Our teammates linger around with sodas and plates stacked with burgers and chips. Ty instantly darts over to grab his own plate while I stand back, taking in the moment.
I’m in Cary Pierce’s backyard.
“Hey, Junior.”
A light hand brushes my shoulder and I lock eyes with Bob, our assistant coach. He’s been around the university for nearly as long as Duncan was. “Hey,” I greet him.
He chuckles at my expression. “Bit of a shock, eh?”
“More than a bit!” I laugh. “I thought for sure you’d be our new coach.”
Bob waves his hand. “With this old mug? Nah… I mean, I did, too, but when the school board called me about this… I didn’t argue with it. It’s what’s right for you boys.”
I nod. It hasn’t sunk in at all yet. Cary Pierce is our new coach.
“Hey, guys!” Pierce’s voice booms across the lawn, instantly grabbing our attention. He claps his hands together and scans the crowd, making sure to make eye contact with each one of us. “I can tell by the looks on your faces that I don’t have to introduce myself or list off my qualifications. But who I am isn’t important — you are. It’s an honor to meet you all. I look forward to getting some one-on-one time with each of you and, hopefully, being the coach you deserve.”
Ty nudges my ribs, practically giggling to himself with a full plate of fried food. I have no idea how any of them can eat right now. I can hardly even breathe.
“I’m coming in a little late here,” Pierce goes on. “The semester has already started, and your first game is this Saturday. It was unfortunate to hear about your old coach. From what I’ve been told, he was a good man but from every tragedy comes opportunity. You know, when I told people I was moving here to be your coach, they looked at me and asked — Why? You’re Cary Pierce. You can coach anywhere you want. Why go to that school? They’re just a bunch of losers.”
I glance around, feeling the air shift and team’s morale plummets. We won one game last season and even less than that the year before. The term loser is more spot-on than we’d care to admit.
“No talent, no wins,” Pierce says. “You know what I said? I said they were right. You are a bunch of losers…” He glances around again, letting it all sink in on us. “But so was I. When I played college ball, I was nothing. We were nothing. We had stats not so different than yours right now. Then, one day, a new coach came to town and changed everything. He trained us harder than we’d ever thought possible. He motivated us to not only change our minds about how we saw ourselves but to change everyone else’s mind as well. I want you to let me be that coach for you.”
I feel a boost of confidence, one I haven’t felt before in my entire life. The rest of the team stands a little taller, too.
“We went all the way to the top that season and the next one and the next one and this season, I’m going to do the same for you. My old coach died two years ago. Before that happened, I made a promise to change a few lives just like he did. I want to start with yours. How does that sound?”
The team erupts with shouts and applause. I clap louder than anyone.
Cary Pierce, our new coach. It’s a dream come true; an absolute fairy tale made a reality.
“All right!” he shouts, clapping with us. “I like the enthusiasm!”
I expected this semester to be awful in many ways. My classes aren’t great, and I wasn’t planning on the team doing much better than last season, but now, with Cary freakin’ Pierce leading the charge…
We might end this year as gods.
Movement draws my eye toward the house, along with a sudden flash of light as the kitchen fluorescents flick on. A shape passes by the windows, short and petite with feminine curves. She rounds the island counter toward the refrigerator and my breath catches in my throat.
I step toward the house, my gaze locked on her body. She wears tight yoga pants and a baggy sweater that hangs off one shoulder. Her bare feet glide along the floor with bright, pink-colored toes. Long, brown hair sits on top of her head in a sloppy bun.
Complete, casual elegance.
I slide the outer door open to walk into the kitchen and she spins around with two bottles of water in her hands. I gulp my saliva down as her stunning, blue eyes flash at me.
“Hey—” I choke.
“Hi,” she says, kicking the fridge door closed.
“Who are you?”
She raises a brow. “Excuse me?”
“I mean…” I step closer to the counter. “I’m Junior.”
“Junior of what?”
“Just Junior,” I answer.
“Your parents named you second best?” she asks, giving a short smirk.
“My big sister used to say that.” I chuckle. “I proved them wrong.”
Her eyes jut up and down with skepticism. “Have you?”
“Junior!” I spin around as Cary Pierce walks inside. “I see you’ve met my daughter, Eliza.”
Eliza.
“You interrupted the introductions, actually,” she quips. Her eyes move from his to mine. “I’m Eliza.”
She holds out her hand, but his thick palm slaps my shoulder again.
“How about we head on back outside, Junior?” he says, not really asking. “I’ve got a few more motivational speeches in me and I’d hate for you to miss them.”
I nod. “All right.”
He tilts his head at Eliza. “I thought we agreed that you would stay upstairs tonight…”
She gives a quick smile. “Relax, Dad. I’m just getting us some water.”
“You have a sink upstairs.”
I glance up at him, jarred but the sudden hardness in his tone but it doesn’t seem to faze her at all.
“Whoops. My bad,” she says, spinning on her pointed toes. “It was nice to meet you, just Junior.”
“You, too,” I add, feeling another tight squeeze on my shoulder.
As she leaves, the coach guides me away from the counter toward the back door. I crane my neck until it hurts just to watch her leave, aching to see more of that tight body but it disappears into the shadowed hall before I can memorize another detail of her.
“Junior…” He clears his throat. “I’m going to expect three very specific, yet simple, things from you guys this season.” He holds up a hand and counts on his fingers as he talks. “Hit the gym hard five times a week. Don’t fuel your body with crap. And…” He shifts around to stand in front of me and drops his hands from my shoulders. “Stay away from my daughter.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
His eyes keep a hard edge. “Does that sound simple enough?”
I glance over my shoulder into the kitchen again, stunned and confused. “I’m sorry, Coach. You’ve got the wrong idea. I was just being polite.”
“Good.” His lips curl into a forced, almost menacing, grin. “It’s nothing personal. Don’t think I’m singling you out — it goes for the entire team. I’d rather not have my work life mixing with my family life.”
“I understand completely, Coach.”
“Excellent.”
He turns away and marches back into the yard, leaving me with a very annoying chill racing down my spine. In any other situation, if a person of authority spoke to me like that, I’d be all about getting them back for it, but this is Cary Pierce. The term childhood hero doesn’t quite cover the admiration I feel for the man. He could have told me to drop and lick his shoes and I’d immediately ask whether he preferred the laces or the soles.