I glance up to see it’s?—
10:01 p.m.
My stomach lurches.
One minute.
One stupid minute.
I swear under my breath. Now she’s going to wonder why I hesitated.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
My heart pinches.
Scottie
Are you sure you made curfew? Looks like you were a minute late.
I exhale and start typing:Sorry. Meant to send that at ten.
My thumbs hit the delete button.
I can’t say that. It’s too revealing. She’ll know I was agonizing over a stupid emoji.
I try again.
Lucas
Nah, just a long day.
Scottie
I hear you.
I stare at her text and then hit my head with my phone a few times, trying to breathe.
Lucas
I know. I’m sorry.
Scottie
Me too.
Night Lucas.
Lucas
Night Quinn.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Scottie
The drink Lucas sent this morning tells me a lot about how he’s feeling: dark roast, cream, and barely a hint of sugar.
Three hours later as I’m standing outside the van that’ll take me and the players to the youth clinic, the bitterness lingers on my tongue.
