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“Okay.”
“RAWLINGS! RAMSEY! Let’s fucking go guys. We got a game to play!” Coach Undergrove yells. I look up and most of the team has already disappeared from the locker room.
“Just a fucking minute!”
“Excuse me?” Coach’s tone shifts.
“He’s got a good reason, Coach. We can explain. He just needs a minute.” Ramsey steps between us.
Quentin stops in his path up to the stadium and turns and looks at me. “Everything okay?”
“No. Nothing’s okay.” I shake my head.
Both Undergroves close in on me.
“Trix, I gotta go. The game. But just… You’re getting out of there? You’ll text me when you’re safe?”
“I will. I promise. I’ll get Lizzy to her mom’s.”
“And you?”
“And me. I’ll go to Mads’s house.”
“Okay. Let me know when you’re safe. I love you. Tell Lizzy I love her too.”
“I love you. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry about us. Just focus on the game.”
I don’t have time to argue with her that that’s impossible, so I just repeat myself and hang up the phone. Questioning looks surround me, and I scrub a hand over my face.
“We have a stalker. We’ve had security involved for a while. Investigators. Even Madison,” I nod to Quentin. “But we can’t get to the bottom of it. Or haven’t yet, at least. I just found out they have cameras in the house. Trix and Lizzy are there alone, and I had to tell her. Give her a chance to get out and get somewhere safe.”
“Does Madison know?” Quentin’s furrowed brow grows deeper by the second. “She can come stay with us. They both can.”
“That’s what she said she’s gonna do. She’s taking Lizzy to her mom’s house.”
“Coach?” One of the assistant coaches yells to Coach Undergrove, questioning why we’re not getting our asses upstairs where we belong. They’ll be barreling out of the tunnel to start the game any second, and I can’t even think straight right now.
“Just a minute!” Coach Undergrove yells, and then he turns to me. “Did you call the cops?”
“I’m sure she will.” My mind races with questions about the best course of action. If I should have told her to call them first.
“You should make sure she calls them,” Quentin agrees. I look at Ramsey, and he shrugs.
“I hate the fucking cops, but if they’re alone it might be her only choice.” Ramsey shrugs.
“I’ll send a text to Madison.” Quentin nods.
“Quickly. Then get upstairs!” Coach Undergrove gives us all a stern once-over and then looks at me. “Can you play? We need you out there, but I need you to not be rattled out on that field, especially considering who we’re playing today.”
“I can play.” No way am I letting this fucker get the best of me, whoever they are.
“Half the team has the photos on their phones. Probably should tell them to delete that shit or face consequences.” Ramsey speaks matter-of-factly to Quentin, and he nods.
“I’ll handle it,” Coach Undergrove says. “You just focus on getting this shit handled so your heads are on straight when we get out there. Got it?”
“Got it.” I nod.
It doesn’t last long though because when we’re on the field, my brother is lined up across from me, and he doesn’t waste time letting me know he got the same photos my teammates did. He follows me back toward the line of scrimmage after the next play.
