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Beau maneuvered his car into the parking lot next to the St. Benedict football field, his blood pumping in time with the rock song blasting from his speakers. In the metal stands, a good crowd already had their seats, and it was still thirty minutes until kick off. He hungered to find his scout before ducking into the locker room but figured he would get a good idea of who it was when he was on the field leading his team to victory.
Could this night get any more perfect?
He felt on top of the world, higher than he’d ever known—even better than his times with Taylor and Kelly. After grabbing a duffel bag filled with a change of clothes for the river party after, he strutted toward the gym, anxious to get to the game.
He was halfway across the lot when he noticed someone staring at him from the side of the stands. Taylor. Her baggy clothes seemed to hang off her. She’d lost weight. He could tell by her protruding cheekbones and the shriveled appearance of her neck. The hate in her eyes was still there. It was the only attractive quality she had left.
“What have you been doing to yourself, girl?” He yelled, swinging his bag in his hand. “You look like shit.”
She never said a word but continued glaring.
He figured he was the reason for the change in her.
If she can’t handle the rough stuff, she shouldn’t have asked for it.
“Where’s your cheerleading outfit?” he asked, getting in the last dig. “Or does it not fit anymore?”
He chuckled, proud of himself. He was almost to the gym doors when her high voice followed him.
“Ready for the night of your life, Beau?”
He stopped, not happy she had used his words. He glanced around to see if anyone had heard her.
“What’s your problem?” He rushed up to her.
She backed away, stepping into the shadows of the stands, her face lost in the darkness.
He longed to follow her. The movement of the crowds above would make enough noise to cover her whimpering as he slapped her around a little, just to show her who was boss.
“Keep your mouth shut.”
He turned to retreat to the gym doors, but she came back for more.
“Do you feel like a man, Mr. Hotshot Quarterback?”
She had come out of the shade and hugged one of the metal supports below the bleachers. Her diminutive demeanor and darting eyes were nothing like the brazen whore he’d taken to the cells.
He licked his lips, longing for another night with her.
“You’re one psycho bitch, Taylor.”
She inched closer, her head twisted on her stick of a neck as she gave him a deadpan stare.
Her bloodshot eyes sickened him and when she raised her upper lip, baring her teeth in a doglike snarl, he took a wary step back.
“Did you enjoy yourself in the cells the other night? You might want to be careful, next time. You never know who’s watching.”
Before he could ask her what she meant she walked away, heading toward Dawn and the rest of the cheerleading squad gathered in front of the stands.
That little slut!
She must have been spying on him. He thought he heard someone that night with Andrea. Had she seen what he’d done? But Andrea had wanted it, had asked for it, so he could never be accused of doing anything wrong.
What if she had seen Kelly ...?
He ran his hand through his hair.
Think, Devereaux, think. What does the bitch have on you?
Beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip. He didn’t need this right now. Not with the scout coming. He talked himself down, picturing how he would strangle the crap out of Taylor once he got her alone. He had a show to put on for the scout. Once Tulane was secured, he would beat what she knew out of her.
His fingers going numb as he gripped his duffel bag, he hurried to the gym entrance.
Before he stepped inside, a shadow crossed before the door. He turned, expecting another member of the team, and inhaled sharply when Kelly Norton slid in next to him.
In a granny dress buttoned up to her throat, she was no longer the seductive girl at the river. Her red hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail. She had on no makeup, and her pasty skin repelled him.
What had he seen in her? “Why are you here?”
She parted her pink lips, her stormy eyes on him. “I came to cheer on my team. Heard you got a scout coming to the game.” She winked. “Night of your life, eh, Beau?”
His heart rate sped as anger bloomed in his chest. She was in league with Taylor. The two bitches had talked.
Shit!
A trickle of sweat rolled down his back.
She pouted her lips. “What’s wrong, Devereaux?”
He got in her face, eager to remind her of their night together. “Don’t fuck with me.”
He was anxious to see the fear in her eyes. But there wasn’t any.
Instead, she gave him a cocky grin and walked away.
Beau staggered into the locker room, hyperventilating. He gripped the wall just inside the door, struggling to calm down.
They were out to ruin his big night? He imagined their blood dripping off his hands. He would show them.
His head held high, he went to his locker, greeting a few members of his team with high fives and encouraging shouts.
He dumped his duffel bag on the bench in front of his locker. His hands trembled when he reached for the zipper.
Pull it together. Self-control in all things.
* * *
Cleats nervously tapped on the cement floor, and an excited chatter floated in the stale air of the locker room. The clatter of safety equipment and the occasional bang of a locker all came together to unravel Beau’s nerves.
Not even out on the field and he couldn’t concentrate. His shoulder pads weighed a ton, his jersey itched, even his shoes weren’t laced right. He was off, and he knew why.
“Are you ready to roll over Covington High?”
A thunderous war cry rose echoed throughout the locker room.
Beau ignored his coach. Taylor and Kelly consumed his thoughts. Had they talked to anyone else? Dawn? Leslie?
I’m gonna kill them if they blabbed to Leslie!
Or perhaps they wanted money. To blackmail him. Or worse, blackmail his old man.
“What’s wrong?” Mitch waved his hand in front of his face. “This is the day you’ve been waitin’ for, so snap out of it. Are you with me?”
Beau slapped his shoulder pads, pushing his worry away. “Hell, yeah.”
Coach Brewer walked past Beau and went to open the gym doors to the field. “Let’s go get ’em, boys!”
A whoosh of red jerseys rushed past. The coil of knots in his stomach stayed with him while he dashed out the doors and into the cool night air. Beau breathed in and out fast to right himself. It didn’t work.
The glare of the lights on the field blinded him. Every game, it was the same. The blaring lights, and then the sweet aroma of the grass. It reminded him of Leslie. It had her same enticing essence.
The last thing to register was the crowd. Their roar was almost like that of a jet engine coming into land. He couldn’t distinguish specific voices in the rush of sound, but he could hear all of them at once, calling for him to score.
Coach Brewer pulled Beau to the rear of the pack, kicking up some of the chalk marking the outline of the field.
“Don’t be a hero, Beau. And don’t do anything you think will impress that scout. Just stick to the plan and play like this is any other game.” Coach Brewer slapped his shoulder pad. “These guys don’t want show-offs; they want players.”
He jogged in place, warming up his legs.
“Yes, sir. I got it.”
Beau checked the clear sky, wishing away any rain, and then ran out onto the field, his legs two heavy anvils, sluggish and slow. His heart thudded and a strange ringing rose in his ears. He pushed the encounters with the girls from his mind, forcing images of touchdowns, perfect spiral throws and the cheer of his teammates into his head.
They won’t talk to anyone. They have too much to lose.
He glanced at the home team’s stands. Taylor and Kelly had their heads together right next to Dawn’s line of cheerleaders, leading the crowd in a chant for victory.
This was too close for comfort.
A whistle’s screech sounded. St. Benedict won the coin toss, so they opted to receive the ball.
On the field, for their first play after the kickoff, Beau fought to focus, but pictures of Taylor and Kelly kept popping into his head.
Set up on the twenty-two-yard line, Beau counted off the snap. He pulled back, saw Mitch down the field and threw the ball. The perfect spiral sailed over Mitch’s head, and the referee blew the whistle on an incomplete pass.
“What the hell, dude?” Mitch complained when they were back in the huddle.
Beau’s indignation flared. How dare he question him?
“You need to show a little more hustle to get the ball,” Beau griped.
On the second play, Beau called for the snap and pulled back from the line, his mind a scattered mess with images of the river and Taylor. He made a sloppy handoff to his running back, David Acker, who fumbled the ball.
Beau cringed, knowing he’d screwed up.
Luckily, David fell on the ball and recovered it.
Back in the scrimmage, he had to cover his mistake. No point in letting his guys know he was frazzled.
“Nice move, David.” Beau hit the guy hard in his shoulder pads, venting his frustration. “Get it together, will ya?”
“You get it together, Devereaux.” David poked him hard in the chest. “You blew that pass.”
Like a serpent rising to the music of a snake charmer’s flute, his anger slithered through his limbs, clenching his muscles. He would show them who was the king on this field.
On the third play of the first drive, Beau shouted for the snap. He stepped out of the pocket and scanned his men scattered on the field. Mitch waved his arms, jumping in place to show he was open deep in the end zone. Perfect! His confidence surged. Beau cocked his arm back, lining up his throw, and then everything turned to shit.
A hard shove came from his left. The ground rushed up to meet him. He slammed into the grass, grunting as air left his lungs on impact. His vision blurred momentarily.
He rolled over, getting his bearings. The lights glared in his eyes. He sat up, then noticed a defensive lineman from the opposing team, sharing high fives with his teammates.
I’ve been sacked. Me? Nobody does that to me!
Exploding with rage, he scrambled to his feet and went after the lineman who had missed the block—Brett Massey.
He grabbed Brett’s facemask. “You blew my touchdown!”
Brett Massey shoved Beau to the side. “Get off me, Devereaux.”
Refs’ immediately descended on them, pulling them apart. The punter for St. Benedict came on the field, sending Beau to the sidelines.
“Devereaux!” Coach Brewer shouted when he reached the bench. “What is wrong with you?”
Beau removed his helmet, his cheeks burning. “He blew his tackle and got me sacked.”
Coach Brewer went into one of his speeches about playing as a team, but Beau didn’t pay attention. He searched the stands, eager to see the girls.
Where are you two? What are you planning?
Coach Brewer grabbed his chin and snapped his head around to face him. “Stop worrying about the scouts and play ball. If you don’t, you’ll blow it. Do you understand?”
Beau wanted to laugh. He wouldn’t blow it, but the others on the team sure would. He had listened to all he could of his coach’s bullshit. He pushed the man’s hand away from his chin.
“Careful. You don’t want to make me angry.”
Coach Brewer scrunched his weathered brow as he stared at Beau, seeming unsure of how to react.
Shaking his head, he pointed to the bench. “Sit down and get your head screwed on right before you go back out.”
A nervous Beau sat on the bench, his interest focused on finding Kelly and Taylor. Dawn was on the sidelines, huddled with her squad, her trademark red ribbon securing her long ponytail. She avoided looking his way. Then, just to the right of Dawn, he caught sight of a beautiful pale face with deep blue eyes.
Leslie, along with that idiot Foster, had come to his game. The negativity choking him since arriving at the field disintegrated. If she was watching him play, he would do his damndest for her.
Right behind her, another face appeared, and his hope sank. Taylor had positioned herself right behind Leslie. Her glower reignited his rage.
The game is turning into my worst nightmare.
* * *
The murmur of various conversations from bored fans carried through the chilly night air to Leslie’s seat. She rubbed her bare arms, wishing she had brought a jacket. With the home team’s sluggish performance so far, the dull game hadn’t captured her attention. Beau also wasn’t living up to his hype, which didn’t surprise her.
Derek took her hand, sending a blast of heat to her fingers and toes. She was glad he was with her. It would have been agony without him.
“Beau sucks,” he whispered to her.
She patted his leg. “He does, doesn’t he?”
John leaned over to them. “He’s usually better than this.”
“He’ll get better.” Shelley clapped her hands. “Come on, Beau.”
Derek leaned closer to Leslie. “Your mother even cheers for Beau when he’s not on the field. No wonder she’s been looking at me all night like a tiger about to devour its next meal.”
Leslie nudged him with her shoulder. “She’s coming around. She called you by name in the car on the way over. That’s a big step.”
John angled his head closer. “I know how you feel, Derek. Sometimes I think she’s going to eat me alive, too.”
Leslie gripped his hand. “See there? You have a fan.”
Derek cleared his throat. “Ah, Mr. Moore, I wanted to thank you for helping my mom. She was so nervous about her job interview today with the law firm you recommended, she couldn’t stop shaking.”
“Glad I could help.” John patted his shoulder. “I think she would be a great fit there. I’m sure they’ll love her.”
Derek nodded. “I hope so. I’ve been wanting her to get out of the diner for years.”
His smile lifted Leslie’s heart. Knowing she had helped to make him happy meant the world to her.
“Interesting game, huh?”
The soft voice came from behind Leslie. She careened her head around to the next bench up from hers.
“Taylor?”
Bundled up in an oversized jacket, Taylor was barely recognizable. Her pale skin and blank stare disturbed Leslie.
What could make such a vivacious and pretty girl wither away like this?
“I didn’t know you were sitting up here.” Leslie worriedly checked around her. “You here with someone?”
Taylor hunched her shoulders. “I came with a friend. She goes to Covington High. She sat with her team.”
Her soft voice sounded as fragile as she appeared. Something was off with the girl, but Leslie couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Who is your friend?”
“Her name is Kelly. We have a lot in common.” Taylor grinned, showing the first speck of life in her features. “You two should definitely meet.”
* * *
Clouds gathered in the evening sky, and the breeze turned colder as the second quarter got underway. A restless rumble rose from the St. Benedict stands, drifting across the field to Beau. On the fifty-yard line, he had the ball again, getting ready to count off the snap. He yearned for some action to show his fans and the scout.
The ball snapped, and he pulled out of the pocket, his feet dragging on the grass, but he struggled to pull it together. He spotted an open man close to the end zone, and the sluggishness plaguing him magically lifted.
You got this!
He threw the perfect spiral pass. It hung in the air, coming right down on his player. Joy bloomed in his heart. But right when his receiver stepped forward to catch the ball, Beau was forced to the ground by a brutal slam.
His vision blurred, and he caught his breath. He sat up, remembering the pass. He strained to peer down the field, willing his eyes to focus. A player from Covington High had the ball and sprinted to the visiting team’s end zone.
What the fuck?
He couldn’t believe his eyes when the guy kept running without a single whistle blowing the play dead.
Beau staggered to his feet, ready to rip into the ref calling the play. He marched over to the referee closest to him.
His acidic tone emphasized his outrage. “Ref, that was a late hit.”
The referee shook his head. “Not from what I saw, Beau.”
Wound so tight he couldn’t take it anymore, he lashed out.
Beau pushed the referee. “What are you, blind?”
A whistle cut off the ref’s reply. Players gathered around him, blocking his access to the ref.
“Chill, dude,” Mitch cautioned.
“Settle down,” his tight-end said as he ushered him back.
The head referee ran into the melee of players, shoving them out of the way. He held up his index finger to Beau.
“You’ve got your first warning, Devereaux. One more stunt like that, and I’ll kick your ass out of the game.”
The storm inside him raged. Like a wildfire fed by the wind, hate consumed everything in his head. His reason, his desire, his hope for the future had gone up in smoke.
“Me? What did I do?” His growl triggered a few shocked looks. “This is such—”
“Devereaux,” Coach Brewer hollered from the bench. “Get over here.”
Beau walked off the field, his cleats kicking up the grass. What kind of idiots were refereeing this game?
“You’d better wise up, boy.” Coach Brewer yanked off his helmet. “You push a ref like that again, and I’ll bench you for the season.”
He bit his tongue. He had an image to keep up. “Yes, sir.”
Coach Brewer poked him in the chest hard. “Park your ass on the bench. I don’t know what happened to you out there but get it together.”
Every muscle in his being shook. Every nerve fiber was on fire. He wanted to hit someone, hurt someone, even kill someone. He could not see clearly around him, everything melted into one blur of blind rage. Wound tight, craving for a release, he held it all in. He suppressed his scream, letting it burn the back of his throat.
Hyperventilating, he took his seat on the bench, then raised his head to the stands, hoping the sight of Leslie would help him.
There she was, chatting with someone behind her. Her shoulder turned, giving him a clearer view of the person. His chest heaved, and the peace he sought in her face became a raging inferno.
Taylor shifted her gaze to him as she spoke to Leslie. The grin on her lips had I’ve got you, written all over it.
Josh took a seat next to him. “What is going on with you?”
He didn’t look at him but kept his eyes on Leslie. “I don’t know.”
“You need to chill, dude. You’re costing us the game. Get your head out of your ass.”
Something clicked inside him. Without giving it a second thought, Beau tackled Josh, knocking him to the ground.
His teammates grabbed at him and pulled him away.
Coach Brewer waddled up to him, pulling up his blue long shorts. “Devereaux, have you gone mad! What in the hell are you doing, going after one of my players like that?”
He tucked his chin to his chest, hiding his grin. “Sorry, Coach. We had a disagreement about a girl.”
A dark shade of red tinted the coach’s cheeks. “You better simmer down, son.” Coach Brewer waved to the gangly second-string quarterback at the end of the bench. “Marty Evans, you’re filling in for Devereaux.”
Marty climbed to his feet, nervously looked at him, and grabbed his helmet.
Beau gaped at Marty’s back as he jogged onto the field.
The hush from the St. Benedict stands echoed his disbelief.
What just happened? A fit of laughter came over him, surprising him. He didn’t know if it was shock or disgust at his coach’s choice to replace him, but he kept laughing as he walked up to his coach.
“Are you serious? I’m the best you’ve got and if you put Marty in there we’ll lose this game.”
A hush descended over the St. Benedict players lined up on the side of the field.
Coach Brewer eased closer, his big belly almost touching Beau.
“Devereaux, do yourself a favor—stay out of my face until this game is over.”
When Beau finally had a seat on the bench, he scanned the stands. His father was chatting with a middle-aged man with gray hair and glasses.
Is that the scout?
Gage faced the field, his eyes ripping into Beau. He could hear the lecture he would get, but he didn’t care. He’d catered to his father’s rules for too long.
But when Gage Devereaux took Elizabeth’s elbow and escorted his chicly dressed wife down the steps, his determination faltered. His parents had given up on him.
He would expect nothing less from his father. Fail to live up to his ideal, and Gage Devereaux wrote you off like a bad check. He did it to his mother, and after his behavior on the field, Beau suspected he would do the same to him.
The astonished looks and reactions from others in the stands sickened him.
Bastards are always hungry for a show.
His parents, the school, even the town had held him back. Maybe if he had gone to school in New Orleans and played at one of their big schools, he wouldn’t have to beg for a scout to come to him. They would have heard of him already.
The emotional blow of his parents slinking away was nothing compared to the hurricane of hatred ravaging him. He wanted to hit, to punch, to kick, to bite, to destroy someone. Better than that, he yearned to kill. And if his coach didn’t let him back on the field soon, Beau Devereaux would give the people of St. Benedict something to talk about for years to come.
* * *
The whistle blew starting the second half of the game. Beau paced the sidelines, kicking up the dirt and holding in his resentment. Thunder accompanied the clouds blanketing the sky, and the air was heavy with the promise of rain.
Convinced he would be called in to wipe out the fourteen-point lead of Covington High, he stayed off the bench, keeping his body warmed up and ready to go.
Minutes ticked by on the score board at the end of the field, and he agonized over every one of them. With three minutes to go until the last quarter, he’d decided it was time to turn on the charm and get back in the game.
“Coach.” He arched his back and stood next to Coach Brewer, putting on his best ass-kissing frown. “I want to apologize for my behavior. I don’t know what happened to me. I got hit hard twice and maybe I went a little crazy, but I’m good now.”
Coach Brewer turned away from the game and gave him a skeptical side-eye.
“I’ll be happy to clean up the locker room after the game, or anything you want me to do as punishment for my actions. I was wrong.”
His coach kicked at the chalk by his feet. “Don’t disappoint me, Devereaux.” He nodded to the field. “Get in the game and send Marty out.”
It was music to Beau’s ears.
Mitch came up, pounding on his shoulder pads. “See? He’s puttin’ you back in. Let’s turn it around.”
His seething bitterness did not ebb while he put on his helmet; it skyrocketed. He had to sit by while the other team scored and now had to pull a miracle out of his ass to win the game and impress the scout. But he didn’t complain; he smiled at everyone—just like his father would have wanted—acting like the Beau they all thought they knew.
On the field, he stayed focused, shutting out all other thoughts and keeping his anger in check. He threw short passes, connected with his open men, and his confidence returned as his team moved up the field.
His wrath retreated to the black hole inside him. Beau felt like his old self again. He settled into a rhythm. On third down, he backed out of the pocket and found an open receiver. It was one of his best passes ever.
Touchdown!
A tide of jubilation washed away all his discontent. St. Benedict was within seven points of catching Covington High.
Beau remained quarterback in the fourth quarter. The boost was just what he needed.
I’ll show that scout, my father, even Coach Brewer. I’ve got the talent to go all the way!
On the first down, he passed the ball to Mitch for a thirty-five-yard play.
The bad beginning to the night forgotten, a rush of exhilaration hit him.
“You’re back.” Mitch butted his helmet when he returned to the huddle. “Keep it goin’.”
Beau hoped to do just that but on the next play, the referee called offsides on a teammate before he got the ball off. He kept his cool and refocused.
He returned to the huddle and happened to glance at the visitor’s sideline.
Kelly was there, chatting with one of the off-duty police officers working security detail.
He almost doubled over. Was she telling the cop everything Beau had done to her?
“Hey.” Mitch slapped his helmet. “You with us?”
Beau joined the huddle but kept a wary eye on Kelly and the cop as he called the next play.
After the snap, he couldn’t find an open receiver, so he ditched the ball to avoid another sack.
The blare of a whistle made him turn to his right. The line referee called him for intentional grounding.
Behind the referee, in the stands packed with cheering St. Benedict fans, he spotted Leslie. She looked right at him, wearing a strange smile.
Someone stood up behind her. Taylor, all alone on the bench, caught his stare. She aimed her finger like a gun and fired.
Beau snapped.
“Damn it, Kramer!” He charged the referee who made the intentional grounding call. “That’s a bullshit call.”
The lanky man blew his whistle at Beau.
“Keep it up, Devereaux, and you’re out of the game!” Kramer Wilson signaled for play to resume.
His fingers twitched, letting him know his ire was on the rise. He tried to lock it down, and before he went into the huddle, he glanced one more time to the stands. Taylor was gone, but Leslie remained with Foster by her side. His nerves calmed, then movement to the left caught this eye.
The older man he’d seen shaking hands with his father stood up, folded a notebook, and made his way down the steps.
The scout. He’d blown his shot.
Fuck!
“Beau!” Mitch called him to the huddle.
His flimsy lock on his anger broke. A myriad of black emotions pumped through him, urging him to move, to run. He barely got out the call for the play, he was so wound up.
On the line, he counted off the snap, ready to pound into the first person who touched him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kramer Wilson stood to the side, waiting for the play.
Suddenly he knew who to blame for his lost dreams. Kramer’s call had cost Beau his future and destroyed his ticket to the pros.
He took the snap, a plan hatching. But he had to be smart.
Don’t let them know who you really are.
He backed out of the pocket and kept an eye on his open men. To the right, he saw Kramer heading downfield. He cocked his arm back, pretending to aim long for the end zone, even though no one was there.
His temper driving him, he zeroed in on Kramer Wilson, and let the ball fly.
It sailed through the air, a perfect spiral, gaining momentum. And as it came down, with not a single player on that side of the field to catch it, the football connected with the back of Kramer Wilson’s head.
Beau hid his grin as the man went face first into the grass and didn’t move.
Silence. The entire field was in shock.
There’s your intentional grounding, asshole.
He relished the moment. He’d hurt him, in front of everyone, and no one would be able to say for sure if it was on purpose.
This was almost as much fun as taking a girl to the cells.
Coaching staff and players from both teams rushed to Kramer. Mindful of those watching him, he ran across the field to join the others, ready to convince everyone it had been a terrible mistake.
“Dude.” Mitch ran alongside him. “You nailed him.”
“The ball slipped.” He slowed as they came to the small group tending to Kramer. “I didn’t mean to hit him.”
“Devereaux!” Coach Brewer was in his face, ripping off his helmet. “What in the ever-loving hell were you thinking?”
Beau glanced over his shoulder to see Kramer sitting up.
He pressed his lips together, hiding his smile. “The ball slipped, coach. I meant to connect with Mitch, and I must have gotten hit when I threw it.”
All the years of his perfect golden-boy persona would pay off in that one moment. Who would believe Beau Devereaux would intentionally hurt anyone?
“Bullshit!” Coach Brewer leaned into him. “I’ve watched you throw balls for four stinking years. That was intentional.” He pointed to the bench. “Go back to the locker room.”
He clenched his fists, ready to fight, and then he saw all the players and coaches from both teams soaking in his every move.
Coolly, he backed away and walked off the field, keeping his head down. He wasn’t about to show everyone how happy he was about clobbering Kramer.
The sound of his cleats hitting the gravel track echoed between the stands. He heard the whispers from the St. Benedict crowd as he drew near, then like a church bell on Sunday morning, someone’s throaty laugh cut through the quiet. He glanced up and saw Leslie snickering.
He hurried the last few steps into the gym doors. Once inside the locker room, he let go of his rage and flung his helmet, taking out the clock on the wall.
Beau plopped down on the bench in front of his locker, his head in his hands. Faces from the game whipped across his mind. Taylor, Kelly, but most of all Leslie. Her outburst had proved the time had come to make her his. Her insolence needed to be tamed, and he was the only one who could do it.
The locker room door swung open and Coach Brewer waddled inside. He came up to his bench, his face the color of Beau’s jersey.
“Devereaux, what in God’s name has gotten into you?”
He didn’t look up, keeping his eyes peeled on the coach’s dirty tennis shoes.
“That referee you hit is okay but probably has a concussion.” Coach Brewer waited for him to say something, then went on. “Do you understand what you’ve done?”
Beau had been pushed far enough and rose to his feet. “It was an accident. I never meant to hit him. I let go of the ball too soon, got tapped. I don’t know, but it wasn’t my fault.”
“I’m not buying that.” Coach Brewer scowled and pointed at the locker room door. “Everyone out there may buy your story, but I know what you can do. This entire game you’ve acted like you’ve lost your damn mind.” Coach Brewer shook his head. “You’re through, Devereaux. Leave your uniform on the bench and go. You’re off the team.”
Coach Brewer stomped out of the locker room.
Beau stumbled backward and plopped down on his bench, the dismissal thundering in his head.
They had four more games, big ones, and they needed him. Not that loser Marty.
He raised his head to the harsh fluorescent lights. The walls closed in. The air got thin.
He had to think. He had to breathe. He had to get out of that damned locker room and plan his comeback. But how to regain his status? How did he win back what was rightfully his?
Beau changed out of his uniform. When he went to put his jersey back in his locker, he hesitated. He wanted to keep it. He’d worked so long to earn it, but he decided it would look better to leave it behind.
While he walked to his car, the blare of the announcer calling the game lingering over the parking lot, it finally hit him—he’d lost his stardom. The tightrope of control he had fought so long to keep in check had betrayed him, and he had let loose.
Peeling out of the parking lot and speeding away from the school, Beau debated returning home. The last thing he wanted was another Gage Devereaux lecture. No, he needed to go to where he could recharge his batteries and release his frustration. To the one place on earth where he was always king—the river.
* * *
The first drops of rain came down on Dawn’s head while she stared at the empty football field. The injured referee sat on the sidelines, a bag of ice on his head. The St. Benedict players, still scattered on the sidelines, waited for their coach to return from the locker room.
“Can you believe they kicked him out of the game for that?” Zoe tapped her red and white pompoms together. “That was a million to one shot. No one could do it on purpose.”
Beau could.
She didn’t bother to enlighten her. Zoe didn’t know Beau; Dawn had a lot of experience with his chameleon-like personality. She’d never put it all together until she saw the football hit its mark. He had been good at portraying the model son, overachiever, squeaky clean teenager with a heart of gold, and then like the Incredible Hulk, his anger would turn him into a monster.
“You think they’ll let him come back—?”
Zoe’s question was cut off as whistles sounded across the field and players scrambled to get back out on the grass.
Dawn put her mind back on the game, but a lingering apprehension about Beau stayed with her.
The rain came down a little harder and her heart rose in her throat as minutes ticked until the end of the fourth quarter. She cheered with gusto as St. Benedict closed in for a touchdown. Then their drive got blocked and they had to settle for a field goal.
Anxious and exhausted from the roller coaster ride of an evening, she screamed when her team got the ball back with thirty seconds left on the clock. The rain stopped and the crowd put aside their ponchos and umbrellas, got to their feet, and shouted in unison with her squad for the home team to score.
Then, with ten seconds left, she held her breath as Marty Evans let go a Hail Mary pass to connect to an open receiver in the end zone.
Touchdown!
Ecstatic, she tossed her pompoms into the air, jumped, and yelled, and hugged her fellow squad members. The roar of the home crowd blotted out all other noise.
The players left the field, hurrying back to the locker room. Everyone lingered in the stands, reveling in the excitement of the game.
Dawn wiped her face with a towel, listening to the various theories moving through the stands about what had happened to their favorite hometown hero.
“He had an off night,” one mother, holding an umbrella, offered.
“He was totally stressed over the scout,” a freshman girl confided to her friends.
“Too much partying on the river,” a faint female voice said next to her on the steps.
Dawn glanced up and caught Taylor standing at the railing and gazing out at the empty field.
Her loose-fitting clothes and faraway look confused Dawn. The Taylor she’d spent hours in cheer practices with had been a tough customer—no-nonsense, practical, and competitive. The change astounded her.
“What do you think will happen to him?”
Taylor had a seat next to her. “Nothing more than he deserves.”
The anger in her voice took Dawn by surprise. Since when was Taylor so anti-Beau?
“I wonder where he went.” Dawn searched the parking lot behind the home team’s stands for his car.
“Aren’t you meeting up with him at the river?” Taylor asked.
“No. I’m going home when I leave here.” Dawn collected her pompoms, confusion mounting in her heart.
Why was it so hard to forget him? He had not looked her way once during the game and it had killed her, but then the way he’d acted ...
“I’m not sure I want to go out with Beau anymore. After what I saw tonight ... I’ve never seen him like that in public. He’s always so careful to show people what he wants them to see. He slipped tonight, and I’m afraid what will happen next.”
“I’m glad you’re reconsidering your relationship.” Taylor studied the crowds emptying the stands. “He’s kept a lot from you.”
Her stomach churned at the suggestion. But how did Taylor know anything about Beau?
“Are you talking about what goes on at the river?”
Taylor’s cheeks lost their color. “You don’t know how he is when you’re not around. He’s not what you think.”
Dawn hugged her pompoms, feeling sick. “You mean the other girls, huh? I’ve suspected there were others for a while now. It’s got a lot to do with why I want to end it. Is there something else?”
“Please stay away from him.” Taylor gripped Dawn’s forearm. “He’ll hurt you if you don’t.”
The grotesque mask of terror on her face shocked Dawn. Why should Taylor be so worried about her relationship with Beau? In her gut, Dawn’s suspicions mushroomed. What did Taylor know? What could be worse than his cheating on her?
Perhaps she needed to find out for herself what was going on. Until she knew for sure, she doubted she would ever be completely free of Beau Devereaux.
