Page 7 of Off Sides

“Sure you can,” I say fiercely but then back off a little, smirking. “I mean, you are the coach.”

He snorts. “I’m a fair coach. If Calvin won’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t do anything about it. But don’t for one second think I don’t have my eyes on him, that I’m not waiting to step in.”

Okay, so there’s the big brother I know.

“So talk to him. Let him back on the team.”

Micah grips the bridge of his nose and breathes deeply. “He won’t talk to me.” He drops his hand, and his eyes meet mine. “You’re the QB. If you get him to show up to practice and get in line, he can come back.”

I sit up straight, inhaling a deep breath, then letting it out. “You think he’ll talk to me when he won’t talk to you?”

“You’re so concerned. Go for it.”

I swallow hard and stand up. “And how exactly do I find him? Can you give me his address?”

He frowns at that. Damn Micah, always a rule follower. “You know I can’t.”

I roll my eyes.

He leans back a little in his chair and mutters almost absently, like he’s talking to himself and not me. I soon realize it’s on purpose. “You know, the Duke family is almost like royalty around here. Everyone in town knows the big white house on First Street,” he muses.

“Nice, big brother,” I say with a laugh, shouldering my bags and heading for the door.

“Jonah . . .” I turn to look at him, the worry creasing his forehead. “Be careful, okay?”

I snort. “He’s just a guy.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Somehow, I don’t think he means physically. I just salute him and then take off to the parking lot, straight to my truck.

Here goes nothing.

CHAPTER FOUR

calvin

I hear the doorbell as I’m lying on my bed, but I make no move to get up. Coach betrayed us.

No matter what he wants to say about his brother’s supposed talent, he’s never been one to play favorites. He’s never given anyone opportunities for any other reason than they deserved it.

He . . . I swallow hard, trying to push down the harsh feelings. He tried to get me to talk to him when the team was at their worst. When they were giving me absolute hell every single day and trying to get me to quit.

I didn’t tattle on the team, of course, but I could feel how much he cared. Or at least how much I thought he cared.

It’s better this way.

I don’t need to play football my senior year.

I hear my brother tromping down the stairs to the front door. My bedroom is downstairs and close enough for me to hear my brother’s loud, booming voice. “We don’t want any.”

I scoff, picturing whatever poor kid is trying to sell something to my ogre of a brother.

“Uh, not here to sell anything.” The voice is deep and surprisingly sure. Not the voice of a kid, even muffled by my four walls and closed bedroom door. “Is Calvin here?”

Me? Shit. It’s not Coach, is it? No . . . of course not. Curtis would recognize Coach. He was his coach for a couple of years too. And that’s not Coach’s voice, but it does sound familiar somehow.

“What do you want with Calvin?” Curtis sounds suspicious, and I feel curiosity as I climb off my bed and crack my door open, trying to look down the short hall toward the front door. I can see a hint of an arm and a sneaker past my brother’s broad frame.