by Angel Lawson
“You nervous?” she asks us.
Finn shakes his head. “Nah. Just another step toward the prize. Brookside is going down.”
“Good,” she says, reaching for his waist. “Kiss for luck?”
Finn’s eyebrow lifts, and he quickly glances back at me before sliding his arms around Kenley’s back. I’m taken back to the day in the little cottage when she told us she wanted to date all three of us. Watching her kiss Ozzy and Finn had been a thrill. Seeing her and Holloway kiss now?
Fucking hot.
His jaw tenses and her pink tongue licks against his. His hands dip beneath the hem of her shirt, and my stomach burns at the memory of her body underneath mine. When they part, her eyes flick to mine and the small smile on her mouth lets me know I’m less spectator and more of a quiet participant. I can wait my turn.
Finn releases her, his eyes slightly glazed. She walks over to me and twists my shirt in her fingers. I brush her hair back over her shoulder and say, “I’m really sorry about the other night.”
“Not a big deal. Embarrassing? Yes. End of the world? No.”
God, she’s incredible.
“Go out there tonight and show your dad that you’ve got this, okay?”
My chest warms. “Okay.”
“And if he acts like a dick, know that I’ll be in the stands cheering you on. Me and Ozzy, okay?”
I smile. Any girl that calls my father a dick is a fucking keeper. “Got it.”
She laughs and pushes up on her toes. I wrap my arms around her and lift her up, raising her up to meet me. Her mouth is hot, her tongue quick, bolts of lightning shoot under my skin. I’m already ramped up for the game, but this? This is next level. As much as I want to keep kissing her I know we’ve got a game to get to and reluctantly lower her back to the ground.
“If that’s what we get for luck, what happens if we win the game?” I ask, squeezing her fingers.
Her eyebrow raises. “You win the game and come find me after. I’ll be more than happy to congratulate you.”
Jesus. Under that sweet little façade is a dirty girl threatening to come out.
“See you after the game.” Finn winks and pushes the cafeteria door open.
“Thanks, babe.”
“Good luck.” She waves, and we walk through the door.
The cafeteria is empty, other than a few Booster members cleaning up. Monica Chandler smiles as we pass by. Once we’re out the other door, I look at Finn and say, “How the hell did we ever let that girl slip through our fingers?”
“I don’t know, man,” he says, shaking his head, “but I’m damn sure glad we got her back."
Thirty minutes later, I tug my football pants up and lace them at the waist. Finn rummages through his locker, dropping his gloves, socks, and jersey on the bench.
“Ez,” Finn says, shutting his locker door. “Can you help me wrap my shoulder?”
“Sure.” I follow him toward the training room.
We pass by the Coach’s office and he calls out, “Finn, I need you for a minute.”
I wait outside, between the office and the training room. Jen’s inside wrapping Carlos’ ankle. Coach Chandler’s voice carries.
“How are you feeling?” he asks Finn.
“Good. Strong. My shoulder isn’t bothering me.”
“Excellent. I feel like you’re prepared.”
“Yep, me, too.”
“I want to make sure that you’re 110% mentally and physically. If there’s anything bothering you, tell me now so we can free your mind. Girls. Fears. Injuries.”
“I’m good, Coach. Everything is going well.”
I hear Coach’s chair creak. “I heard from Ezra Baxter—senior. He told me about catching the Keene girl and Ezra together the other night in a very compromising position.”
“Excuse me?” Finn’s voice is even—restrained.
“I know you’ve been seeing her. I’m assuming it’s not exclusive?”
“Uh, I’m not sure why we’re talking about this? Now?”
“Because this is a test, Holloway. Do you have the mettle to push aside your emotions and focus on the biggest damn game of your life? Because petty bullshit will derail your focus. It’s also the kind of fuel you may need to focus everything on a win. Football is your life, Holloway. Your future. Girls…well they’re good for a release, but after the Waller girl…you should realize that it’s better not to get attached. This Kenley Keene isn’t any different. She’s not loyal. She’s not committed. She doesn’t understand your drive or determination. Your sacrifice. She’s looking for a popular guy and now that Ezra’s on the team, and doing well, it’s obvious she’ll spread her legs for anyone.”
My blood boils under my skin, dark anger pumping through my veins. He’s one word short of calling Kenley a whore. I fight the urge to barge into the room and tell him the fuck off.
I don’t need to. Finn’s got me beat.
“With all due respect, Coach Chandler, I’d rather not discuss my dating life with you, particularly right before the biggest game of my life, but I’ll tell you something,” his tone hard, “you don’t know anything about Kenley Keene, and you sure as hell will never talk about her in a disrespectful way again or I’ll focus my drive and determination into kicking your ass.”
“Holloway—”
“No,” he says, voice lowering, “I know about you and Rose. You destroyed her, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you do the same to another girl I care about.”
He walks out, jaw tight, eyes cutting my way.
“Did you hear that?” he asks, walking down the hall and out the back door. It slams behind us.
“Yeah, all of it.”
“Fucking dick.”
“He’s stirring up shit,” I say.
“Or,” he replies, running his hand through his hair, “Kenley’s already stirred it first.”
Finn’s right. What Chandler just said wasn’t a first shot. It was a defensive move. Trying to get ahead of the game. It was desperate, vile, and most of all, he showed his hand. Kenley’s onto something, and he knows it.
“We need to talk to her after the game,” he says. “Because if he really did something to Rose? To Jacqueline? He could hurt her.”
“After the game, we put a stop to this. Go to McMichael. Or my dad.”
Finn holds out his fist, and I punch it with my own.
No matter what happens at the end of the night, win or lose, everything at Thistle Cove High is about to change.
33
Kenley
The stands are packed—both Thistle Cove and Brookside came out in force to support their teams. The charge of energy is palpable. The players are nervous on the sidelines, the cheerleaders frantic. The bands compete from opposites sides of the field; the sound of drumbeats and horns clashing. I wrap my hand around Ozzy’s both for warmth and to steady my nerves. I know this is a big deal to my boys.
There’s no sneaking under the bleachers tonight—we’re both focused on the game. At the start of the fourth quarter, we’re up by six. Definitely not enough of a lead.
I watch for number fourteen, Finn, in the middle of the pack. He’s focused. Determined. I felt it in his kiss. He wants this bad, and I want it for him.
And Ezra? Number seventeen. He’s a little different. He’s out there proving himself after three years of messing around. His dad, Coach Chandler, the team, but most of all he needs to prove to himself that he can do something and do it right. He adjusts his helmet and bends, getting into position. Finn calls the play, the ball snaps, and everyone scatters.
I tighten my grip on Ozzy’s hand, feeling the cool silver of his ring pushing into my skin.
Brookside is fast, and our guys are having a hard time keeping Finn in the clear. The good news is that he’s faster, which means he makes his passes, but more than once he’s tackled seconds after the ball leaves his hands and slammed to the ground.
I flinch as he takes the hit, pressing my face into Ozzy�
�s arm.
“He’ll be okay,” he says, fingers linked with mine. The crowd cheers when Ezra runs over to Finn and helps him off the ground.
“This is nerve wracking,” I say.
Another play—this time a long, spiraled pass gracefully spins off Finn’s fingertips. I leap to my feet, dragging Ozzy to me.
“Run, Ezra, run!” I shout, watching as Ezra makes a break, number seventeen blazing down the sideline. As he crosses into the end zone, his arms lift in the air, and the ball lands in them, like a baby cradled against his side.
That puts us up by twelve. I kiss Ozzy on the cheek and say, “Now that we’ve got a solid lead, I’m going to risk going to the bathroom. Need anything from concessions?”
“No, thanks,” he squeezes my hand one last time. “I’ll save your seat.”
I squeeze through the crowd, passing the cluster of parents and teachers. My mom is in deep conversation with Regina Waller. Monica sits on the other side, glancing up when she sees me. I avert my eyes and spot Shannon and wave. I need to call her tomorrow and tell her my suspicions on Chandler. I’m trying my hardest to let tonight be about this game, about the boys, and not ruin it with my theories.
The bathroom is heated, and I take a moment to thaw out. Winter is rushing toward us and I run my hands under the warm water. I look down at my palm and see a weird imprint. Strange lines. I rub at it, then remember Ozzy’s ring. I’d been holding his hand so tight it left a mark, an indentation.
I stare at it for a long minute, pieces of a puzzle slowly clicking into place.
Holy shit.
A group of middle schoolers walk in, making noise as I’m reaching for my phone. I push through the door and wave my way through the crowd, looking for a quiet spot. It’s a fool’s endeavor because I’m in the middle of a huge football game. The crowd, the band, the cheerleaders, horns and bells. I see a break in the crowd and head toward it—walking out the gate and into the parking lot.
I press the button to call Janice’s number when I’m close to my car.
It goes straight to voicemail.
“Hey,” I say, putting the call on speaker so I can text at the same time. “It’s Kenley. I’m going to send you a picture. I think, no, I’m pretty damn sure I know what made that bruise on Jacqueline’s face. It’s an indention from a ring. A state championship ring. A triangle. The faint shapes are a number. Nineteen—”
In the car window I see a shadow move behind me. My heart jumps in my throat and I spin.
“Hey,” I say, quickly hanging up. “What are you—”
The punch comes so fast I don’t feel the impact on my face. I stumble back, head slamming on the side mirror of the car. Black spots swim in my vision and I try to stay upright by holding onto the side of the car. I face my attacker but it’s too late, the second punch knocks me out.
34
Ozzy
The scoreboard clock runs down, ticking off the final seconds of the game, and Kenley hasn’t returned. I’m standing, but so is the rest of the crowd, pumped up and excited about a Thistle Cove win. I pull out my phone.
Oz: Where are you?
The final buzzer goes off, igniting the entire student body and everyone on the field. I push down, hoping I can find Kenley down by the track. She probably couldn’t get back to the seats and waited down below so she could get to the guys after the game.
Except she’s not down by the track. I follow the surge of fans on to the field. Two players dump a cooler of Gatorade over Chandler’s head. He grins with victory—the light of a win flashing in his eyes. Finn and Ezra and are in the middle of celebrations. The football kind—butt slaps and high fives. I find them together.
“Congrats guys,” I say. “Well done.”
Finn’s eyes meet mine, eyebrows raised. Where is she?
I shake my head and shrug, then check my phone again.
No reply.
A heavy gloved hand comes down on my shoulder. Ezra. “Where’s Kenley?”
“She went down to the bathroom after your touchdown. She never came back.”
His eyes search over everyone’s head, and a feeling of unease builds in my stomach. “You guys do this. I’ll go find her.” I push out my fist and they both bump theirs against mine. “Maybe she wanted to just celebrate with you on her own.” A sparkly cheerleader jumps on one of the players. “Away from all this craziness.”
“We’ll meet you out front,” Finn says as he’s being pulled away by a teammate.
I comb through the crowd but Kenley’s nowhere to be found. I ask a girl to check the bathroom. When I describe her, she says, “Oh, she was in here a while ago. She left though. I think she was calling someone.”
“Did you see her again?”
She shakes her head and runs off with her friends.
At the gate I bump into Shannon Hughes. “Hey—have you seen Kenley?”
“Not since the fourth quarter. She was headed down below.”
“Yeah, I can’t find her.”
“It’s pretty crazy in here. Maybe she’s waiting for you by the car?”
“Maybe. Thanks.” I start toward the gate. The crowd is thinning now and there’s a long line of cars waiting to get out of the parking lot. I cross the median to get to the student lot where Kenley’s car is among those left. I walk toward the Honda, eyes scanning the lot. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Something isn’t right.
“Ozzy!” I spin when I hear my name. Janice Hill crosses the parking lot. “Hey, have you seen Kenley?”
“I’m looking for her. I haven’t seen her since the fourth quarter.”
Two other figures walk our way. It’s Finn and Ezra. Changed out of their uniforms but it’s obvious they didn’t shower.
“Any word?” Finn asks.
I check my phone and shake my head.
“She called me,” Janice says. “She said she knew what caused the bruise on Jacqueline Cates’ face and sent me a picture.”
She holds up the phone. It’s a photo of a ring—the Thistle Cove State Championship ring. The number nineteen is on the side.
“That’s Chandler’s,” Ezra says.
“The message ended abruptly. I think maybe she got cut off.”
“Do you think she’s right?” Finn asks. “About the bruise?”
Janice holds up another photo. It’s a blown-up image of Jacqueline’s face. The bruise is obviously hard to see, but with context, it’s easy to make out the imprint of a triangle and indentions from the raised design. “She may not be wrong.”
“Chandler tried to warn me off of Kenley this afternoon,” Finn says. “We got the idea that maybe she said something to him.”
“She did,” a voice says. We all look up and see Juliette standing a few feet away. She’s still in her cheerleading uniform but her eyes are red, and she looks anything but happy. “She confronted my dad last night at my house.”
“He’s been at the game all night. It’s not like he could do anything to her,” I say.
Juliette takes a step forward. “Because my dad isn’t the one that she should be afraid of—it’s my mom.”
35
Kenley
I wake with a jerk, my body being flung forward, followed by a flash of light and a slam. I blink, acclimating myself, and see that I’m in a car. The seatbelt is holding me in place. I reach for the door, but it flings open. Monica Chandler stands in the dark, a small, dark gun in her hand.
“Mrs. Chandler?” I ask, reaching up, then realizing my hands are bound. My head throbs, and I remember falling in the parking lot. And being hit. By Monica.
With surprising strength, the slim woman reaches in the car and unlatches the seat belt. Before I can react, she yanks me out.
“What are you doing?”
“Walk,” she says, pushing me forward. We’re in an area of pitch-black dark, her phone the only light. I take a step forward out of fear of what she’ll do to me if I don’t, and stumble down a path.
When we’re su
rrounded by thick brush, I ask, “Mrs. Chandler, what are you doing?”
“Cleaning up Jason’s messes. Like always.”
“What?”
“This is what being Jason Chandler’s wife means, Kenley. He gets the glory. I get to clean up his mess. It’s not new. I’ve been doing it for decades. He fucks around, screws up, and then comes crying to me to solve his problems. You, Kenley Keene, are a problem, which means it’s time for me to come up with a solution.”
My head pounds and it’s so dark that it’s very hard to focus on walking and talking at the same time. What did Monica just say? She cleans up Coach Chandler’s problems? And she considers me one?
I twist around. “Was Jacqueline a problem?”
“Jacqueline was his first,” she says, nudging me forward with the barrel of the gun. I try not to recoil. “Not his first first…that was me. He was sweet, gentle, and respectful. But there’s another side to Jason. The competitive, win-at-all-costs guy that sees everything, including sex, through a lens of victory. Jacqueline was independent. A spitfire. Loved to argue. And the minute Jason saw her, he wanted her.”
“And she didn’t want him?” I’m trying to follow.
“Oh, she did. It was one of those opposites attract, hate-fuck situations. She liked it as much as he did, more actually. She had no plans on staying in Thistle Cove, and he couldn’t handle that and took it out on her during sex. Nearly choked her to death and left an ugly mark. She was upset. I’m the one that picked her up off the road that night under the guise of talking about what a jerk Jason was. We went down by the water, and we got in a fight. I punched her in the face and jumped on her, wrapping my hands over the marks Jason had already given her. I strangled her and left her there.’
My heart hammers at the confession. It’s bold and unremorseful. I remember the bruise. “You were wearing his ring.”
“The ring that signified that he was mine, something she didn’t give a shit about.”
