“Yeah, it’ll go way beyond him playing favorites with his girl. The man just isn’t the right fit for our program, and it’s a plain and simple fact. His methods aren’t going to work out here, and we have to make the fix before tryouts.” Joel Jennings’s tone is even. Calm, in fact. He’s had this plan brewing for days. For the life of me, though, I can’t fathom anyone other than Zack who’d back the crazy idea that my dad isn’t the kind of coach who builds great programs. He’s either bluffing that he has the numbers behind him or he’s paying players to take up his cause.
“He’ll lawyer up, you know,” our athletic director says.
A muffled voice breaks through on the radio in their cart, something about being needed at the front office.
“Let him. In the meantime, Coach Gage is ready to take over.”
They drive off, finishing their conversation too far away to be heard. Those few words Cannon and I heard are enough, though. Coach Gage is a nice guy, but he’s seventy-two. He’s been volunteering out here for decades. My dad was talking about him at dinner the other night, joking to my mom and Ben and I about how impressive it is that he can still hit pop flies so well. The guy has no interest in leading a team, but he’s also a pushover, which is probably how Zack’s dad pressured him into taking over my dad’s job.
“I have to tell him,” I realize aloud, pushing from Cannon’s cover and slipping out into the open.
The golf cart is nowhere to be seen. I bite the back of my hand, teeth gripping my knuckles while I sort out the rush of thoughts. Cannon is never more than inches away from me. I’m shaking mad.
“Hollis.” He spins me and palms both of my shoulders to catch my gaze and stop the world from spinning. I’m having a panic attack.
“Breathe,” he says.
So I do.
15
Cannon
I knew Hollis wouldn’t be able to wait for the end of the day to see her dad. I’m only glad she didn’t rush over to his office in the state she was in. When she skipped out on weightlifting, I figured she was probably talking to him. Now that his door is locked shut and she’s out on the field throwing with Zack and a few of the other guys, I’m not sure what to think.
Today was optional. It’s my cousin’s fault that Coach called off the remaining organized practices for the week. Next week is the last one before tryouts. I’m not worried about myself, but I am worried about Zack. It’s not that he needs the practice, as much as he needs a serious personality adjustment to make sure he doesn’t get himself benched—or worse, cut.
Or course, if Coach Taylor goes away, maybe that’s not an issue. I can’t buy into the idea that Coach Gage will like my cousin any better, though. I guess that fact is moot, since Coach Gage will be manipulated into building the team as my uncle sees fit.
I miss my dad.
My gear bag slung over my shoulder, I pull my phone from my pocket and send my father a text while I walk out to join the others. I wonder if they bothered to run? I’m sure Hollis did.
I message my dad to see where he’s at, and when he replies with 100 miles to go, my lungs open up, taking what feels like the first full breath I’ve drawn in ages.
A hundred miles puts him in town tonight. It means I’ll have a rational set of ears to talk to, and wise advice to help me navigate this clusterfuck of a senior season.
With a clearing breath, I tuck my phone in the side pocket of my bag and head down to the field to join the others.
“We ran already,” Zack says before I drop my bag and change my shoes. He’s robotic with his throwing, and equally so with his words.
I glance to Hollis for verification and she quirks a brow and nods. That fucker really did run.
I stare at her for a few extra seconds while she throws, long enough to get a read on her expression to see how things are after talking with her dad, if she even had a chance to. I’m not able to read much from her expression, but I can tell she isn’t exactly happy. She doesn’t look as worried as before, though, so I leave them to finish throwing while I get in my run.
My times are getting faster every time I do this. I think about the difference I’ve seen in myself since I met Coach Taylor—and Hollis. I’m more than faster; I do things with purpose, and that thinking is beyond the field.
I wonder how I would react to the way my cousin acts if I didn’t have a personal connection to Hollis. What if I never went to that New Year’s party? What if she was simply coach’s daughter, no connection to me at all? Would I have bothered to form one?
I never would have liked what Zack has done, but shamefully, I’m pretty sure I would have tolerated it—more so than I already have. I would have drawn a line and made it not my problem. My dad is like that. He doesn’t approve of a lot of things, including the way the CEO of his engineering firm back home treated his female coworkers. My dad never said anything to anyone who could do anything about it, though. I suppose I haven’t, either. I have made my point to Zack, though. I realize that’s not enough, especially after what we saw—and heard—outside the study hall rooms.
I’m pacing after my run, checking the time on my smart watch, when Hollis jogs over from the infield. My instinct is to rush back with her, to avoid giving my cousin more reason to talk about us being alone, but then
