Page 59 of Redemption
It’s six AM on a Saturday.
IT. IS. SIX. AM. ON. A. SATURDAY.
I’m going to strangle Hayes. He knows how much I like to sleep, yet here we are on a perfect sleeping morning, decidedly not asleep.
But the joke is on him. He knows how grumpy I can be when I haven’t gotten sleep, and today, I’m extra grumpy because I can hardly breathe from all the humidity.
Even at six in the morning, the heat is almost stifling. We are closer to fall than summer, so why is it still so hot?
The gate to the field is unlocked, and I slip through, trying not to think about the day Langston and Hayes signed their futures away—a day that seemed to have started the downward spiral for Langston, Hayes, and me. If I had known what would come after that day, I might have tried to do things differently—thrown Langston under the bus for his own good. But the past can’t be changed, even if the guilt lasts forever.
My head is down while I walk towards the field, and when I look up, I stop in my tracks. My bad mood seems to vanish into thin air—at least for now.
Hayes is on the field running sprints. He is wearing athletic shorts, and his shirt is MIA. His tanned back glistens with sweat as he pushes himself further down the field away from me. Themuscles in his back ripple with each movement, hypnotizing me. My eyes shift side to side, making sure we are alone. I don’t need any of my students catching me drooling over their coach. When I confirm that no one else is around, I return to ogling. The man has always had the body of an athlete, but goodness gracious, he looks like a work of art as he speeds down the field, reminding me why he was given a full ride in college.
He reaches the end of the field, then turns, heading back toward me. I should look away. His head will grow three sizes bigger than it already is if he catches me staring, but when he veers toward me, I know it’s already too late.
Why do I always find myself standing in the middle of trouble?
Glancing up for a fraction of a second, I mumble a half-hearted prayer. “Couldn’t you have given me some self-preservation, God?”
The sun peeks out from behind a cloud, making the heat kick up an extra degree. Whoever said God didn’t have a sense of humor is wrong—my life is an example. Or maybe I’ve just screwed up so many times I’ve brought it on myself.
As Hayes draws closer, his eyes remain on me. It’s like we’ve been sucked into a vacuum of space in which it’s only us that exist. The heat in his eyes rivals the temperature outside, and I’m suddenly sweating for a different reason.
Clearing my throat, I pull my eyes away from him to the ground. But I can feel him approaching. Yard by yard, his shoes pound against the turf, and I count each step until he’s finally standing in front of me, and I’m staring at his shoes. I lift my eyes, only to look past him. He’s like a magnetic field—if I get too close, I’ll be sucked in.
“Where’s Tanner?” I ask.
The shoulder I’m looking past rises and falls. “He won’t be here until eight.”
“What?” It comes out a lot louder than I intended. My eyes snap to his, and there’s a smug, self-satisfied grin on his lips. “Why did I have to be here so early then?”
The smirk on his lips grows wider. “Payback for the nose.”
He says it so casually, like it’s the simplest explanation in the world, and if anyone ever asks later, it’s the moment I lose all my sanity.
I flash him a sweet smile, and wariness flashes through his eyes.
He looks a little scared.
Good. He should be.
With my shoulders lowered just like he and Langston taught me when I was ten, I rush at him, catching him off guard and tackling him. His mouth opens in shock as we fall, and he wraps his arms around me so I fall on top of him instead of hitting the ground. The muscles in his arms are like steel traps, hugging me to him as we hit the ground, knocking the wind out of both of us.
Neither of us moves for a second, too stunned to do anything. Our legs are tangled in a jumbled heap, and the heat of his skin seeps in through my shirt. Hayes’s ribs move up and down beneath me, gasping for air.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I say, the words flowing together as I rush to get them out. “I shouldn’t have done that. Did I hurt you?”
My hands and eyes rove over his ribs and back, searching for other injuries, but a snort stills my hands and has my eyes jumping to his.
Hayes is still gasping for air, but not from me hurting him.
It takes another snort for me to realize he’s laughing at me.
I slap his chest. “You jerk. I thought you were hurt.”
That only causes him to laugh harder. “Dang, MJ. Who taught you to tackle like that? Oh, right. It was me.”
