Page 6 of Let You Love Me

Sophie darts toward it and I reach out, grasping for her, but come up empty at the same time I see a flash of red—a car—headed straight for her.

Time slows and bile rises into my throat.

I lunge forward but I can’t reach her, and one thing becomes clear.

I don’t have enough time.

I’m not fast enough.

Chapter 3

TEAGAN

The sun beats downon me as I push out from beneath the canopy of trees onto the last leg of the trail. Sweat rolls down my back and beads my brow. I swipe at it with my forearm, focusing on the burn in my muscles as I push myself harder, faster, pumping my legs and arms until my chest heaves.

The rhythmic sound of my sneakers slapping the pavement increases in pace, and the fire building in my lungs is nearly enough to silence my toxic thoughts and the worry that comes with them as I wonder just how fucked I really am after last night’s antics. Six miles and I’m still every bit as stressed as I was when I started.

We’re not the first freshman class to be initiated into the Wildcat family, so it stands to reason I’m also not the first to get caught doing something stupid.

Although I am willing to bet I’m the first one to steal Coach’s tires.

Fuck.

How was I supposed to know that was his car? It certainly wasn’t the little red sports car I’ve seen him driving to and from practice.

But Chance knew; he had to. He’s played for Coach for three years now, not including their time together in high school. No way he didn’t know whose car it was. He set us up, plain and simple, and no one can convince me otherwise.

Ultimately, it’s my fault. My instincts told me something was off. I should’ve listened to my gut and walked away, but I didn’t want to look like a poor sport or like I’m not a team player when I pride myself on both of those things. Add to that the Knox news, and I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.

Had Coach arrived only a minute earlier, he would’ve caught all of us.

It’s a lot harder to punish nearly a dozen recruits than it is a single person.

As it is, he only found me so I shouldered the blame.

Coach is no dummy, though. He knew there were more of us involved, but when he questioned me about it, I refused to rat my teammates out. I’m a lot of things, but a snitch isn’t one of them.

Instead, I retrieved every single tire dumped in the fountain myself and replaced them before he let me go with the reminder that this was the first strike against me; I’ve only got two more. I don’t doubt him. Coach Turner is a notorious ball buster, the strictest coach in the league. He doesn’t play around, and the kind of antics college football players get away with at other schools isn’t tolerated.

I should probably take the warning and let it go, but I don’t feel right about how I left things last night. He was pissed and I was stressed the fuck out. Hell, I don’t even know if I properly apologized.

The end of the trail comes into view, where it bleeds into the sidewalk flanking the road that leads in and out of the park. A car passes and I offer them a curt nod when they wave, though I want to tell them to slow the fuck down. Everyone around here rips through these roads despite the playground to my left, just past the grove of trees.

The joyful shouts of children reach my ears as I near it, and the sound reminds me of my little sisters back home. A pang of longing hits me in the chest, but I smother it and focus on the other sounds around me. A dog barking. Music from an open car window. The rustling of leaves on the sidewalk beneath my feet.

I lift my gaze at the same time a flash of pink catches my eyes on the edge of the sidewalk. It’s a bouncy ball, and it rolls past my feet onto the road in front of me as another car, again moving way too fast, heads straight for it.

I wince, anticipating the squashed rubber a moment before another blur of color joins it on the road, and it only takes me a split second to realize it’s a little girl.

Panic seizes my chest, and I open my mouth to scream, to tell her to move as the SUV careens toward her, but my voice won’t work.

Instead, I surge forward. My feet hammer the ground. My heart slams against my ribcage as the blare of a horn and the screeching of tires fill my ears, and I lunge for her. I’m airborne, arms outstretched as I fall to the hard pavement with a bone-rattling thud, enveloping the child in my arms and rolling us out of the way.

Using my body as a shield, I curve around her as the car flies past, horn blaring while the driver shouts something out their window, just barely missing us.

If it weren’t for how badly I’m shaking, I’d flip them the bird, cuss them out.

Asshole.

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