Chapter Seven
Three Weeks Later
“Wake up, sleepy head. I’ve got a somewhat cold peanut butter, kale and oat smoothie with your name on it.”
Alex’s taunting voice cut through the last dregs of sleep weighing on her. Marcee rolled onto her back, hand outstretched. Camp was fun, but there was nothing that could compare to her own bed, and in that moment, it was a cocoon of bliss she could stay in forever.
“Gimme.”
“Nuh-uh, missy. You’ve gotta open those eyes and get up. It’s the first day of school.”
Marcee tried to remember if it was ever this difficult to get out of bed when she was in high school, but the only memories she had were early morning runs or workouts. The decline in energy levels from seventeen to twenty-four was depressing.
She groaned and groped at the air. “Come on, babe. Don’t be a tease.”
Alex’s voice grew faint as she walked away with Marcee’s smoothie. “It’ll be waiting for you, when you get up, on the kitchen counter.”
The ample morning sunshine snuck under her lids as she opened her eyes to a slit. It was late, at least by her standards. She was usually awake at dawn and out on a run while the soft pinks and gold of sunrise painted the North Carolina sky.
It was the first day of school, though. The first day of what might be her only year coaching at Pemberton Prep.
The worst part was she didn’t have total control of the outcome.
She could do everything in her power to make her girls great, but aside from cheating and avoiding all contact with Remy, she couldn’t ensure a championship.
There was so much hanging on one season.
“Get your ass out of bed, Ackerman.” She did her best imitation of her college soccer coach, trying to channel that inner drive she always inspired in her players.
“Losers sit on their butts—winners bust theirs.” The cool wooden floor kissed the soles of her bare feet as she threw her legs over the side of the bed and called out, “You better not be lying, Alexis Abbot!”
Her best friend’s giggle floated in from the kitchen. “There’s a good chance I even requested extra peanut butter.”
That small kindness put a little pep in Marcee’s step. She shuffled down the hallway, stretching her arms above her head as she entered the kitchen and her back gave a satisfying crack.
“All right, all right, I’m here. Where are the goods?”
“Getting ready to join the nudist colony, are we?”
Marcee froze, glancing down. “Oh, you scared me. I thought I wasn’t wearing panties for some reason.”
Alex snickered and turned her attention back to her laptop. “Honestly, seeing you in your panties is the most action I’ve gotten in months.”
“Pitiful,” Marcee replied. Her smoothie was sitting as promised on the counter, the sides cool to the touch. “And honestly, self-inflicted. You’ve got a willing participant at work who can fix that dry streak in a jiffy.”
“Don’t go there. Again.” Alex’s nose scrunched up as she fiddled with an external webcam. “Matt is my ex for a reason and he’s my boss. It’s fifty shades of messed up. Now, be quiet for a minute while I practice this speech for my sponsorship application.”
Grainy smoothie slurped up her straw, an immediate shot of bliss to her system.
“Okay, okay,” Marcee muttered, slouching deeper into the chair. “Ever thought of teaching? You’ve got the demeanor for it.”
Alex shot her a look before flicking her long brown hair off her shoulder and looking into the camera.
As promised, Marcee watched silently while she recorded a mock application for a paid athletic sponsorship.
Alex had been playing disc golf since she was a little girl, but only recently got serious again.
If she could get a big enough sponsorship from one of the major disc companies, she could go on tour full time. And yeah, she was that good.
“This is your year, Alex. I can feel it.” She wanted her to get it as much as she wanted to have a winning season. So, a lot.
“As long as it becomes my year before the season starts back up in February,” Alex answered, slapping her laptop shut. “That’s six months for the universe to work its magic.”
Marcee slid out from behind the table and kissed the top of her head quickly. “Six months for both of us to get into winning shape.” All she had to do was stay the course. No distractions, no complications.
Their cat, Freddie Mercury, beelined from under the table and into the living room, howling as he dove into his blanket on the couch.
“Freddie agrees,” Alex said, grinning at the black and white rascal who had never kept an opinion to himself.
Marcee took it as a good omen for her first official day on the job. If Freddie was feeling agreeable, then the stars must really be aligned.
At school in her office, Marcee couldn’t help but look at everything with a wistful eye.
She’d decorated the room at the beginning of the summer, a fresh recruit with all the naivety and exuberance of youth.
Her cork board with neon pins for putting up plays and stats.
The whiteboard with blue markers to match their school colors.
Two framed posters with inspirational quotes positioned behind her desk for anyone sitting across from her to see.
Lastly, her final game ball from Duke, signed by her teammates and coach, which she had displayed in a glass case.
The shadow of failure loomed just out of sight, casting everything with a tint of finality. She remembered wishing the office was bigger, but now, it felt homey—a home that could be taken away at any minute.
Sighing, she booted up her laptop, tapping her finger as the internet browser loaded. She hadn’t checked her work email since getting back from camp, so it was the first task of the day before making a game plan for the week.
“Finally,” she muttered, logging onto the server and scrolling through emails.
Most were generic, but then she reached an email from Mark, the boys’ assistant coach, with the subject line reading, “Time sensitive: budget concerns.” She clicked before wondering why Mark would ever email her about anything, least of all budget concerns.
Frankly, Marcee wasn’t even convinced he could read.
The email opened and a video immediately played, low moans filling her office. She squinted, mouth agape, as a buxom woman being taken from behind filled her screen.
He sent porn, from his work email to hers? Mark Harp was truly the world’s biggest moron.
“You like that, yeah?” The man’s English accent grabbed her attention as he pushed into her, her breasts splayed across a marble table. Marcee stared, transfixed, and was immediately taken back to soccer camp and a ten-minute interlude she deeply, deeply regretted—yet couldn’t forget.
Remy’s voice filled her head, as clear as it was the night he made her panties wetter than the Pacific, much to her annoyance.
I think we both know that’s not true.
It was infuriating.
“Okay, first thing!”
She slammed her laptop shut so hard she wondered if the screen cracked.
Nicole closed the office door and plopped into the chair across from her desk, knee bouncing up and down.
Marcee cleared her throat. “First thing?”
Nicole glanced at her computer and raised an eyebrow before answering. “First thing. Did you see they gave Marshall his own parking space?”
Typical. None of the other coaches were offered a parking space, but ass kisser Graham Marshall was.
“I did not,” she replied.
“Okay, well that’s whatever, ya know? More importantly, and second thing, what is your plan for the meeting with Wilkes this morning?”
“What meeting with Wilkes?”
Nicole leveled her with a frustrated glare. “You didn’t check your email, did you?”
Marcee actively fought against the blush threatening to color her entire upper body.
“I was, uh, getting to that.” Shit, did the school have the IT department monitoring devices for porn?
She swore, if that dipshit got her in trouble or put on administrative leave, she would run over his car like a Tonka truck.
“Forget checking it, we don’t have time. Wilkes wants to meet with us both this morning to discuss camp and the coming season.”
Oh, hell.
“Perfect. This is just how I want to start my morning,” she grumbled.
“Hope you’re wearing your extra thick skin today,” Nicole added. “I have a feeling this is going to be less pep talk and more basic training beratement.”
“You watched G.I. Jane again this weekend, didn’t you?” Her assistant coach had a thing for Demi Moore, even though she was old enough to be Nicole’s mother.
It was cute how pink her cheeks got, though.
“Maybe I did.”
The anxiety she felt that morning in bed rebounded, smacking her in the back of the head with the beginning of a tension headache.
“All right, Giles, let’s get this over with.” She shoved away from the desk and marched out of her office, Nicole a step behind. “We’re going to show him what the faces of the next state champions look like.”
Ten minutes into the meeting and Marcee was certain Headmaster Wilkes and Graham Marshall were fraternity brothers, or something as equally obnoxious and lifelong.
She would never understand why Pemberton Prep didn’t staff an athletic director like other schools. At least then she would be having a discussion with someone versed in coaching schematics. Just went to show you the power of old money on a school board.