Page 22 of Spring Tide

Daniel Moreno has been my friend since before I can remember. In reality, we met on the playground way back in preschool. Danny kicked a load of sand in my shoe, so I punched him square in the nose. He cried, I felt bad, and the rest is history.

Now, Danny’s a fellow linebacker at our rival school, Dayton University. It was always the plan to leave our small hometown together. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t afford the early deposit and lost out on my scholarship. Thankfully, Coastal U made me an offer I couldn’t refuse—a full ride within a twenty-mile radius of home.

Besides, I have no problem staying close to my family. Taylor and my parents need me around. And so do my three little sisters and delinquent brother. At least, they need me financially, which is why I’m counting on the draft this spring.

I’m nearly two hours into our nightly practice regime when I hear Coach call my name. His tone is sharp, gritty, and harsh on my ringing ears, and it’s likely because I’ve been leaning to the right for the last twenty minutes.

What more does this stubborn man want from me? I suffered through his conditioning program this morning, got taped by our interns before hitting the field, and now I’m on my last set of bag and tackle drills.

“Reynolds,” Coach calls again, one hand waving erratically in my face. “You’re unsteady on your feet today. What’s going on?”

I grit my teeth. “Nothing, Coach.”

“Yeah? No joint pain?” He scrutinizes me, eyes slowly dragging from my shoulder pads down to my dirt-stained cleats. “You’re leaning, son.”

“We’re all good here.”

Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear his gaze lingers on my knee for a split second too long. Then, before I can even blink, he gives me a tight-lipped smile followed by a heavy pat on the shoulder.

“Why don’t you have one of our interns look over you after practice today?” he suggests with a definitive nod. “Give ’em some practical experience.”

My brain scrambles to invent a reasonable excuse.

“I, uh, I’ve got work tonight,” I finally manage to spit out.

“I’m asking you for fifteen minutes, Reynolds.” He cocks a brow, tapping the end of his pen on his clipboard. This is no suggestion, that much is clear. “You told me you were dedicated to the team. That’s why I made you defensive captain this year.”

He’s right, in the end. I need to face the harsh reality that Coach Reid is the one in charge here. If I want to stay on his good side, then I need to keep up appearances and quit with the fucking back talk. God knows I’m not winning any popular votes with my teammates, either.

“Right.” I clear my throat, flexing the fist I’ve been clenching to my side. “Yeah, I suppose I can spare fifteen minutes.”

“Great.”

I manage to finish my last set of drills fully upright, with minimal lateral lean and a phony-ass grin for Coach. By the time I make it back to the athletic training room, my muscles are crying out for that promised massage.

Harper must have magical hands or something, I swear to God. The fucking woodland fairy.

As I step further into the room, the sound of hushed whispers catches me off guard. Along the back entrance, Eden and Fletcher are standing awfully close, their faces an inch or two apart. It’s difficult to judge Eden’s expression, though, as Fletcher has her caged in with one arm.

I clear my throat, taking a few solid steps closer to the pair. “Everything good here?”

Eden’s head ducks around Fletcher’s tall frame, cheeks flushed a warm shade of pink. Her eyes widen with recognition when she spots me. It only takes a brief moment before she’s scrambling away from her companion. Fletcher, on the other hand, is much slower on the uptake. His arm gently falls from the wall, spine visibly stiff at the sound of my voice.

When he finally turns to face me, his expression is plainly dejected.

“Sorry, Reynolds,” Eden squeaks out. “How can we help you?”

I raise one dubious brow, eyes locked on Fletcher. “Actually, Harper’s gonna look me over when I get to her place. If Coach asks, just tell him we’re all good here.”

“Sure thing.” Eden’s gaze flits from me to the wall, to Fletcher, and back again. She’s chewing on her bottom lip so roughly that she’s bound to draw blood. “See you later, then.”

She waves one trembling hand before darting out the back entrance. With a crestfallen shake of his head, Fletcher trails closely behind. I swear I hear the wordprincessfollowed by the heavy slam of an automatic door.

* * *

By the timeI’ve ventured home, showered, and dressed for Harper’s, I only have about five minutes left for a phone call. It’s not a huge deal, but we’ve been cutting our conversations short for months now. There’s always something in the way, whether it be my schedule or Danny’s.

He answers on the first ring with a cheerful “Hey, man.”

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