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“You spoke to him before kickoff as well.”

His gaze held mine, sharper now. “You’re the kind who pays close attention. That could be dangerous.”

“It’s my job.”

The way he passed that subtle threat had my stomach twisting, especially since my professor had literally warned me of just that happening, but I was in it now and I couldn’t just back down.

“Then you already know the answer.”

My grip on my notebook tightened. “I want to hear you say the words.”

“I see the potential, that’s all.”

“In him?”

“In the program,” he replied smoothly.

All this sounded too clean and perfect, like an actor reading a script. And even though he didn’t pick up on it, that was the kind of thing that proved my suspicions.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No,” he said flatly. “It isn’t.”

The space between us tightened as something unspoken settled just beneath the surface. I held his gaze and tried to keep my pulse steady as my thoughts sharpened because now I knew that this wasn’t just a theory anymore. This was a door, and Delaney had just tried to close it in my face.

8

Trace

I knew something was different the second I pulled into the parking lot. The guys weren’t scattered around, idly passing the time like they typically did before we departed. They formed a tight semicircle, and their voices overlapped as energy buzzed around them. I felt myself being drawn in before realizing what I was looking at. I followed their line of sight and nearly lost my breath.

The bus parked at the end of the lot wasn’t the same one we had been using since last season. This one gleamed. No faded, janky roach smiling back at me.

Fresh paint stretched in deep navy and gold with our logo sitting bold across the side. Slick and expensive were the words that came to mind. Sunlight bounced off the trim, making me squint at the tinted windows. It didn’t have a borrowed, polished look. Instead, it sat there with an air of absolute ownership.

“What is that?” A voice cut through the noise.

Connor Reid, the freshman receiver who hadn’t figured out when to stop talking yet, stood a few feet away. He looked at it from every angle, barely believing what he was seeing. He’d been that way since preseason. Always too loud, eager, and reactive to things that the rest of us just processed. It was so bad that Lucas had called him “Rook” just to stop him from getting ahead of himself.

“Our new ride,” Lucas said, tapping on the fold-out door.

Connor dragged a hand down his face. “No way. It can’t actually be ours.”

Malik stepped closer and ran his palm along the side panel. “It better be, or else someone is about to get thrown off it.”

The door hissed open, eliciting a few gasps because it hadn’t coughed or wheezed like the old crash hazard used to.

“Get on,” someone shouted from inside.

That was all it took. Everyone jumped into motion with the guys moving forward and laughing while shoving each other onto the bus. With each step they took, voices rose in disbelief. Connor nearly missed the first step thanks to the rush he was in. Lucas had to grab the back of his hoodie and haul him up, or he would’ve eaten dirt.

I didn’t move right away. Instead, I looked from the bus to Coach, who stood just off the side. He crossed his arms as he took in the chaos with a look that didn’t match the team’s excitement. Stress like armor, his shoulders were so tight he could’ve snapped a pencil in two just by shrugging.

I held his gaze, and he acknowledged me with a slight nod. For a second, something passed between us. It was quiet and unspoken, but clear enough. This wasn’t as simple as it seemed. Or miraculous. This brand new team bus didn’t just materialize in our parking lot.

It settled in my chest, but before I could analyze anything, Lucas poked his head out of the bus.

“Prescott! Are you writing a review or will you be getting on?”