Dare to Kiss (The Maxwell Series Book 1)

by Alexander, S. B.

  After homeroom, the day dragged. In English, Becca told me her phone had died last night, and she had been charging it this morning. She hadn’t turned it on until she’d gotten to school.

  Kelton was his old asshat self. The first thing he said to me when he sat down in English was, “What did you do to my brother? He bit my head off when I asked him why you weren’t in school yesterday.”

  I failed to answer him. Thankfully, Mr. Souza started class. Becca even tried to find out what had happened between Kade and me. I waved her off. I wasn’t in the mood to dish out details. Besides, I reminded her the school had ears. That was one of the reasons she never wanted to hang out inside the building before school started. Tyler and I avoided each other. I had no idea what he and Kade were chatting about when I’d seen them walking into school. I was dying to know, though.

  Kade had sent me several texts throughout the day telling me he was sorry. Since the only class I had with him was psychology, which was the last class of the day, I was able to avoid him. If I saw him in the halls, I went the other way.

  Now, my pulse sped up as I plucked out my psychology book from my locker. There was no way to hide from him in class. I could skip, but there were too many negative consequences for me to skip a class for no reason. I’d just closed my locker when out of the corner of my eye I spotted Kade walking toward me. I started to blend in with student traffic, but my feet got tangled with a boy who had big feet. He caught me before I fell. By the time I tried to merge again, Kade had me caged against the lockers.

  “You’re avoiding me,” he said in my ear.

  I laughed. He sounded like Tyler. I guess that was my theme today. “What gave you your first clue?” His scent of cedar washed over me, and I bit my lip to keep from whimpering.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he whispered.

  “So you texted and called a million times.”

  Voices grew louder then faded as students passed. If they were watching us I couldn’t tell. Kade had me trapped in his remorseful gaze. We stared at each other—him through lowered lashes; me, well, I wasn’t sure. Before my brain caught up to my body, I brushed his bangs to one side. His eyelids slid shut. When he opened them, relief shone through as though he’d been waiting a thousand years for my touch.

  “I promise I will not make decisions for you. I will not betray the trust between us. I will not tell my brothers what we share. If you want them to know, then it’s up to you to tell them. Please forgive me.”

  The warning bell rang. I was sort of relieved for the distraction. I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. I wasn’t sure if I ever would be. “We need to get to class,” I said.

  He searched my face before he erased the despair from his and walked away. If it weren’t for the final bell, I would’ve slumped to the floor. Was I being too harsh? No. Trust was important to me. People grow by learning from their mistakes, Mom had always said. Everyone deserves a second chance, Dad would say. I didn’t have time to analyze it. I headed to psychology. Mr. Dobson was closing the door when I ran up. He gave me an exasperated look as I slunk by him.

  As soon as I sat down, Becca twisted in her seat. “Do you want to hang out after school?” She glanced past me and waved.

  Who was she waving to—Kross, Kade, or both? “I can’t. I have a meeting with Coach Dean. Then I have practice.”

  Mr. Dobson wrote on the board.

  I shot a quick look behind me. A girl with light brown hair and amber eyes stared my way. I swallowed hard, mentally shaking off the cold and eerie feeling. The girl looked just like my sister Julie. My hands began to shake, so I sat on them. Calm down. She’s not Julie.

  “Who’s the girl?” I hadn’t seen her before today. Then again, the last time I was in psychology, Kade had dominated my thoughts. I still couldn’t remember what the lecture was about.

  “Renee Spellman,” Becca said.

  “Let’s begin,” Mr. Dobson announced.

  Becca faced forward. I slouched in my chair, taking in quiet breaths to ease my racing heart.

  “Today’s topic is Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. Who’s heard of her?” Mr. Dobson asked.

  I hadn’t. Apparently a few kids in class knew the name, one of them being Renee.

  “Isn’t she the woman who came up with the five stages of grief?” Renee asked.

  Dr. Meyers had explained them to me. Anger and depression were the two that plagued me. Denial, bargaining, and acceptance hadn’t surfaced yet, and according to Dr. Meyers, they might never. Not everyone experienced all five stages. I hoped one day I could accept what had happened to them. Maybe if I knew who killed them I might be able to.

  So as Mr. Dobson talked, I tuned him out. The last thing I wanted to do was think about death or anything depressing that might trigger a panic attack. It was bad enough Renee could pass as my sister. The resemblance was uncanny. Even the way one side of her mouth curled higher than the other when she smiled. Think of something else. I began doodling in my notebook. The simple act of drawing circles and squares usually helped to clear my mind. After most of the page was covered in geometric shapes, I drew a broken arrow through a cracked heart with the letter L inside the heart. This was one picture that wasn’t worth a thousand words, but a million emotions—anger, sorrow, grief, fear, pain. Could my heart ever be repaired? Would my life ever be normal? I propped my right elbow on my desk, resting my head in my hand. As I did, I glanced around the classroom and locked eyes with Kade.

  A smile formed on his face, causing goosebumps to cover my arms. What was it with him that made my body react the way it did and my mind forget what I was just thinking? It isn’t him. You’re just messed up.

  “Your homework for tonight,” Mr. Dobson said. “Write a short essay on one of the five stages we discussed.”

  Tearing my gaze away from Kade, I shifted my attention to the board. As soon as Mr. Dobson finished writing the bell signaled the end of class. I said a quick good-bye to Becca and bolted out. I wanted to get to practice. The ball field was a place for me to lose myself and forget my problems. But first I had a meeting with Coach Dean.

  Stopping outside Coach’s door, I steeled my shoulders before rapping my knuckles against it.

  “Enter,” his voice boomed from the other side.

  I twisted the doorknob and stepped in. A blast of hot air hit me along with a stale smell. For the briefest of seconds the scent reminded me of that ill-fated night, and I repressed a shiver. A coach’s sweaty office was the norm. Wasn’t it?

  “Sit, Lacey,” Coach said as he banged on his keyboard.

  Blowing out a few puffs of air from my nose to get rid of the smell, I did as I was told. The fierceness in his brown eyes and the way he seemed to look through me intimidated me. It was just like when I’d interrupted his meeting that first time we met. He’d risen from his chair, bushy eyebrows pinched together, a scowl on his face, and marched toward me like he was going to stomp on a cockroach. I wished I’d been a roach that day. It would’ve been better than him humiliating me in front of Tyler and the football coach.

  Today, however, he didn’t have a scowl. Still, I regarded him with caution. Something was up. He was rubbing his chin, deep in thought as he studied his computer screen.

  Swallowing, I gave his office a once-over. I’d only been in here a couple of times and never had the chance to check out the cool photos he had hanging on the wall. There were four large framed pictures of major league ballplayers that he’d coached when they were in high school.

  His computer beeped, then he grunted.

  I’d just started admiring his trophy cabinet when he cleared his throat. I shifted my attention to him as he swiveled the monitor toward me. A screenshot of my elbow meeting Tammy Reese’s face was displayed on the screen.

  Holy cow! I just knew it would come back to bite me in the as
s.

  “Do you want to tell me what this was all about?”

  Why did he care? Scratch that. I knew why. Before Dad and I decided on this school, Dad had a long conversation with Coach Dean on what it would take to be a member of the ball team. One of his requirements was that all players had to respect others on and off the field, which meant no fighting. More importantly, the selection process involved many factors from how well I played to my attitude, stamina, and interaction with others.

  Sitting up straighter in my seat, I blew out a breath, examining the picture. Tammy’s eyes were wide. Her face was a thousand shades of red.

  “It was an accident, Coach,” I said.

  “Accident?” His tone deepened as he scrubbed a hand over his balding head.

  The hackles on my neck went up. I was close to becoming that cockroach. “With all due respect, Coach, why am I here? I haven’t made the team yet.”

  He chewed on the side of his cheek. “Lacey, do you know how good you are?” He gentled his voice somewhat.

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen the video footage that Crestview sent me.”

  “Those are old tapes. I’m not quite back to my old self yet.” I fidgeted as I said the last sentence. I desperately wanted to go back in time.

  Coach knew I’d had to take time off for family reasons. Dad hadn’t told him much about our background. Coach didn’t want to know, anyway. He’d told Dad that our personal business was our own—that was one of the reasons I respected Coach.

  “If you’re as good as you are in those tapes, then you better get your crap in order. I don’t want to see you in any trouble.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, you’re dismissed.”

  Was that it? Get out of here before he thinks of something else, Stupid-head.

  Listening to my crazy inner voice, I grabbed the arm of the chair then stopped. Maybe this was the person to ask about Mandy Shear. No one would tell me about her, and if anyone knew her it was Coach. After all, she played for him. “Um…Coach?”

  He looked up from the computer screen.

  “What happened to Mandy Shear?”

  He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing me with his brown eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that question.”

  My eyes widened.

  “We don’t like to talk about Mandy around school.” He glanced at a photo of him and a ballplayer holding up a trophy before looking back at me. “Mandy was good. She played right field two years ago. The girl had a hell of an arm. She threw the ball from deep right to home plate without any effort. With her and the Maxwell brothers, the team was unstoppable.” He let out a breath. “We won state that year. Then”—he paused, his fingers resting on his chin— “two weeks later, Mandy died in a motorcycle accident.”

  “An accident? So why won’t anyone talk about it?”

  “Ah,” he said, propping his elbows on his desk. “Some speculate it wasn’t an accident. There were some tense rivalries between a few of the ballplayers. Anyway, the police never found evidence to support it being anything other than an accident.”

  “Principal Sanders told me the boys on the team treated Mandy badly. Is that true?” Given my run-in with Aaron this morning, I had an inkling that he was one of the boys.

  “She had to have a few words with a couple of boys on the team, but Mandy was protected by the Maxwell brothers.”

  “What do you mean?” I knitted my brows.

  “Lacey, it’s in the past.” He turned his monitor to face him.

  I got that. But they protected her how? Suddenly Aaron’s threats dominated my thoughts. Did Aaron have anything to do with tormenting Mandy? Then another question popped up. “So why after two years is the school allowing girls to try out, much less play again?”

  “Why all the questions?” He picked up a pen.

  “If you were in my shoes, would you want to know?”

  He studied me for a second. “Since you put it that way… There are no secrets here. After Mandy’s death, no girls signed up to try out. They were spooked by the rumors and strongly discouraged by their parents and the school board. We were under a lot of scrutiny by the media when rumors started that a couple of the ball players were responsible for her death. Of course, that wasn’t the case. The whole incident put us under a microscope.”

  “Are there any other girls trying out?” I’d been so busy practicing I didn’t even think to ask.

  “One other girl, Renee Spellman.” He clicked the pen a few times.

  She’s not Julie. She’s not Julie. “What position does she play?” My stomach churned with nerves. At least Julie hadn’t played baseball.

  Okay, I somehow had to get over the fact that this girl reminded me of Julie. But how? Maybe God was trying to test me. Or maybe this was God’s way of helping me to heal. You loved Julie. Think of all the good times you had. Don’t think of how you found her covered in blood.

  Ha! How was I going to do that?

  He set down the pen. “She’s a left fielder.”

  At this point, I wasn’t concerned so much about who was competing for a pitching position. I had to get my PTSD under control or else I wouldn’t be pitching, period.

  I stood. “Um…one more question?”

  “What is it?”

  “Why was Mandy protected by the Maxwell brothers?”

  “I know they’ve been practicing with you. Maybe you should ask them that question.”

  Chapter 12

  After I left Coach’s office, I stopped at the girls’ locker room and quickly changed. Then with my bag over my shoulder and my glove in hand, I headed out to the ball field through the tunnel that led out to right field. Once I stepped onto the dirt track, the scent of grass penetrated my nostrils, clearing my mind and the rough edges of my nerves. Kross and Tyler were talking at home plate. I jogged up to the dugout, set down my bag then joined the boys who were deep in conversation.

  Tyler had his back to me. “Make sure she works on her slider,” he said to Kross.

  Kross ran his hand through his short black hair, and his blue eyes sparkled as he blinked.

  “Are you guys talking about me?” I asked.

  Tyler turned, smiling as though we hadn’t fought this morning. “Yeah. Sorry, Lacey. I have a football meeting. I should’ve told you earlier.”

  “It’s okay.” I might be mad at him for trying to play big brother, but I certainly wasn’t going to be mad because he couldn’t help me practice. Football was important to him, and it should come first. Of all people, I knew that, since I was standing on the field of my passion.

  “I’ll be back to take you home.” Tyler started to walk away.

  “Actually,” Kross piped in, bending down to retrieve his glove and ball cap from his bag. “Kade wanted me to tell you that your car is ready. If you want to pick it up you can ride home with me. If not, I can drop you off at your house.”

  Tyler lost the smile on his face as though the mention of Kade’s name was a knife stabbing him. What was it with him? I told him I wanted be friends. Was he ever going to accept that?

  “I’ll get a ride home with Kross.”

  Tyler pivoted on his heel and stalked off the field.

  “I thought Kelton was supposed to be here.” I rolled my right shoulder back a few times. The soreness was still there.

  “He had to get new cleats before tryouts tomorrow. Let’s see what you got, Lacey Robinson,” he said as he covered his head with his ball cap, the bill facing backwards.

  I trotted out to the mound, taking a deep breath, then released it along with all thoughts of Tyler and everything else in my life. My sole focus right now was to perfect my pitches.

  When I turned, Kross was crouched down into a catcher’s position, ready
to go.

  I stepped up to the rubber and threw a few balls to loosen up. After a handful of easy throws, I started with my fastball that thudded into Kross’s mitt.

  “Not fast enough, Lace. Relax,” he said, throwing the ball back.

  I bent my neck to the left then to the right, walked around the mound.

  “Find your zone,” my brother had always told me. “Tune everything out and your zone will emerge.”

  I hadn’t been in my zone since the last game in my sophomore year. I desperately needed to find it if I was going to make the team. Stepping up on the rubber again, I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. In and out. In and out. Each time, I visualized every move from my wind-up to my delivery. I opened my eyes, looked down at Kross, glanced over my shoulder at first base like I had a runner on, wound up, and threw a curveball.

  “Good,” Kross shot back. “Again.”

  I threw several more pitches, each one getting better. I practiced my fastball, curveball, and even my slider. After about thirty minutes, Kross retrieved a bat from his bag near the backstop, then planted his feet into the batter’s box.

  “Let me hit a few before we call it quits,” he said, throwing me a ball.

  I pitched. He hit or he missed. In all, the ball connected with the bat seven out of twenty pitches. I did a mental jig. It would’ve been nice to gloat about it if it were Kelton. But Kross was nothing like Kelton. No sarcasm. No sexual innuendo. Not even a word about Kade. Which, by the way, I appreciated. I didn’t want any distractions.

  Once we had all the balls back in the five-gallon bucket, Kross and I scooped up our bags and headed for his car. The sun dipped lower in the sky. We still had a few hours before night fell.

  “So, do you want to go home, or my house to get your car?” he asked, his six-foot frame making long strides.