stop.
Did I want to sit on the opposite side of the aisle?
No. Not at all. But it was necessary if we wanted to make it through the season without the scrutiny of the girls.
“Uh, Miss Thornbury,” the bus driver, Mr. Tinston, said. “The bus was at a full tank when we left but the empty light just came on.”
Christy scowled but got up to check it out. She bent over to get a look, giving me a nice shot of her backside. I grinned wide, happy with my view.
“That’s so weird,” she said. “How close are we to a gas station?”
“’Bout twenty minutes. Hopefully we’ll make…” The words died in Mr. Tinston’s mouth as the bus lost power and began slowing down.
The girls started hollering from the back.
“What’s happening?”
“What’s going on?”
“Did we just run out of gas? That felt like we ran out of gas.”
“We’re going to miss our game!”
“Are you kidding me?” I scowled and leaned forward, looking for myself. Dead empty. And we were in the middle of nowhere.
Mr. Tinston pulled carefully over to the side of the road.
As soon as the bus stopped, I shoved the silver handle to open the door and bounded down the steps.
A peek under the engine told me everything I needed to know.
The gas line was dripping fast. Either we had a leak or it had been cut.
A sick pang took up residence in my gut.
Had Amber done this? It was the first thought I had whenever anything went wrong, and it felt reminiscent of her past behavior.
But then I thought, nah. Because what kind of horrible person cuts the gas line on a school bus with students onboard, one being her niece?
I was catastrophizing. It had to be a leak.
When I got back on, I told Tinston. Christy was already on the phone with Don Smith, the guy who ran the bus garage.
The girls were panicking, so I walked back to calm them. “You guys, it’s gonna be okay.”
“It’s a district match. We can’t miss it,” Alyssa said, her eyes bulging with worry. “This is a team we can destroy.”
I held up my hands. “If they won’t push the time back, I’m sure they’ll reschedule. It’ll be okay.”
Ming grunted. “I was ready to whip some Maplewood trash.” A couple of more girls agreed.
“You’ll get your chance. I promise.”