Page 10 of Hard to Lose

“Thank you, Coach. I assure you I have the best intentions when it comes to Mr. Camden.”

He chuckles. “When you meet him, then you best not tell him you’re an agent upfront or he sure as hell won’t talk to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Destiny Falls,” he repeats, effectively ending the conversation. And I don’t push. I know it was hard enough for him to give me this much, and I’m more than grateful that he did. “Thanks. I’ll check there. Thank you for your time.”

I’m about ten steps away when he says, “Miss Kincade?”

“Hmm?” I turn back to face him.

“I’m trusting that you’ll do right by him.” Our eyes meet. Hold.

And with a nod, I walk away with more curiosity than when I showed up here. Strangely, I’m also glad that Ryan Camden did have someone in his corner. That he wasn’t completely alone.

CHAPTER THREE

Chase

“Destiny Falls?” Brexton asks through the speaker of my car. “It sounds like a cutesy town name from one of those cheesy, Netflix, made-for-romance series.”

I look around at my surroundings. Clapboard houses with well-manicured lawns. Mature trees with yellow ribbons tied around their trunks. Rocking chairs on stoops with an American flag waving from the rooftop.

“Pretty much.” I laugh as I drive through the town. “The question is now that I’m here, what am I supposed to do? Where do I go?”

I twist my lips in thought as I make a split-second decision to ignore my GPS directions and turn left onto a street that looks like it leads toward the heart of the small town.

“You didn’t think to ask yourself this before you drove all that way to get there?”

I roll my eyes. “Not everyone plans every little thing out.”

“You do.”

Touché.

“That’s beside the point.”

“How big is this town?” my sister asks.

“Bigger than a dot on a map but not huge by any means.” I pass a man taking trash out to the garbage can on the curb and marvel at how different this life is from my Manhattan skyrise. Neighbors waving to neighbors down the street versus my life where we all tuck our heads down, keep to our own business, and don’t make eye contact, because God forbid that means we might have to talk to one another. “From what I gather, it’s a military town through and through.”

“So is this guy still enlisted?”

“Not according to the coach.”

“What did his social media tell you?” She asks the question like I’m a dumbass.

“I can’t find him on it.”

“Everyone’s on social media.” She laughs.

“I know but I’ve looked and he’s not on there.”

“Maybe he’s on there but uses a different name. An old safety precaution from his military days.”

“Perhaps.” I shrug and slow down when I come upon a group of kids riding their bikes. “All I’ve found upon searching are a few grainy images of him pitching from his junior college and high school newspapers. The photo from his military award showed a stern, clean-cut soldier, mostly hidden by the bill shadowing his face. He could be any guy from anywhere.”

“You sure he’s still alive? I mean—”