The Endgame Is You (Rixon Raiders #4) - L A Cotton Page 0,52

grueling, and I knew Coach Byford probably wanted to know where my head was at.

“Hey, Coach.”

“Take a seat, son.” He motioned to the seat opposite his desk and I sat. “Do I need to be worried?” Fingers steepled, he sat back, studying me.

“It’s my brother, sir. He’s...” Fuck. I didn’t know what the hell was going on with Xander. He’d only been in second grade a few weeks and my parents had already been called in four times.

Four.

“He’s finding it tough.”

Coach whipped off his ball cap and let out a long breath. “That’s rough, Cameron. I feel for the little fella, I do. But this is your senior year, son, and the team have a real shot at going all the way. I need to know my best wide receiver has his head on straight.”

“I know, Coach. I’m sorry.”

“You’re a good brother, Cam, and you’re a good guy. But the team needs you, here, on the field.”

I nodded, unable to reply over the lump in my throat.

“Scouts are going to be making the rounds soon enough, and you’ve got it, son. But you need to leave all the other crap at the door, okay? When you come into my locker room, you come with a clear head and—”

“And hunger for the win.”

“Damn straight. Now get out of here.”

I got up and made for the door, but Coach’s voice stopped me at the last second. “And Chase?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You ever need to talk, my door is always open.”

“Thanks, Coach.” I gave him a small nod before slipping back into the locker room. My quarterback, a guy called Dominic Sanchez, was waiting.

“Everything good?”

“He’s worried.” My lips pursed.

“Does he need to be worried?”

“I’ll be okay.”

He clapped me on the back. “Do you know what I think you need?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”

Dom guided me over to our corner of the benches. “You need to go find that woman of yours and let her help relieve all the tension you got going on, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Amen to that, brother.” Dylan, our running back, held his hand out and the two of them fist bumped.

“Beats hanging around with you bunch of losers.” I shot back around a smirk. But it was all front.

It had been for a while.

I loved my team. I loved my classes and living in Michigan with Hailee.

But I didn’t love being four-hundred miles from home, from my kid brother and his struggles.

Everyone—Mom, Dad, Jase and Asher, even Hailee—kept telling me it was only eight more months. Eight more months until we could move back to Rixon and be closer to my family. But I couldn’t shake the pit in my stomach, the feeling that this was only the beginning, that Xander knew something the rest of us didn’t.

And that terrified the shit out of me.

“Hailee?” I threw my keys on the sideboard and moved deeper into our loft apartment overlooking the Huron River.

The chilled beats of Röyksopp drifted down the hall and I knew exactly where to find her. Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, I kicked off my sneakers and headed for the mezzanine. Sure enough, Hailee was standing over a canvas with her back to me, paintbrush in hand.

I leaned against the wall for a second, drinking in the sight of her. While I’d found it hard being away from Rixon—from my family—Hailee had flourished at Michigan. She loved every second of her arts degree and her talent had grown substantially. So much so that last spring we’d decided to get a bigger place, somewhere to accommodate her growing collection of paintings and sculptures.

Our new place was perfect. It was an industrial warehouse that had been converted into huge open plan apartments. Ours was lucky enough to have a mezzanine that was perfect for Hailee’s studio, without her feeling locked away in a different part of the apartment.

Her body swayed gently to the music as she brushed long sweeping arcs over the splodges of color already decorating the canvas. Almost four years later, and I still didn’t really understand most of her art. But I loved watching her. Her work attire didn’t hurt the eyes either.

She currently stood in an oversized white shirt that grazed her thighs. Hailee had pulled her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and from the way the shirt was hanging off one shoulder, I knew she’d probably left some buttons open.

Taking a long pull on my beer, I placed it on the sideboard