Page 24 of All Signs Point to Malibu

“Come on, Coach, it’s like a hundred degrees out here,” Marcus says, removing his helmet and pushing sweaty dark blond hair away from his forehead.

It actually is almost a hundred degrees out here. This spring has to be breaking heat records and the humidity is not helping my nausea. I could use five minutes in the shade.

“Five-minute break!” I yell to the team.

The teens rush off the field to get hydrated and I wave Marcus toward me. He grabs his water bottle and takes a swig as he approaches.

“What’s up with you? You’re slacking out there.”

“Could say the same to you. Looking kinda rough today, Coach,” he says.

“I’m not the one who has to impress scouts next month.” I haven’t had to impress anyone with my on-the-field skills in two years. Not sure I could anymore. The career of a professional athlete is even more fleeting than youth. Two years out of the game, I’ve gone soft—too slow, too uncoordinated, too unmotivated and I hate the nagging thought that maybe this would be where I am now anyway even if it weren’t for Hailey’s destruction.

“What’s going on?” I ask Marcus.

“Late night, that’s all,” he says and what I hear very clearly is “get off my ass.”

Not going to happen. My job as his coach is to push him even harder when I know he’s not living up to his full potential. He entrusted me with that power when he signed up for my team. I peer at him. “Drinking?”

“Nah, Coach.” He sighs and lowers his voice so his teammates won’t hear. “Mom was working a late shift. Stayed up to meet her and walk her home.”

“What’s wrong with her car?”

He stares at the ground. “Crapped out.”

I sigh and nod, lowering my voice. “Okay, well, call me next time, okay?”

Marcus nods, but I know he won’t. I tap his shoulder and he hurries off toward his teammates.

I respect the hell out of him for his commitment to taking care of his mom, even if I know it’s not helping his own future. Internal turmoil, external pressure, and every day not spent on this field is weighing on him and I’d like to help relieve some of that burden, but it’s not my place. All I can do is hope people are right when they say tough times build character.

I reach for my bottle of Gatorade, take a swig, then nearly choke on it as I see Hailey walking across the field toward me, carrying two coffees. She’s dressed in professional clothing—a slim-fitting pencil skirt and a loose blouse that blows casually in the wind to reveal just a hint of a lacy bra underneath. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, but several strands have come loose and fly across her face in the breeze. Completing the look are sky-high strappy heels. She looks like she stepped from the pages ofForbesmagazine—despite this sweltering heat, she’s not wilting one little bit. I glance at my sweat-covered shirt and quickly do an armpit smell check as she strides toward me...

...then stumbles on the grass. Coffee sloshes out of the cup as she quickly regains footing.

Underneath it all, still the same klutzy Hailey Harris from high school.

I hide a grin as I fold my arms across my chest and keep my gaze on the field as she stops next to me. “Aren’t you afraid of ruining your shoes?”

“It’s okay, I’ve worn these twice already,” she says sarcastically.

I raise an eyebrow beneath my sunglasses. Up close, she’s even more perky and polished. No sign of a hangover. I saw her consume copious amounts of champagne the night before—not that I was watching her, she just has an annoying way of drawing my eye. And after the exchange I witnessed between her and Liam, I was keeping an eye on things, so I don’t know how she’s so lively this morning.

“What do you want?” I ask when the reason she’s here isn’t immediately forthcoming.

Hailey extends a coffee cup. “Brought you a coffee.”

With or without arsenic? “Why?”

She sighs at my suspicion. “Look, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I thought it was time to kiss and make up.”

I ignore the outstretched cup, despite the tempting scent of caffeine escaping from it. “I’ll assume you mean figuratively.”

“Obvs. Come on, Warren, our friend is getting married. Things don’t have to be awkward,” she says as thoughI’mthe one being petty.

“I’m not awkward. And he’smyfriend.Yourex.” Why they still talk I don’t know. A breakup by definition means to break apart. They should be staying far apart, not pretending their history doesn’t matter. This never works out...in my limited relationship experience. I can’t shake the interaction between them the night before or my gut reaction to it.

But damn it, the coffee smells too good. I snatch a cup from Hailey and gulp, burning my mouth.

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