Page 126 of Scoring Eden

But my pain is quickly forgotten.

Because there, over the deafening thundering of my heart, is the unmistakable sound of voices speaking over one another, the clicking of cameras, the screeching of microphones.

“This way!” I yell, already taking off.

My boots scuff around the corner as I tear to the right and hurl myself through a set of double doors.

The room is packed with people, men and women with lanyards and tripods and cameras bigger than my face. They’re so tightly packed together that I can’t see what’s beyond them, but I know he’s here. I can feel it.

Macon’s hand slips into mine, and I look down at him. He nods once then lets go and races away from me to the opposite corner, where several boxes have been stacked on top of each other.

What is he doing?

I try to chase after him, but an enormous man dressed in black with some kind of intercom system clipped to his collar and the word “SECURITY” emblazoned on his shirt blocks my way.

“Ma’am, you’re not allowed in here.”

“No, you don’t understand.” I try to peer around him, but his bicep is the size of a tree trunk. “I’m Alex’s girlfriend, and my son—” Oh, God, where’s my son? “I need to get my—”

“EVERYBODY STOP!”

The sound of Macon’s voice has the security guard whipping his head to find the source of it. I use the distraction to slip around him and make a dash for Macon, who has managed to climb the stack of boxes and is now the sole receiver of everyone’s attention in the room.

“You can’t drop Alex from the team!”

The room releases a collective gasp, just as I make it to his side. With my heart in my throat, I step up onto the stack beside him and lay a hand on his shoulder. If we’re doing this, we’re doing this together.

For the first time since we busted in here, I lay eyes on Alex. He sits in the center of a line of tables, a microphone in front of him, and a sheen of utter dejection in his eyes. His lips are parted in shock, his brows drawn tight in confusion.

He’s losing everything he’s worked for all his life. The thing he loves doing most in the world. The thing that got him through his parents dying and the uncertainty and fear that came with his time at the children’s home.

But not if I have anything to do with it.

We’re here now, I tell him with my eyes. Let us save you, Alex. Let us love you.

On his right is Coach Carter, solemn and grave, his hands folded on the table in front of him. And to his left…

“You can’t be in here, child.” Jacqueline, cold as ever, sneers down her nose at Macon. “Remove him immediately.”

I look over my shoulder to find the security guard stepping closer, barely halted in his mission by my sister, who is frenziedly clawing at his arms in a bid to slow him down.

Coach Carter holds up a hand. “No, actually, I’d quite like to hear what the boy has to say for himself.”

Jacqueline gapes at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m quite serious.” Carter levels her with a glare, daring her to undermine his decision. “You may be the investor, Jacqueline, but this is still my team. And if this young man over here wants to say a few words in my captain’s defense, then who am I to stop him?”

“He’s no longer your captain.”

“He is until the end of this press conference.” Carter gives Macon a warm smile. “Go on then, child. The floor is yours.”

Macon’s eyes flare, as if realizing for the first time how much attention he’s brought onto himself. I squeeze his shoulders, and he rolls them back, steeling himself the way he does during a stage performance.

My perfect, brave boy.

“Alex hasn’t done anything wrong.” His voice creaks as he begins, and he clears his throat. “It was all my—”

“Someone get the kid a microphone!” my sister yells, and a bemused gentleman with oval-framed glasses and a flannel shirt cautiously passes one along the line.