PROLOGUE
Hunter
Everyone at practiceseems to know each other—or at least know someone else—except me. I feel them watching me, feel them wondering about the new kid who transferred freshman year to a private school he couldn’t afford without a scholarship, not on this side of town. None of them have said shit to me yet, probably because they know I don’t belong here, other than on the football field. I’m really good at football.
“Hey…you’re Hunter King, right?” A guy steps up beside me. He’s got a golden tan, light brown hair, and brown eyes. He smiles at me the way you do with a friend. A real smile. The guy feels like he’s bursting with sunshine, which is weird—like that boy-next-door shit, the perfect kid with straight A’s, tons of friends, and everything a person can dream of, but also like he doesn’t let it go to his head.
“Yep.” I cross my arms, watching the guys run drills. We’re practicing in shifts for now—it’s the first day of tryouts and the coaches need to see what we’re made of.
“I saw you earlier. You’re even faster than they said, but like, have good brute strength too. The all-around running back who can do anything.”
I chuckle, surprised that I do. It’s not the first time I’ve heard something like that, and it’s true, but often it annoysme. Usually, it feels like someone is saying it because they want something from me, because they don’t expect me to be as good as I am, or because they’re jealous. I don’t know this guy, but he doesn’t seem the type. There’s something genuine about him.
“Thanks. What position do you play?”
“The bench.” He laughs in a way I could never do if I’d said the same thing. “My dad wants me to be quarterback, but I’m not good enough to actually play.”
“I can practice with you sometime,” I find myself offering. I turn around and look behind me like I expect a second Hunter King to be standing there because those words sure as shit didn’t come out of my mouth. Only there’s no other Hunter there, and I did in fact say them.
“Really? That’d be cool. Thanks,” he says, just as he’s called out to the field. He jogs away, and I realize I didn’t even ask him his name.
He’s right, though. He’s not very good. He doesn’t have the athleticism of most of the guys out here, but it’s clear how much he wants it, how hard he tries.
I like him. He’s real in a world where most people aren’t. I want to help him get better. For some reason, I want this guy on the team with me. I want to be his friend. It’s weird as shit because I don’t typically think that way, don’t decide I want to be friends with someone, but I want it with him. Feels right.
When Coach calls me onto the field, I jog out, heart racing, excitement ready to explode out of me. This is what I’ve always wanted. Playing on such a good high school team, then going to college, before I’m drafted. Nothing will stop me from making my dreams come true.
And just like I wanted, I kill it in practice, showing them everything I can do.
“Hey,” I say to the kid who’s like sunshine in a bottle, once we’re in the locker room. “Wanna stay late and practice? I just have to get to the city bus by eight to get home on time.” Since I don’t live close, my mom and I are responsible for my transportation. Mom brings me to school in the morning, but she’s on evening shifts now, so I have to take the bus, then walk home, which she hates. It makes her feel guilty, when she has no reason to be. She works her ass off to make ends meet, but it’s hard to do alone. When my dad died, that changed everything for us, and she’s been playing catch-up ever since.
“Really?” he asks.
“You don’t have to, but if you want, I’m down.” All I ever want is to play football.
“Yeah. That’d be cool. My mom is already here to pick me up, though. Do you want to come to my house instead?”
There’s no doubt in my mind this kid has money, that we live in totally different worlds. I should tell him no, that I have to go home—also because my mama willnotbe happy with me going to some random person’s house. But I want to play football, so I shrug and say, “Sure, but as I said, I have to be at the bus station by eight.”
“You ride the bus home?” There’s no mocking in his tone, simply curiosity, but my back stiffens.
“Not all of us live like you.”
“No, I didn’t mean… Shit. I’m sorry. I sound like a douchebag.”
I chuckle.
“Come on, let’s go,” he says.
I grab my stuff and walk with him out to the lot, where he points to a black Escalade. A blonde woman is in the driver’s seat, and her gaze lingers on me for a second before she smiles.
“I’m Abbie—Ellis’s mom.”
Ellis, so that’s his name. I’m glad she said it before I looked like an idiot not knowing it. “Hunter King, ma’am.”
I could be wrong, but there’s a spark of recognition in her gaze, which…doesn’t make sense. There’s definitely a lot of talk about me going to school here and being one of the most watched high school football players in the state, but I doubt some random mom would know anything about me.
“Can Hunter come over?” Ellis asks. “We’re gonna play football for a bit. Then I was thinking he could have dinner with us, and maybe you could drive him home after?”
