I told Colt the sorts of things no one else knew about my family, about how even with all my parents’ hard work, we still had debt from the ranch, and how I felt responsible because the place would be mine some day. I told him I was scared I wouldn’t be able to make it out of Prosperity, and he listened. Then, he told me the sorts of things no one else knew about him. He told me stories about his grandfather, a former Ivy League athlete, and his grandmother, one of the first women to compete in the women’s College Lacrosse Championship, who’d inspired his love for lacrosse. He confessed to me he was scared that if lacrosse fell through for him, he didn’t know what else he’d really want to do with his life. No one had ever talked to me that way, been so raw. And certainly no one had ever listened so intently. Hell, he was still doing it, right now.

Well. All those times I thought something was different apparently didn’t mean all that much to him. And now, with his nine-to-five question, he had no business trying to change the narrative years after it’d been written.

Colt is fortunate. We reach the Meteorology building right as the word ‘five’ leaves his mouth, ‘I should probably head in. Class starts in, like, three.’

His mouth makes a quiet O, and he nods. ‘Gotcha.’ The silent acknowledgement of my deflection is clear as day.

‘Appreciate you walking me.’ I smile tightly. I do. I really do. I just don’t know if I can stand having this puppy dog of a man by my side for the rest of the semester. I can’t decide if I despise his ignorance, or if I envy it, but whatever it is, it’s eating me alive.

Chapter Thirteen

Run It Back

Colt

‘GET INSIDE! THROUGH TO THE CREASE!’

It’s deep into the third quarter, and Coach Dillon is at the point where her clipboard is about to fly out of her hand and achieve terminal velocity. The girls are down just one goal. We’ve had a shot clinic since the opener last week, and our performance – especially against a team like the Mattison Marauders, from Kentucky, second in the league – has been much improved. But as Coach loses her shit when Maddie misses an open shot, I can’t help adding a big fat brick to the giant pile of blame on my chest. This is because you aren’t teaching them right, Colt. You gotta pick up the stick and get over yourself.

‘She’s tryin’,’ Coach Dillon says aloud, definitely more to herself than anyone else, as she brushes a dark brown curl from her brow and adjusts her jacket.

‘They’ll get there,’ I add, and the coach nods in agreement.