“I don’t see why we can’t strut out to ‘We Are the Champions,’ rip some practice jerseys off, do a roar, punch our chests, then do a body roll,” Bruno says. He demonstrates by rolling his torso, then running his hand down his chest to his groin. “Am I right? The crowd will go nuts!”
Several football players nod and elbow each other, laughing.
“And I’ll be fired. You will not touch your privates, Bruno. Am I clear?” I rub my forehead. We’re in my room, the desks pushed to the side as we work on the pep rally for the Huddersfield game next week. No one can agree on a song or what to do.
He grins. “It might start a riot anyway.”
“Technically, you aren’t champions yet,” Sabine says from the floor, where she and Toby sit working on a poster that says FREE LAMBERT!
Toby looks up. “True that. We don’t want to jinx ourselves.”
“If you’re stuck on Queen, a better song would be ‘We Will Rock You.’ The beat is bloody great,” Sonia says as she eats her salad next to me.
“We did ‘We Will Rock You’ last year,” Milo says. “Might be bad luck.”
The players nod. Superstition and bad luck are a real thing in football. Since we lost to them last year, we must do everything different this time.
“What about ‘Eye of the Tiger’?” another player says as he chows down on a sandwich.
“We aren’t tigers. We’re Bobcats,” Bruno mutters. “There is a difference.”
Leaning against a desk, I run a hand through my hair, twisting it up with a rubber band into a messy bun. It’s important they make decisions themselves. They weren’t given much leeway before with Melinda, and I want them to feel as if they’re creating something that’s all theirs.
“We need a routine, y’all! Something lit!” Bruno says to them as he faces his team and lifts his hands up. “Hit me with the ideas!”
“A line dance?” Milo offers. “I can boot scoot and boogie. Granny taught me.”
“I’m not wearing cowboy boots,” Bruno says. “Texas isn’t a stereotype.”
“It’s early November. Maybe dress up like turkeys? Flap some wings, then do the chicken dance,” a player says.
Bruno heaves out an exhale. “Whoever said that . . . what the fu—heck no!”
“The Macarena?” another player says. “It’s fun.”
“No,” Bruno says and crosses his arms. “I’m in charge of this, and it has to be right!”
“It’s important to listen to everyone’s ideas,” I remind him.
“I like the Carlton or the ‘Y.M.C.A.’ Old school,” Sonia offers.
“Eh, I don’t know,” Bruno says, scrubbing his face. “We want them foaming at the mouth for us. Toby, you’re our captain. Thoughts?”
Toby is currently laughing at something Sabine is saying. After I supercleaned the house from the Great Lice Debacle, they had their first date. We had pasta and watched Clueless. He’s been over to do homework a few times. I met his mom when the four of us got together at the bookstore and had dinner.
She’s not allowed to be alone with him. I’ve told her she must wait until she’s sixteen. My own love life is the pits, but when it comes to Sabine, I’m doing what Mama would want. Protect her. Guide her.
Feeling all eyes on him, Toby glances up. “Oh. Um, I’m not really a dancer, but maybe a country song? We could walk around and pump our fists. Maybe lip-synch?”
Bruno winces. “We don’t want some sad ‘Let me go drive my truck and drink a beer’ song.”
Toby’s lips quirk. “Ms. Morgan, what do you think?”
I tap my chin. “‘Boom Boom Pow’ by the Black Eyed Peas is upbeat.”
Bruno nods. “It’s not terrible, but . . . I don’t know . . .”
“Bullocks. You’re hard to please,” Sonia tells him.
Bruno runs his eyes over the team that came to the meeting. “I have high expectations. We’re gonna beat those bast—I mean Rams, and I want to jump-start it good.” He heaves out a sigh. “We need the perfect song.”
“‘Gangnam Style,’” says a voice from the door. Caleb. There’s a burrito in his hands as he leans against the doorjamb. “It gets people on their feet.”
“Hey!” I say with a smile.
Caleb gives me a jerky nod. “Hey. I—I was just coming by to chat and overheard you guys.”
He’s been by twice since he came back to school, Just to say hi, he says, but I think he needs people. Grief can isolate a person. “Come in and help us,” I say.
Bruno waves him in. “Yo! I like it, dude. It’s got smooth moves.” He proceeds to shake his butt and wave his arms like he’s riding a horse. “It’s fresh, a little country with the horse move, and the rest is sexy—which will drive the girls crazy. I love it! Yeah, yeah!” He turns to the players and pumps his fist. “Can we do this, guys?!”
They mumble among themselves while I bring up the song on my phone and play it.
A few heads start nodding at the electric beat. Bruno does the horse-riding move, then a lasso one as a few of the guys get up and attempt to dance. Sonia tosses her salad in the trash and gets out there with them.
Caleb sets his burrito down and stands in front of them and does all the moves, adding some popping, spins, and robot moves.
I shake my hips and twirl my finger in the air. “Go, Caleb!”
He smirks, then finishes the song by dropping to the floor and break-dancing as the guys cheer him on.
“You’re really good. You think you can help us get that together?” Toby asks Caleb after they’ve finished.
Caleb shrugs.
“We’re meeting in here for lunch this week to figure it out.” I pause, recalling seeing his school record with the counselor. “Didn’t you do drama last year?”
Caleb nods. “Yeah.”
“Great!” I exclaim. “Then maybe you can help us with wardrobe as well?” I give him a “Please help us” look.
Bruno juts in. “We need pull-apart jerseys.”
I pat Bruno on the arm. “We all know you have muscles under your shirt.”
“Your hot cheerleader girlfriend knows too,” Sonia calls, and a few of the guys laugh.
I give Bruno a pointed look. “Give it up.”
He lets out an aggrieved exhale. “Okay, so what should we wear?”
“Boots and jeans,” Milo calls.
“A furry Bobcat outfit,” another player calls.
Bruno rolls his eyes. “We can’t dance in a hot-as-heck fur outfit. What do you think, bro?” He looks at Caleb.
Several moments pass as Caleb squints and paces around the room, studying the players, his forehead furrowed, an animated quality about him I haven’t seen before. “Suit jackets and dress pants from the Goodwill or something sharp in your closet you don’t mind ruining. Fedoras if we can find them. Sunglasses for sure. We loosen the seams on the clothes; then halfway through the song, you jerk them off. Maybe twirl them around”—he smirks—“kinda like a striptease. Your jersey and football pants are underneath.”
“Yeah, yeah, I like it. Can you come tomorrow?” Bruno asks him.
Caleb looks at me. I give him a pleading look and hold my hands up in a prayer.
He laughs. “Okay.”
“Good.” Toby slaps Caleb on the back. “Be prepared. Half of us can’t dance, me included.”
“This is true,” Sabine says as she comes over. “I tried to teach him a TikTok dance, and he tripped over the coffee table.”
“All right,” Toby says to Caleb. “The game is next week. Does that timeline work?”
Caleb nods. “Who’s going to loosen the seams?”
Sabine raises her hand. “I can help.”
“Me too,” I add.
“My granny will,” Milo adds.
“I’m in,” Sonia offers.
We decide to ask a few others to help with the wardrobe. Sabine makes a list of names and offers to make the calls.
The bell rings.
I clap my hands. “Okay, guys, same time tomorrow. Pick up your lunches, and toss them in the trash, please.”
Toby gets mine, Sabine’s, and his, then throws them away as they walk out the door together.
Bruno ambles over to me. “Thanks for, you know, taking this on.”
“Aw, you’re welcome, Bruno,” I say. “Don’t forget to answer your poetry questions.”
He rolls his eyes and walks out the door.
“Ms. Morgan?” says a deep voice.
I glance up as Andrew files in, maneuvering between the students as they leave.
“Hey,” I say to him.
“That wanker wants to shag you,” Sonia says under her breath as she grabs her bag, then leans in. “I have a class, but I can wait a few if you want?”
“No, I’ve got this,” I murmur. “Go on.”
She sashays past him, nodding a hello.
“I’ve been missing you for lunch,” he says as he comes closer. He rakes a hand through his blond hair, his dimples popping as he smiles at me.
“Yeah, we’ve been busy.” I catch my reflection in the glass. No lipstick, my hair is a tornado, my royal-blue dress has a mustard stain on it from my sandwich, and I’m shoeless. I pad over to behind my desk and slip my heels on. I quickly brush some gloss over my lips. I turn back.
“Is everything okay?” I ask with a benign smile as I grab my satchel. We keep things light and easy. We talk about school and sports. I’ve clocked the smoldering looks he sends me, the way his hands linger . . . I’ve ignored it.
He gives a pointed look to a few of the kids who dawdle, looking over the posters we’ve made.
“Can we talk in private?” he asks. “This is my planning period, so . . .”
I frown. “I’m supposed to be at the field house.”
“Just a few moments. Please.”
I debate. There’s nothing pressing in Ronan’s office except answering his phones . . .
Andrew and I are always surrounded by other people, even at the fundraiser, and maybe I’ve been wondering what we’d say if we were alone . . . “Sure.”
We walk out together, and he leads me to the same closet Sonia and I use. He opens the door and clicks on the light while I reach up to the top shelf and grab one of the e-cigarettes. I offer him one, and he says no while I suck on one, willing myself not to choke. My goal is to appear to be a nonchalant badass.
Vapor billows in the small space. “What’s up?” I ask.
He leans against the door, a pensive look on his face.
I hold his gaze until he blinks and glances away from me.
“Andrew? We’re here to talk.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Just three words . . .
Several tense moments pass, then . . .
My carefully constructed walls crumble. Anger flares in my chest. Maybe it’s because I’ve been around him for several weeks, unsaid words brimming in my head. “You have no right to say that.”
A slow blush rises on his face. “I know, Nova. I—I’m sorry I hurt you. Paisley and I . . . if it’s any comfort . . . we weren’t happy. We tried, we really did, but once she realized I wasn’t . . .” He sucks in a breath. “We stayed in the same house for years, getting along, living our own lives, but now that Brandy is older, we both realized—”
“I don’t want to hear about you and Paisley. I don’t care,” I say sharply, banked emotion rising higher. “You came to me. You flew to New York to beg me back; you got on your knees and looked in my eyes. You promised it would work. And when I woke up the next morning, you were gone—like a coward.”
His face falls. “I know . . . you said we could try again, but you saw me and Paisley. I knew you’d never forget it.”
“You wanted your daddy’s money,” I mutter.
“And I’ve been unhappy ever since!” he shouts, then sobers, breathing rapidly. “God. I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t regret the time I’ve had with Brandy—I love my little girl—but if I could have had you both, I would have, Nova. I loved you.”
I look away from him.
I’m glad he left. Marrying him would have been a horrible mistake.
“Seeing you here at school that first day . . . it was like the sunshine came back. Nova, I still love you. I never stopped.” He moves to take my hands, and I’m so shocked by his words that I let him.
I frown as I take him in—the earnest face, the burning intensity in his topaz eyes. I recall that first day I walked in the school, how devastated I was to see him . . . I’ve wondered over the past weeks if maybe I still carry a torch for him in my heart . . .
“I don’t feel that way about you, Andrew. That part of my life is over.”
“You cared about me once. Just . . . forgive me. If you could let it all go, then maybe, I don’t know, there might be a chance . . .” He searches for words. “I know it’s crazy, but . . . you came back home. That means something. What if it was always meant to be us?”
A wave of feelings hits me as he twines our hands together.
His double betrayal has eaten at me for years, tiptoeing down the hallways of my head, digging its claws into me. I’ve used his sins as a shield of protection, painting men with the same brush. I wasted so much time thinking about him when I could have had real relationships.
Forgive him?
When he changed who I was inside?
I swallow thickly.
But . . .
Forgiving is for you, Mama used to say.
I glance away from him, my head tumbling.
It’s been years . . .
What happened, happened. We can’t change it.
In the end, he did me a favor.
And the idea that he and I were meant to be? Unbidden, a smile slips over my face. Fate didn’t bring me to Blue Belle for Andrew . . . it was Ronan. I believe that, as sure as Mama’s roses are yellow, as sure as I love Sabine. The odds of us meeting again were too tiny, too impossible. What we do with those chances, well, that’s up for debate—
“Nova?” He’s moved closer to me, cutting off my train of thought.
I glance at him and blink, refocusing.
He squeezes my hand, and clarity arrives like a rush. Letting go of the hurt doesn’t mean I have to forget, but it does mean when I see him in the hall, I can smile and mean it.
“I forgive you.”
“And us? Why not try?” His eyes shine down at me.
“I’m with Ronan, and I care about him.” Truth.
I recall the feeling when we met, as if we’d already had a hundred conversations before, as if our souls saw a commonality. I love his scars, his geekiness, his stark vulnerability . . .
Being with him, even though he’s still finding out who he is and what he needs, is like peeking into possibilities. He said I deserve better, and I get where he’s coming from—a place of incredible loss, and climbing that mountain isn’t easy—but I’m not one to give up easily.
Mama raised me to believe there’s a tiny light inside everyone, a wonderful place of possibilities for your life. It’s up to you to find your “glow” and turn those possibilities into certainties.
Make the impossible real. Reach for the stars, even if they burn, Nova.
I blink. Wow. I haven’t thought about her “glow” idea for a long time. Why now?
Because . . . I love Ronan. Deeply. It may have started in New York, but now that I’ve seen who he really is—a flawed man who cares and loves intensely . . .
“Nova?”
He’s been saying something, and I’ve missed it. “Go on,” I say, my tone distracted.
“Ronan isn’t staying here.”
My stomach drops. “I know.”
“And he calls you babe. You hate that word.”
I frown. Where is he going with this?
“And when you call him darling, your accent kicks in.” He touches my cheek. “There’s something fishy. You’re barely in town, and then suddenly you’re dating the one guy who hasn’t shown interest in anyone? And the way you act in the teachers’ lounge is strange, almost as if you wanted to rub it in my face.”
“I did.” A small smile curls my lips, and he huffs out a laugh.
“So you do feel something for me, then?”
Regret. The energy I wasted. The insecurities I allowed.
He bends his head, and before I can move, he presses his lips to mine—
The door swings open, and he’s pulled roughly away.
I gasp, stepping back.
With a flushed face, Ronan grinds his jaw as his hands clench, then open.
“I should fuck you up right here,” he hisses as he shoves Andrew in the chest. “But this is school property, and I don’t want to be arrested for putting you in the hospital. Keep your hands off Nova.”
Andrew stumbles, then comes right back at Ronan. He gets in his face and points his finger at him. “This is between me and Nova—”
“Stop this!” I say as I step between them. “This isn’t the place. And there’s no point!”
Andrew backs up and straightens his shirt while Ronan takes several deep breaths, then turns his eyes to me, ice blue and cold. “You’re late for work.” Then he flips around and stalks out.
I turn to Andrew, my voice low. “Don’t do that again. You and I will never be together.”
He exhales and shakes his head. “Nova—”
Cutting him off, I shut the door and quick step to catch Ronan. He’s been gone for three days to a coaches’ conference in Austin, and my gaze eats him up. On Sunday after the fundraiser, I woke up around six, and he was still asleep in the chair. He woke up disheveled, his tie loosened, his face dark with a shadow. He inquired if I was okay, then said he had to go. There’s been an anxiousness inside me ever since.
He was here this morning—I saw his car—but I came in a tad late and skipped the staff lounge and went straight to my classroom.
He’s wearing his teaching clothes, a pair of gray slacks and a long-sleeved tailored blue shirt with the cuffs rolled up. His back is tense, his strides long.
“Ronan, wait,” I call, but he keeps going.
I’m out of breath by the time we step outside to the sidewalk that leads to the field house.
I glance at his hard, chiseled jawline. “I started my period.”
His nose flares.
“You told me to tell you,” I remind him lightly.
“Good,” he bites out.
“What you saw, it wasn’t what you think. He asked to speak to me in private. It was good—”
He jerks to a stop, putting his hands on his hips, his face flat. But those eyes. Boy. They are blazing. “Was it? I guess so. He had his hands all over you. And his mouth!”
“He kissed me,” I say calmly. “I didn’t want him to.”
“I didn’t see you pushing him off!”
“You didn’t give me time. You came looking for me?” I give him my sweet smile.
“I’ve been gone. I wondered where my goddamn PA was,” he says, then starts walking again.
I glare at his back, then take off after him.
He swings open the door to his office and marches in. I follow and slam the door, then jerk the blinds shut on the windows. If he wants a showdown, we’ll have one.
He’s already stomped to his closet when I turn. A sharp inhale comes from me when I take in what’s on his desk: a dozen or so yellow rosebuds with bright-green magnolia leaves tucked around them in the vase. A Dairy Queen Blizzard with M&M’S, my favorite, sits next to them.
My breath hitches. I carefully pluck one of the buds from the vase and twirl it between my fingers. The creamy petals haven’t unfurled yet, and I rub it against my cheek.
I open the closet door. His back is to me as he whips off his shirt and tosses it on the floor with force. He stops and scrubs his face. “Leave me alone, Nova. You don’t want to be around me right now.”
I clear my throat as I enter. “He and I . . . we never had closure, and he wanted forgiveness.” I stare down at the rose. “That story I told you in the bookstore? I never finished it. Andrew came—”
“Don’t say his name,” he growls.
I huff. “Fine. He came to New York before his wedding, and we made plans. I was going to leave NYU and come back to UT. Then he changed his mind and left.”
He turns around, legs planted wide, arms crossed. “You still have feelings for that asshole.”
“No. I mean, it was a shock to see him after so long that first day. Regardless . . . I want to forgive him. It gives me peace.” I take a step toward him. “He made the wrong choices, but it worked out for me.”
He captures my gaze, holding it captive. “Really.”
“Mm-hmm.” I ease closer, wary, as if I’m approaching a tiger, taking in his sculpted chest, the six-pack on his abdomen, the way his slacks hang on his lean hips.
His lashes flutter. “Jesus. You were all I could think about in Austin.”
“Me puking or the awesome sex in your pantry?”
“Mostly the sex.”
“Honest. I like it.” I twirl the rose across his chest, grazing his collarbone, over to his shoulder. “You bought me flowers.”
“I missed you,” he growls. “I got them myself. No one did it for me.”
“Wow, you’re a big boy.” Smiling, I come closer and lean my head on his chest as I wrap my arms around his waist. “And the Blizzard?”
“Is melted.” His fingers land on my hips as his chin rests on the top of my head.
“It’s my favorite,” I whisper. “I’m glad to see you. We didn’t get to talk before you left.”
He sighs. “I recall saying a lot in your bathroom. About a crossroads . . .” He exhales. “I—I need to tell you something.”
I start at the uncertainty in his voice. “Okay.”
“One minute, I was sitting in a restaurant in Austin with five other coaches discussing the new regulations for next year, and this girl walks in and . . .” His words trail off.
“Was she pretty?”
“No, it wasn’t that. She rushes up to this guy at the bar, and he picks her up and swings her around, then kisses her. Like, really lays one on her. People around them hooted and clapped. They sat down and ordered drinks but barely drank them. They just kept smiling, leaning in, and touching each other’s faces. You know what I saw when I looked at them?”
“What?”
“Joy. Pure rapture. It’s as if no one else was in that room but them, you know? Not the customers. Not the bartender or servers. Then before I knew it, fifteen minutes have passed, and the coaches are waiting for me to answer a question I never heard . . .”
“What were you thinking about?”
His arms tighten around me. “You and me. Imagining us as that couple. It wasn’t hard.”
“Oh . . .” My heart leaps with hope. The man wants me. He cares. And he got me this job. (Yes, Lois told me this week.)
He traces a hand down my spine, his fingers circling the small of my back. “I needed the break from Blue Belle so I could think. Seeing you sick, on one hand, reminded me of how scary it is to have someone, but later . . . I thought about how fleeting life is and . . .” He pauses, his chest rising. “And maybe, I don’t know, that I needed to reassess everything I’ve been telling myself for the past few years.”
We stand there silently as I soak in his words. I hear the fear, but I also hear courage. Irrepressible happiness washes over me, emotion clogging my throat. I press closer to him, digging in, and he sighs, running his hands through my hair.
“I’m really scared, Nova,” he whispers.
“Life will always be scary. It’s better when you do it with someone.”
His hands tilt my face up, and his thumbs graze my lips. I lean into the touch, and he presses his forehead to mine. “I don’t want to hurt you, but when I see you”—he brushes his lips over mine—“you break down all my walls.”
“My adorable beast, we’ll take it one day at a time.” I will crush those walls.
His throat bobs. “You’ll take a chance on me?”
Yes, yes, a million times. I nod.
He gives me a wide smile, then brushes his nose with mine. “Hey, it’s good to see you.”
“You too,” I murmur.
He winces. “Guess I blew up back there, huh?”
“It was spectacular. Let’s do that every week.”
He grunts. “I can’t stand him near you, Nova. If he touches you one more time, I’m going to beat his ass.”
I shiver. “I like you all growly, but I made myself clear.”
“No more closets for you and Andrew. I fucking mean it.”
That glow inside me flares bright.
Yes, being with Ronan comes with risks. He’s afraid to accept love, to reach out and grasp it . . .
And he’s leaving.
But . . .
I want to touch the stars, even if I get burned.
“Do you believe in possibilities?” I ask.
He studies my face for several moments. “Yes.”
“That’s all I needed to know.” I graze the rose over his crotch.
He grins. “You really do dig yellow roses.”
“And the man who gave them to me.”
“This ‘thing’ between us is crazy,” he says, a bit of wonder in his voice.
“I happen to embrace crazy,” I murmur.
“Come here.” He pulls us over and leans against the table in the closet, positioning me between his legs. We hold each other.
“Where’s the team?” I ask.
“Skeeter took them out so I could find you.”
“And you marched in like a caveman.”
“I marched in like Han Solo.”
“God. You need to get over Star Wars. There are other movies.”
“Come over to the dark side, Princess.” He slants his mouth over mine. “Did you lock the door out there?” he breathes in between kisses.
“No clue.”
“I don’t care,” he says as he unbuttons the top of my dress, revealing my blue lace bra. He bends down and sucks my nipple through the fabric as my hands curl around his head, clutching him.
“I’m not having period sex with you,” I say as he tugs the material down. His fingers strum one nipple, tugging it, as he flicks his tongue over the other. My head spins at the desire that rushes over me.
“Whatever you say,” he mumbles as he uses his mouth, plucking, dragging his teeth over me.
“I mean it,” I say, a lack of conviction in my voice.
His laughter rumbles against my skin as he pushes my dress down to my waist. “I’ll clean us up afterwards, babe.”
“That’s just gross.”
Heat jolts through me as he cups both of my breasts in his hands and pushes them together, his tongue tracing their outlines, skimming his mouth from one to the other. Soft, then hard.
“We really need to talk about this babe thing, darling,” I push out through heavy breaths. “You’re saying it to annoy me—”
“You stop adorable, and I’ll stop babe.” He laughs against my skin, and I laugh with him, leaning back to give him more room.
“Coach?” comes from somewhere in the hall.
I squeak and press myself against Ronan. He straightens, holding me, and calls out, “Lois? Give me a minute. I’m—”
She appears at the closet door and tips up her Stetson. “Oh. Well. Good, good, I see. Sex play.”
I glare at her.
She lets out a wistful sigh. “I remember those days of not being able to keep my hands off Bill. Anyway . . . I just came to talk about the game plan for next week—”
“Lois, shut that damn door so I can finish putting on my practice clothes,” Ronan says.
“Yeah, put your ‘practice clothes on.’ Got it.” She shuts it slowly, eyes dancing.
