Page 155 of Fierce Storm
“Do you make fountain wishes every day, or just the days you know you’re going to run into me?”
Fuck. I take a subtle breath, ignoring his outstretched hand and the quarter he’s offering me, opting to tell him to get fucked in person, rather than wishing it would happen.
“Why are you here, Vance?”
“The coaching gig.” He shrugs, his expression neutral, pissing me off.
“No, why are youhere? In front of me. Acting like things are civil between us. Do you actually believe that I’m going to joke with you? That enough time has passed for me to forget what you did?”
“Come on, Keeley. We were both so young back then. It’s been years. I’ve moved on. Don’t you think it’s time you did the same?”
“Are you serious right now? You…” I trail off when my voice gets too loud and try again, my heart pounding so hard that it hurts me. “You…” The words catch in my throat while Vance stares at me in question, his eyes full of boredom, as though I’m wasting his time.
Luke’s truck comes into view and my feet itch to run to him, to get away from Vance, but he’s too far away.
“I what?” Vance questions, taking a step closer, forcing me back until my knees hit the fountain.
“Vance, Keeley?” Wes calls out from the front door of the stadium, and I release a held breath when Vance turns around.
“I’ve got to go.” I move around him—careful not to make physical contact—and stride confidently toward Wes, projecting a strength I don’t feel.
“Good morning.” I smile. “Do you have a moment to talk before the chaos of the day?”
Wes frowns, his face twisting apologetically. “Not this morning. What about lunch?”
“Lunch? Sure. Sounds good.” My facade slips for the briefest of moments and Wes notices.
“Is everything okay?”
“Of course. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okay.” His brows pinch until he glances behind me and a smile appears. “Vance, how are you?”
I smile again before rushing through the doors and turning the corner to avoid hearing Vance’s response.
I can’t let him get to me. Not now. Not ever. He can be as cocky and certain as he wants for the morning. Come lunchtime, I’m bursting his bubble. I hope.
He’s not the man for the coaching job, and Wes deserves to know that.
Despite telling myself I’m going to be fine, I’m a wreck all morning, fumbling pens, missing meetings, and bumping into burly football players as they move through the halls.
I’m lost in my own world when someone grabs my shoulder and I flinch, immediately apologizing when I see that it’s Reed.
“Sorry, Reed. Hi.”
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you just knocked into Peterson and walked away like a zombie. I’ve been calling your name for a good thirty seconds.”
“You have?” I frown, trying to recall that. “Why?”
“To ask if you’re okay.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m good. Just having a morning. You know the ones. Nothing goes right. It’s like I don’t have my head screwed on properly. Maybe I got up on the wrong side of the bed or…” I trail off when Reed raises a brow.
“Run out of clichés to convince me?”
