Page 62 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

“I can’t,” I whisper.

Jeremy sighs. “Probably for the best. She’s not ready for you, Coach. I hate to say it… but it’s the truth. Maybe one day, she will be.”

His words pierce the space between us, slicing my chest and wrangling the mangled flesh left behind.

She was ready. I felt it in every touch. Saw it in every look.

She just didn’t care enough to stay.

I don’t drive home when I leave. The thought of walking into a place that still reeks of her betrayal makes my stomach roil with nausea. So I drive to Waycor Arena instead.

Walking onto the empty court, my heart spasms, pinching so tight my knees give out. Every inch of this place is soaked in a memory. I touch my face, then stare at my hand, my fingers glistening from my tears.

I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe a sense of relief? The court is the only place where I’ve ever felt at peace.

But now there’s just this burn singeing through my veins, turning everything to ash.

Fuck her for ruining the one thing I had left.

And fuck her for leaving. Doesn’t she know she’s taking a piece of me with her? Doesn’t she care that she’s ruining my fucking soul?

Black rage surges through my gut, blasting a hole in my chest and mixing into my bloodstream.

I glance down at my watch. Five minutes. That’s what I’ll give myself. Just five minutes. And then… I’ll lock it up tight in the corner of my mind where it belongs.

With everything else.

31

Becca

Five Years Later

Becca

Swipe left. Swipe left. Swipe left.

My finger hovers over the face of an attractive dark-haired, green-eyed man. He’s the first one I’ve seen on this damn dating app that doesn’t have characteristics I do everything in my power to avoid.

I don’t use this app to “date” per se. More like a nice, free, uncomplicated way to find a nice out-of-town dick to ride, without having to deal with the town gossip, or the messy complications of someone wanting strings.

This guy, John, lives in Chattanooga and looks like he’d be a good distraction.

Swipe right.

I toss my phone to the side, leaning back on my lounger, soaking up the Saturday morning rays. It’s summer here in Sugarlake, and the Tennessee sun is hot and delicious on my skin. I’m not a fan of many things in this town, but I do love relaxing on the back porch of my little one-bed, one-bath cottage. I rent, of course. Don’t want to be too tied down in case I actually get the balls to leave.

I have about an hour before meeting Lee for brunch at Patty’s Diner.

It’s a thing—our Saturday morning brunches. It has been ever since I moved back five years ago, and realized Lee wasn’t any better mentally than she was when I left for college. Somewhere between me being in Florida, and her other best friend, Jax, being on the road all the time, she’s regressed into this melancholy state where we have to force her to be among the land of the living. I think she’d rather slip away to be with her momma’s ghost.

I don’t mind focusing on keeping Lee afloat. If I submerge myself in other people’s problems, then I don’t have to focus on my own.

Probably why I became a social worker for the high school.

Never mind the fact I’m twenty-six and back in the town I always dreamed of escaping. Or how I’m still under my old man’s thumb, worse now than I ever was back then, because now, I don’t put up a fight.

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