Page 27 of Pieces

The turf feels like it’s swallowing me whole. My lungs are burning, legs like cement, but I keep going. Stopping isn’t an option. Not tonight. Coach is on a tear, barking out orders like this is the championship game tomorrow, not just another grueling practice. Every time I think we’re done, he demands more.

Seb’s up ahead, his strides slowing, shoulders heaving like he might collapse at any second. Benny’s next to me, barely keeping pace, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Every stride is a fight against the urge to just stop. My stomach twists in protest, nausea bubbling up with every push forward. If Coach yells “again” one more time, I’m pretty sure I’ll lose it, physically, mentally, all of it.

“Last one!” Coach roars, his voice echoing across the field.

And I almost fucking cry at the idea of going again.

We all know that’s a lie. He’s been saying “last one” for the past three laps, and every time we cross the line, he just resets the clock, like we’re stuck in some endless torture cycle.

I grit my teeth, focusing on the rhythm of my steps, even though my muscles are screaming. It’s the only way to survive this, just one step, then another, then another, until the pain is background noise. I tell myself I’m not gonna give him the satisfaction of breaking me.

But then Benny pulls up next to me, his face flushed, drenched in sweat. “Who’s that?”

“What—” I snap, glancing sideways at him, but his head jerks toward the sidelines as we move into the final lap. I follow his gaze, and my whole body stumbles, feet dragging against the turf like they’ve forgotten how to move.

My chest heaves, vision swimming, and for a second, I think my brain is playing tricks on me. It has to be. I shake my head, but it just makes more sweat drip into my eyes. There’s no fucking way I’m seeing what I think I see.

Daphne.

My Daphne.

Hugging Coach.

My first thought is that it can’t be real. My heart was already hammering from the sprints, but now it’s pounding for a whole different reason. I blink hard, trying to clear the sweat stinging my eyes, but she’s still there. Scrubbing my arm across my face, I blink again as we come to a stop, and it doesn’t change a damn thing. She’s laughing, her face bright, her arms wrapped around Coach like they’ve known each other forever. But how the fuck?

My brain scrambles to make sense of it. Hallucinations are a thing when you’re over-exercising, right? Heat exhaustion, dehydration, whatever this is, it’s messing with me. That’s gotta be it. Because why the hell would Daphne be here?Why would she know Coach?

Then she moves, tucking her hair behind her ear, and I catch the exact tilt of her smile. I’d know it anywhere. I’ve been thinking about her a lot over the last couple of days and how easy it was being with her. There’s no denying it. It’s her.

“Hudson!” Benny’s voice is like cold water dumped over my head. “You good, man?”

I whip my head forward, trying to act normal, but my stomach’s in knots. “Nothing,” I mutter. “I mean, I’m fine.”

Benny snorts at my clipped tone, and I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Seb jogs up from behind, catching the tail end of the conversation. “What’s he freaking out about now?” he asks, his face as red as ours.

Benny doesn’t miss a beat. “Notwhat,dude.Who.” He jerks his thumb toward the sideline, and I want to kill him.

I risk a quick glance back. She’s still there, her body angled just enough that I catch her soft curves and internally groan at the memory of her riding me.

Fuuuuuuck.

Nothing about this can be good.

Seb follows Benny’s gaze, then does a double take. “Oh. Who’s she supposed to be? His daughter or something?”

The idea of her being Coach’s daughter makes my knees feel weak.

“She’s hot as fuck, though,” Benny says, and I hiss, but he doesn’t take notice.

Oh my god, I feel like I’m underwater. Please don’t be my coach’s daughter. Please. Please. Please. I watch him wrap his arm around her shoulder and pull her to his side, and while I can’t compare, that looks a lot like a fatherly hug from a guy who loves his daughter.

My body is exhausted, and my brain is playing catch up in a way that’s making me dizzy.

“Don’t tell me you can’t see how hot she is?” Benny says, clearly ignoring me.

I don’t know if she can see us from this far down the field, but I can sure as shit see her. And he’s right, she’s a smokeshow, even in her simple leggings and pink sweater.

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