Page 40 of Don't Let Go

Their coach was about six inches taller than my old one and had about twenty pounds on him, but he had more muscle than anything else. There was a hint of gray in his beard.

I shoved my hands into my front pockets. “I’m not from around here. I transferred from Lincoln High.”

His eyes widened like he’d found the golden ticket in the Wonka chocolate bar. “Oh? What’s your name?”

“Tyler Winston, sir.”

He scratched his chin. “Is that right? I’m sorry to hear about your pops.”

He figured out who I was. Great. Just what I needed: pity from a coach I had never met.

“Thanks.” I eyed the door, hoping this painful exchange of words would end soon.

He smacked my shoulder. “See ya around, kid.” He clenched his clipboard and disappeared into the doorway that douchebag Rory called a boyfriend went through.

I might not have been able to leave this godforsaken school, but I’d be damned if I set foot in this gym again. It was too excruciating to watch the game live, and I was thankful none ofthose wannabes wore my number. That would’ve been a stake to the heart.

The basketball lay abandoned on the court. I picked it up and dribbled it a few times before shooting it across the court and into the net. Perfect shot. I closed my eyes and remembered the roar of the crowd going berserk for those moves.

I opened my eyes and saw no one.

No one but the coach. He returned and watched me with a Cheshire cat smile on his face.

20

Aurora

After the game, Paolo and his teammates wanted to grab pizza to celebrate their win. It was a melancholy win, since Thomas got injured during the game, and no one knew if he could play again.

I forgot to bring an extra pair of clothes to change into after the game, and I refused to stay in my nerdy band uniform. Luckily, Chloe always had extra clothes in her locker, letting me borrow a top and skirt. The negative side was Chloe loved skirts extra short, so I spent the night pulling at the material for a millimeter more coverage.

Paolo loved the tight denim skirt. He talked to his teammates about plays between bites of pizza while his left hand explored my inner right thigh.

As he crept his way to places no one should touch in public, I slammed my legs closed, trapping his hand.

He dropped the crust he was chewing on and gave me a sinister smile. I squeezed my legs together, wishing I was strong enough to break his bones. A fake, playful smile curled my lips as I released him. He grabbed a chunk of my thigh and winked. It was a wonder I didn't always have bruises on my legs.

“What are we going to do if they bench Thomas?” James asked, grabbing the last piece of cheese pizza.

Paolo flared his nostrils. “We’ll have to pick up the slack.”

I choked on my soda. Paolo glared at me as I pounded my chest. “Swallowed wrong,” I lied. In all honesty, without Thomas, we were screwed. I think everyone knew that except Paolo.

“I don’t think that will help, man,” Bryce said, running a hand along his chin as he drummed his freakishly long fingers on the table. Bryce was our fastest player. He was nicknamed Chocolate Lightning because of the honey brown of his skin and how quick he was on his feet. The only issue was there was no point in being fast if you had no one to pass the ball to. I might not know everything about basketball, but I at least learned the basics.

James stretched his arms over his head and twisted his torso in his chair to pop his back. “What if we got the new guy? Winston?”

My heart sank into my gut. I slid my eyes over to Paolo, his jaw was set, and his fists balled. He hated Tyler with a deep passion, and I didn’t understand why.

“No!” Paolo pounded his fist on the table, knocking over a couple of soda glasses. Bryce and James jumped to avoid liquid staining their pants.

“Chill out!” Bryce yelled, grabbing a bunch of brown napkins and mopping up the mess.

Paolo sank into the leather of the booth as if nothing happened. He had this cold, dead look in his eyes. He had perfected his godfather’s poker face. There was no doubt hecould run the mafia one day if only he’d keep his temper in check.

“We are not adding a new member. He can’t help us,” Paolo said. His voice was harsh as he said each word as if they tasted like vinegar.

“Whatever. I’m getting another drink.” James grabbed his glass and walked over to the soda machine.

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