Page 29

“Then prove it,” she dared.

I pinned her with my gaze, but didn’t move or answer. She stepped forward again, closing the distance between us completely. My breath caught in my throat, but I kept it at that. No way was I going to give her any more of a reaction.

“What did he say to you?” she asked, softer this time, almost like an intimate whisper to a lover.

I exhaled slowly and turned away from her. From my perspective, the conversation was over. I didn’t want to keep going around in this circle, so she could either leave or she could deal with my silence. But I’d had enough.

I walked toward the weight bench, grabbed a bar and loaded plates onto it with steady, controlled movements. The metal clinked into place, sounding extra pointed in the silence, but still Dakota didn’t leave. She just stood behind me expectantly.

I should’ve known she would continue to hang around until she got what she wanted. It was what she’d been doing since she found me. I lay back on the bench and adjusted my grip on the bar. I fixed my eyes on the ceiling for just a moment, and then I gave her a sideways glance.

She still stood in the exact same place, watching me and waiting for the answers she would never get. I let out a breath through my nose, wishing she’d just go away and leave me alone.

“Fine,” I eventually said, settling my hands into position.

Her posture shifted slightly, showing that she thought she had finally broken through my defenses, which just upset me even more.

So I met her gaze and said, “If you’re just going to stand around, you might as well spot me.”

11

Dakota

I had never spotted anyone in a gym before, but being as determined as I was, I figured it out anyway. Trace went about his workout as though he hadn’t just selected the most inept person to help. His grip settled into place, fingers curling around the steel, and his shoulders braced as he tested the weight with a small lift before letting it settle back on the rack.

I stepped closer, positioning myself where I’d seen other spotters stand. Close enough to catch the bar if it were to fall, but not so close that there’d be contact unless totally necessary. It felt like a really safe position at that moment, but I still had a flutter in my stomach every time he moved.

“Don’t drop it on your face,” I said, even though I secretly hoped he would.

“Don’t slip a disc trying to help.”

He lifted the bar, and it rose in an unbroken line. His controlled and steady movement continued as he smoothly lowered the bar again. Like always, he didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t waste an action. I watched him for about a minute before retrieving my notebook and flipping to a clean page.

“So,” I said with my pen already moving. “Let’s start with something simpler than the whole Delaney story. That game against the Nor’easters—”

“Stop trying to go there.”

I ignored him. “You went from being a backup to carrying the entire offensive in just a week. I don’t need a deep understanding of the sport to know that isn’t normal.”

His breathing was steady as he pushed the bar up again. “There you go. You can write about how special I am.”

I rolled my eyes and slapped his fingers with my pen, hoping it would trigger something within him. I didn’t need full answers to all the questions, but I needed something I could use, and he wasn’t even willing to meet me ten percent of the way.

“Did Delaney have anything to do with your rapid progression?”

The bar dipped slightly on the descent. It wasn’t obvious enough for anyone else to notice, but I did, and I didn’t need more for the question to be answered. Trace racked it with a little more force than necessary and sat up.

He raked a hand through his hair and said, “Don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself speak?”

“Not when I’m asking the right questions.”

“That’s just the point. You’re not asking the right questions. You’re asking questions based on rumors and speculation. You’re so far from what’s important that most of us think you’re delusional.”

“That’s your opinion, but I know what’s right, and that’s what I’m chasing.”

He stepped away from the bench, then grabbed a towel and dragged it over the back of his neck. He was annoyed, but I followed him as he went for some water.

“Then let’s talk about your high school,” I said, struggling to keep up. “You didn’t play football there. You have no records, no stats, nothing to show you have what it takes. Then you came here and didn’t even try out during your freshman year. But now, suddenly you’re the star running back. If that isn’t the most luck a person has ever had, then corruption is the only other explanation.”