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Josh would tell him to refuse, to walk away rather than risk his life to salvage his career. But Tyler couldn’t bear to slink offstage, leaving a legacy as a weakling and a failure. On some horrible level, he wouldn’t give his father, wherever he was holed up, the satisfaction.

And just maybe, deep down, he was worried Josh still held on to that high school fantasy, Tyler as the big, sexy superstar. Not the broken man he had become. He wanted to deserve Josh. He’d finish out his contract, and everything would work out, maybe.

Downstairs, the security goons gave him a high five. Tyler slid into the sleek black sedan the team had sent to collect him this morning.

As the car glided through the streets of downtown San Diego, his thoughts spiraled darker. He imagined himself dying midgame, for real this time, his life snuffed out on national TV as the world watched. If he wanted to prove himself, he would have to do it alone. And he knew the NFL wouldn’t do a damn thing to protect him.

All he wanted was to get back to Josh in Cinnamar.

Tyler had to see this through. Had to find a way to protect himself, body and soul. But he ached at the thought of how his choices might impact everything left ahead of them both.

Tyler squeezed his eyes shut, cutting off the thought. He had nine days if he got lucky. Or he would die.

Chapter Seventeen

AS JOSH arrived for the lock-in Saturday morning, the charged atmosphere at Hamilton High School hit him like a wave. Cars filled the parking lot, while demonstrators and concerned citizens mingled, their voices blending into a cacophonous chorus. News vans from San Diego stations idled nearby, cameras rolling as reporters documented the tense scene. In the distance, Principal Carver and the librarians engaged in animated conversation with one of the TV reporters, their expressions determined.

Josh’s heart chugged. Last thing he needed during the next twenty-odd hours. Press was good, but they needed to focus on the library and the kids’ access to books. He just wanted to stay out of the public eye.

Rather than risk a run-in with any vultures, he parked his truck behind the gym and slipped through the dim locker room to enter the school. As he walked down the hallway, the faint echoes of the crowd outside filtered in, reminding him of the stakes.

He couldn’t help but glance at his phone again, the screen stubbornly devoid of any messages or calls from Tyler. His chest tightened. It’d only been a day and a half, but the ominous silence worried the hell out of him. Something must have happened.

Stepping out of the gymnasium, he froze.

A light was on in the athletics office. He could see a hot sliver under the door. Just what he needed: ESPN going through his dirty socks.

He inched forward, praying that the tabloids hadn’t gotten that crazy.

When he opened it, Elise popped up from behind her desk, looking guilty. “Hey, Josh!” she called out, her eyes twinkling. She was wearing duck-themed footie pajamas. “Ready for the lock-in?” She bent again, shifting something back there.

He exhaled in relief. For one second he’d thought the press had found another way inside. He circled her desk.

She was busy loading one of the team manager’s red plastic wagons with chips, bottled water, and home-baked brownies. The lock-in was scheduled to take just over twenty hours, so the cafeteria had prepped sandwiches, wraps, and water, but snacks were another way to raise funds. “I’m on the fence. Gatorade or no?”

“I say skip it. You’re good,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I just need to change into something more lock-in friendly.”

She waggled her brows. “Well, if you need a hand, sailor….”

Josh ducked into the little bathroom and quickly changed into sweatpants, socks, and a threadbare Hamilton Class of ’08 T-shirt. Tyler couldn’t be here, but this was a dumb way to make him feel closer.

When he emerged, Elise had finished piling the wagon and slung her purse over her shoulder, her jittery excitement palpable.

“Looking good, Coach,” she said with a wink. She gave him an approving once-over. “Nice!” She pointed at the T-shirt and at herself. “Oh-eight. I see what you did there.” Then she froze and clutched his arm. “He’s not coming, is he?”

Josh shook his head. This might turn out to be a long night. “Who?”

“Fantana.” She peered at his shirt again. “I mean… he graduated in 2008. Is he, like, a midnight surprise or something? Pop out of a cake waving his big sword?”

“He’s on the road right now. They’re playing the Cowboys next week.”

“Right. Sure. NFL stuff.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “I just thought he might surprise you. That’d be super romantic.”

“No.” He trudged forward. Elise didn’t understand what she was doing. He just needed to survive the night.

Elise clutched his arm again. “I’m so psyched for tonight. I get to read chapter forty-five… you know, the conjugal one.” She made it sound salacious.

Josh squinted at that. “Well, it’s not as racy as it sounds. It was written in the nineteenth century and printed in the newspaper.”