Emery crosses her arms at her chest. “He has no power over you or me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. He has the power to make my life a living hell.”
She chews her pink-glossed lip as if thinking things over. “Okay.” She shrugs. “You’re not nearly as brave as I thought.”
I smile slowly, all teeth as I bite back the urge to give in to what she wants, to lose my temper and prove I’m the unstable loaded gun she can aim at her dad. “Safe to say, you’re not what I expected either.” I eye her from her pink headband to her leather top-siders, noting the contrast of her virginal look versus how she liked it when I pulled her hair and spanked her ass. She bit and scratched and purred like a kitten.
She turns her attention to Rowan. “I’m Emery, by the way.” They shake hands politely. “I like your shirt.”
Rowan grins, clearly won over by the cat in preppy clothing. “Thanks. Most people don’t get it.”
“It’s a physics pun. Don’t be a jerk. The time derivative. It’s funny.” The pretty psycho grins.
“Exactly.” Rowan’s eyes light up as if she’s seeing land after months lost at sea. “I haven’t seen you around, are you a new student?” Rowan taking an interest in this chick is not good. Next thing, she’ll be inviting her over for dinner and study dates and I need Emery to stay as far away from me as possible.
“I am. Just graduated from Pontus Academy in Massachusetts.”
Mass? That explains why I didn’t know Coach had a kid.
“Thrilling conversation,” I say sounding bored. “But we need to be on the field in thirty.”
Her blue eyes register no apology. “Of course. Don’t let me hold you up.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Rowan says as Carey pulls her along. “I’ll see you around sometime. We should grab a coffee!”
When we’re far enough away that we can’t be overheard, Carey asks the burning question. “Is that the chick you hooked up with after the game?”
“Yeah.”
He chuckles. “You ghosted her pretty hard, man. What were you saying about the team?”
I bite the inside of my mouth, feeling the pinch and tasting the blood. “Brawley.”
“What about him?”
“Emery is Coach’s daughter.”
Carey stops walking, the news seeming to slam him in the gut and still his progress. “Tell me you’re joking!”
“I wish I were.”
THREE
Spider
WE’RE HALFWAY THROUGH warm-ups with our strength and conditioning coach when Brawley stomps onto the field. I haven’t seen him since I stood with my nuts in my hands waiting for him to beat me.
I’m not afraid of him. I’ve taken more beatings than I can count, both on and off the field. I am terrified about him taking away my only outlet—football. He could bench me for the season, for the rest of my career if he wanted to.
“Web!” He waves me over.
Carey lifts his chin. “Need a wingman?”
“Nah, I got it.” I jog to Coach and push my sweat soaked hair off my forehead. “What’s up.”
“We need to talk.” He heads toward the benches expecting me to follow.
I do.
Once there he adjusts his BSU ball cap as if it’s lined with spikes and he’s trying to find the most comfortable position. “About Emery.”
“I didn’t know she was your kid.”
He nods solemnly. “I believe you.” He looks around as if to gauge who might be listening, then mumbles, “I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“I’m not gonna tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.” I’d be an idiot to dig myself any deeper than I already have by banging his daughter.
His expression pinches, as if he’s not completely comfortable with whatever he’s about to say. “Emery is pissed at me.” He breathes heavily, finally takes off his uncomfortable hat and takes the bench. He braces his elbows on his knees and runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “We lost her mom when she was eight. I was a mess and I didn’t know how to raise a little girl. I sent Emery to boarding school.”
I grit my teeth together at the thought of a young Emery being shipped across the country by her only living parent while mourning the loss of her mom.
“I was a shitty dad.” He pops his hat back on his head. “Emery’s angry. She’s trying to hurt me.”
“Can’t say I blame her.”
His face reddens and I prep for him to yell in my face, tell me to mind my own damn business, but like a popped balloon he deflates. “Yeah.