Without the distractions of my crazy day I could feel the pain killers wearing off. I grabbed the hot water bottle and curled up in my bed, cocooned, and flipped on the TV ready to fall into a sugar-induced coma.

History homework waited for me once I’d finished dinner, but my gaze kept drifting to my dad’s guitar. The case had remained closed since the night Dare caught me playing. But notes and a melody formed in my mind. I grabbed my notebook and scribbled down the lines before I forgot them.

Tonight, Freddy would put me to work recording more demos or cleaning out a studio or prepping for sessions tomorrow. He always had room for Miles’s daughter. It’s how they all knew me. And at school I was The New Girl. Would I ever be me?

I glanced out the window toward the house of the guy slowly filling my mind with bubbling emotions. How did I get rid of these feelings?

7

Dare

The assistant coach poked his head into the workout room door and rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Dare, Coach wants to see you.”

My weight slipped out of my hand and dropped to the floor.

“Ohhhhhhh.” Knox added his unhelpful addition to the awkwardly quiet room, where the air tasted like metal and sweat. He’d joined me in my penance workouts, saying he wanted to keep in shape so the pre-season wasn’t as brutal. But he didn’t need to be here, and both of us knew it.

Over half the rising seniors were in the gym when I walked out. All of their eyes were on me.

I gritted my teeth and clenched my hands at my side.

The walk to Coach’s office stretched on longer than any walk to the principal’s office. This was serious. This mattered. Playing on the field beside guys I’d grown up with and winning with them was one of the few bright spots in my life. And that was over. Fear gripped me, reverberating down my spine, which ratcheted up the anger monster who lashed out whenever something was threatened to be taken from me.

I dragged the towel across my sweaty face and stepped into the doorway, clearing my throat. “Hey, Coach Greer.”

His head popped up and he set down the papers in his hands. “Dare, come in and have a seat.”

He motioned to the one filled with stacks of old playbooks.

I moved them to the internal window sill filled with even more notebooks and stacks of paper. The whole place seemed one carelessly flung cigarette butt away from turning the entire school into kindling.

“You wanted to see me?” My nostrils flared and I dug my fingers into my thighs.

Coach rocked back in his chair with his hands braced behind his head, leveling his assessing gaze on me.

The clock over his shoulder ticked louder than any ref’s whistle for seconds on end. “I got a call from a scout.”

“Do you want me to run more drills at practice for Knox or Bennet? Or for the seven-on-seven Bedlam Bowl two months?” It had been ‘requested’ I do that for a few practice tapes for the guys when colleges expressed an interest over the past few years.