Coach Mike steps in closer, jabbing a finger into my chest. “Then pull your head out of your ass before next week. Daredevils aren’t gonna care about your feelings, Hayes. To keep this team standing, you need to lock in. Or I’ll bench your ass, golden boy, and let the second-stringer get a shot.”
The words should gut me. Threats like that have always been there before. Today? I just let out a harsh laugh, bitter and hollow. “Do what you want, Coach. I don’t give a fuck.”
Gasps ripple along the line.
Before anyone can respond, I shove past, shoulders tense, and storm off the field. My cleats hit the tunnel concrete hard, each step echoing along the corridor.
I enter the locker room, adrenaline still pounding through my veins.
Maggie’s waiting, leaned against the row of lockers, arms crossed, tablet in hand. “Well,” she says, smirking, “at least you’re finally showing the world who you really are.”
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding. “Not now.”
“You think sponsors are gonna line up after you throw a fit in front of the whole team?” she needles, pushing. “Quarterback golden boy? More like quarterback disaster.”
I shove past her, ripping open my cubby and tossing my gloves inside. My hands are shaking, and not from exertion. “Fuck the sponsors. Fuck the press. And fuck you, Maggie.”
She scoffs, pushing off the lockers. “Keep talking like that, Hayes. See where it gets you.”
Before I can answer, Coach Mike’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. “Enough!”
He steps in, his gaze drilling into me. “Final game of the season. Kentucky Daredevils. One week. I don’t care about your mood swings, I don’t care about your sponsors. All I care about is you showing up and playing the damn game. You got that?”
I yank my shirt over my head, the fabric sticking to my sweat-slick skin. My response is nothing but a guttural grunt.
Because right now, I don’t give a fuck about Kentucky, the season, or the goddamn sponsors.
The only thing I care about is the one person I can’t reach.
Amelia.
maverick
. . .
Ipress my palms against the wall, forehead slammed between them, and let it burst out of me—the loss of my mama, the constant pressure of this career, the sponsors breathing down my neck, and Amelia’s silence.
“Mama,” I rasp, water and tears mixing until I can’t tell them apart. My voice breaks, chest heaving. “What the hell am I supposed to do? I’ve been trying so damn hard, and she still doesn’t trust me. She’s shutting me out, and I don’t know how to get through.”
The only answer is the water pounding against my skin, steady and relentless.
I slide down until I’m sitting on the shower floor, arms resting on my knees, my head bowed. The heat burns, but I welcome it—anything to feel something other than this ache tearing me apart.
Eventually, the sobs fade away, leaving me hollow and exhausted. I pull myself up, rinse off, and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. My reflection in the mirror looks battered—red eyes, hair plastered to my forehead, and myshoulders hunched.
I grab my phone from the counter, thumb swiping across the screen—one new message.
Carter
They’re back.
My heart pounds so hard that I almost drop the phone. I scrub a hand down my face, taking in a shaky breath.
When I enter the kitchen, Rex is perched on the counter, his wrinkled little alien-cat body glaring at me. Cupcake lifts her head from where she’s sprawled across the floor, tail thumping lazily.
I lean against the counter, still dripping, staring at them like they’ve got the answers.
“She’s back,” I tell them, voice hoarse. “And I don’t know if she’s coming back to me.”
