"Beckett! For god sake! Head out of your ass! Pay attention!" Coach Simpson shouts alerting me to the fact I'd just missed the most obvious pass from Brady.

Fuck.

"Let's run through that play again," he instructs putting the clipboard back under his arm, shooting me daggers from his eyes. He blows the whistle and its game time, we're running the play but suddenly a force hits me shoving me into the grassed floor, a weight bearing down on me.

The whistle blows and I realise Colter's on top of me, snarling down. I shove him off me as Brady helps me up. He slaps hands with Connor and walks down the field before I can drag him back and shove my fist into his face.

"You good Blazey?" B takes off his helmet and looks at me concerned.

"Yeah, I'm good just tired," I say, it's partially true.

Coach beckons us over and with a defeated sigh sends us packing, "Go shower."

I remove my helmet feeling the sweat trickle down my face, coach turns to me on the way to the showers, "Come see me in my office once you're changed." He slaps me on the back and pushes me down the hall with the rest of the team.

I groan dropping my head back, this can't be about anything good.

I jump into the shower letting the warm water ease my muscles and the cold water wake me up enough to start shivering slightly under the spray. I throw on my jeans, struggling slightly to get them over my damp thighs then ruffle my hair so it's not just a wet mound on my neck and throw on my letterman jacket.

I hate wearing the sodding thing, it puts me into the jock box with pig-headed pricks like Connor. Girls drool over you and guys want to be you.

I don't mind the female attention but I'm just not the cliché 'jock' type.

I'm an obnoxious asshole but I'm a different breed to them, I have at least some morals and common sense.

I rasp my knuckles against coaches office, waiting for him to invite me in. It's a pet peeve of his when students just walk in without knocking.

"Come in Blaze, shut the door." I walk in hastily and close the door with a soft click. He gestures me to sit in the chair on the corner. I sit down and drop my bag to the floor.

"Are you alright son?" He leans forward on his knees.

"Yeah, I'm fine coach?"

"You're just so out of it. That's unusual for you, you've usually got your eye on the ball and you're just all over the place today."

I swipe my hand down my face, with a huff, "I'm sorry coach, I know I was shit today. I'm just really tired."

"You got a lot on your mind?" He asks reading through my vagueness.

"Yeah something like that," He raises his brows at me, Coach Simpson is one of the very few that knows about my past, he's always looking out for me which I really appreciate, "It's nothing bad. Mom's just working a lot and I was looking after Gemma last night." And I laid awake all night thinking about the constant messages and calls my phone is riddled with, the letters that get put through my door, all in his writing.

He just won't go away and my own nightmares are getting worse.

"What else?" He narrows his eyes.

"What do you mean? I'm just tired." I scowl at his withering face.

"You and I both know that no matter how tired you are you still perform to your best out on that field, during practice or games!" He wags his finger sat me. It's like this man has a sixth sense for scouring out bullshit. I suppose working with teenage boys for years will do that to you. Simpsons worked here for the last thirty-five years and before that, he was a coach in the NFL, he and my grandpa used to run in similar circles. He's had a good career and always brags he'll never have a retirement, he'll be coaching on his way to the grave.

His eyes narrow at me and I evert them up to the aircon unit on the far wall.

Truthfully I feel bad about what happened with Atlas yesterday, she's only trying to help me with the project and she didn't deserve for me to shout at her.

"I... I just... I upset someone yesterday and I feel... bad."

Coach snaps back and grabs his chest, for a moment I think he's going into cardiac arrest.

"Blaze Beckett... showing emotion... and compassion. Well I never, put me in a dress and call me Shirley." He gawps whilst I scowl at his weird metaphor.

"Alright... alright." I sigh with a slight smile. He rocks back and forth in his chair cackling.

"I'm only joking kid, it's just not like you." He stops cackling and leans forward again, "On a serious note, do you want to talk about it?"

"I- I was just being an ass again, I think I need to apologise though, she didn't deserve it."

"She?" His eyebrow quirks up.

"Nah, don't read into it old man." I exclaim quickly, "She's just one of Brady's friends."

"Not your friend?"

"Project partners." I shrug.

"Ah yes, the wellbeing project, that was the other thing I need to talk to you about." Coach moves his chair back behind his desk as I let out a grunt, Niler must have snitched.

"Snitches get stitches," I mumble, met with Coaches harsh gaze.

"I know Niler can be an ass but you need that class. You still want to go to Alabama?"

I nod eagerly, he knows I want to go to Alabama- he wants me to go to Alabama!

"Then you need that class. You're talented Blaze, arrogant too and you know your one of the best players to graduate this year - christ one of the best players to graduate in the last thirty-five years, any college would be lucky to get you and I have no doubt you'll have Alabama scouts banging down your door but you need those grades. You've done so well to catch up and keep them up and I know you won't let me down. Think about your future, don't let something as stupid as a project stop you now." He squeezes on my shoulder and I nod.

He's right, I've come so far and football pulled me back out of a goddam trainwreck, it saved me and given me purpose again, the dream to go pro has always been here it just got lost along the way, it became the light in the dark- fuck that's cringy.

"Good, now go. Apologise to this 'not friend' of yours." He says pulling out his lunch box and waving me out of the office.

I shut the door behind me and walk down the halls of the athletic block, I lean into the dance studio to see if she's in there but I find myself disappointed when I see a group of freshmen prancing about.

I hurry into the cafeteria and search for Brady who I presume is listening to his stomach and scoffing down some greasy ass lunch he packed yesterday night.

Surprise surprise I'm right as I approach the bench and sit down with a thud, he's halfway into a KFC chicken burger- cold.

"What did coach want?" Rutherford leans across the table drawing all attention to me.

"Niler snitched about what happened in health." They all groan, no one really likes Niler unless you're a freshman girl. Then I notice something. Blondie is not where she usually sits. I look around the room past all the seniors but I can't see her tied back locks, complete with two blue ribbons.

"Uh, where's Atlas?"

"Sick, she text me this morning, she thinks she's got flu or something," Vixxie says taking a bite of her apple.

Oh shit. How am I meant to apologise now?

"Ms Koreli wanted me to take her some work but I actually don't know where she lives," Carrie says pulling some sheets out of her bag.

"I'll take it to her," I say leaning over the table, snatching the paper.

"You know where she lives?" Carrie says quizically. The boys stop chewing and turn to look at me.

"Yeah, I gave her a lift back a few weeks ago." I shrug folding the paper to fit in my pocket. Silence fills the space and a mixture of concerned expressions meet my gaze, "What?"

"Aw has Blazey done something for someone else?" Ethan coos, "Are you sick or something?" he adds whilst Brady stifles a laugh.

"Lovesick for a certain blonde." Brady laughs.

For fucks sake. Fucking buffoons.

"Shut up you idiots. It was dark and she was alone, It was only a five-minute journey, I might be a dick but I wasn't going to leave her walking alone in the dark!" I shout getting up and storming out of the cafeteria.

You never know what lurks in the dark.

I pull up outside the address I dopped her at that night. The affluent area looks much nicer in the day. Potted plants line most of the addresses front-yards and posh cars sat in the drives big enough for at least three vehicles.

I step out of my mustang and look up at the house in front of me. It seems like a house the dainty blonde would live in. White trellises lined with flowers run up the edges of the house and the blue painted wooden door looks soft and inviting. I'm also not sure why she's walking thirty minutes when there are three cars sat in the drive, one a range rover and the other two are Audis.

Is she going to think it's weird if I just turn up, maybe I should have got one of the girls to take it? I look much like a criminal in this neighbourhood, the letterman jacket helps a bit but the tattoos don't.

I knock on the door and wait a few moments before a woman probably in her early thirties opens it, a baby sat on her hip. Her auburn hair tangled in the baby's fingers.

"Oh hello... can I help you?" She smiles sweetly.

"Hi, sorry to just drop by but I wanted to drop Atlas some work from the classes shes missed... is she in?" I hold out the paper worksheets but she bites on her lip with a look of confusion.

"I'm sorry love, I think you've got the wrong house. There's no Atlas here," She says sympathetically.

I'm taken aback by the words, this was the house I dropped her by, maybe it the one next door.

"There's no Atlas's along this street, not any schools kids either. Sorry." She says noticing me looking down the street.

"Oh... well sorry for disturbing you..." I step back, puzzled as she shuts the blue door.

Why would she lie about where she lived...?

What are you hiding Blondie?

🖤