The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

I cleaned your added version and kept the new beats from your pasted draft: the girls enjoying the sun, Roxie lying about waiting for Claire, Kyle’s deadpan being fake, and Zac’s parents glowing because they think Roxie dumped him.

Chapter 125: The Shortcut

The last practice before regionals started before lunch and ended before sunset.

That should have felt illegal.

For the past week, Coach Miller had kept them until the sky went black and everyone’s legs moved like they belonged to someone else. The gym lights had become Roxie’s second sun. Her body had memorized the smell of floor wax, sweat, water bottles, and hairspray.

Today was worse in a different way.

Coach Miller treated the whole day like one long warning.

"Again."

They went again.

"You’re all gonna be eaten tomorrow."

They went again.

"Sharper arms, Jones."

Roxie lifted her arms sharper.

"Whitlock, timing."

Kendall fixed her timing with a tight smile.

"Bases, stop looking constipated. Catch like you want your flyer alive."

Karen coughed into her elbow.

Angela’s mouth twitched.

Roxie didn’t laugh because laughing took energy, and she needed all of hers to keep standing.

Tomorrow was regionals.

The word sat under every count.

Every jump.

Every stunt.

Every correction.

Tomorrow, they would perform in front of judges. Tomorrow, they would either prove Coach Miller right or make him look like a man who had wasted weeks dragging them through hell. Tomorrow, Roxie would stand on a mat and pretend nothing in her life was shaking.

Claire.

Zac.

Her shitty life.

By the time Coach Miller finally lowered his clipboard, half the team looked ready to collapse.

He stared at them for a long second.

Then he said, "Go home."

Everyone froze.

Karen blinked. "Is this a trick?"

Coach Miller’s eyes moved to her.

Karen straightened. "Going home. Love that. Very clear instruction."

Coach Miller pointed at the doors. "Eat. Hydrate. Sleep. Hair and makeup standard tomorrow. Bus leaves early. Anyone late will be left behind and used as a cautionary tale."

Angela grabbed her bag like Coach Miller might change his mind.

Roxie bent to pick up her water bottle, and her thighs complained immediately.

The gym doors opened, and sunlight came through the hallway windows.

Actual sunlight.

Roxie stopped walking.

Angela followed her gaze. "I forgot what that looked like."

Karen adjusted her bag on her shoulder. "I thought Coach Miller had killed the sun personally."

"I’m so pale from being locked in that gym," Roxie said. "I practically glow at night."

Angela laughed.

For a minute, none of them moved. They stood near the doors like three idiots worshipping the sun, bags hanging from sore shoulders, faces tilted toward the light like it could put something back into them.

The warmth touched Roxie’s cheeks.

It felt strange.

Good, but strange.

Like the world had kept going outside the gym while they were being yelled at over counts.

Angela finally turned to her. "You need a ride?"

Roxie shook her head, still facing the sun. "I’m gonna wait for my mom."

Angela looked at her.

Roxie felt that look without turning.

"You know," Angela said carefully, "we’ve met her once in all the years we’ve been friends."

Roxie’s stomach tightened.

Once was already more than Roxie liked.

Now they’d probably never see Claire again.

Karen muttered, "Speak for yourself. I’ve seen her twice."

"It’s not a contest, Karen," Roxie said.

"I know. I won."

Roxie looked at her.

Karen lifted both hands. "Sorry."

"She’s just busy," Roxie said.

The lie came out flat.

Angela’s face softened, and Roxie hated that. Soft faces always made everything worse.

Before Angela could say anything else, Karen’s aunt pulled up near the curb. Angela’s mom arrived a minute later.

Angela hesitated. "Text when you get home."

"I will."

"You say that and then forget."

"I’ll put it in my calendar."

Karen pointed at her. "Inspirational."

Roxie lifted two fingers and walked away before they could keep their caring families waiting longer.

The air outside felt cold against her face. Her body was tired enough that every step down the school walkway felt heavy, but the evening light made everything softer. The sky still had color. The streetlamps had not come on yet. Cars passed slowly near the school entrance, parents picking up younger students and athletes carrying bags toward the lot.

Roxie kept walking.

She had told Angela she was waiting for Claire.

Then she walked toward the cemetery alone.

The lie sat in her chest, ugly and familiar.

For years, that shortcut had belonged to her.

She had walked it after school, after work, after bad days, after worse nights. She knew the cracked part of the pavement near the gate. She knew the headstones that leaned near the fence. She knew which tree roots pushed through the grass and which corner got darkest first when the sun went down.

It had always been her walking through it.

Her and silence.

Today, Zac was sitting on a headstone.

Roxie stopped.

He wore a dark hoodie, jeans, and that stupid grin like sitting on someone’s grave was a normal after-practice activity. His football bag was on the ground beside his shoes. One knee was bent. His elbow rested on it like he had been waiting there for a while.

Roxie raised her brows. "Aren’t you scared he’s going to haunt you?"

Zac looked down at the stone. "She."

"I don’t need to know."

"Margaret Ellis," he said, reading the name. "Died in 1988."

"Zac."

"I feel obligated to tell you."

"You are obligated to get your ass off Margaret."

He grinned and stood. "See? Respectful."

"You were sitting on her."

"I apologized."

"To the dead woman?"

"Yes."

Roxie tried to keep her face flat.

Failed.

Zac saw the smile and stepped closer, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Hi," he said.

"You’re weird."

"I’ve been told."

He leaned in and kissed her.

A quick peck.

Soft.

Warm.

Still new enough to make her stomach dip.

Roxie looked around fast.

Zac noticed.

His smile faded a little, but he didn’t tease her.

That made her feel worse than if he had.

"No one’s here," he said.

"Margaret is."

"Margaret supports us."

"You’re using a dead woman for relationship approval."

"She seemed open-minded."

Roxie shook her head and started walking.

Zac picked up his bag and fell into step beside her.

The cemetery path stretched ahead, pale between rows of stones. The grass was damp in the shaded parts. A crow moved along the top of the stone wall, then flew off when they got close.

Roxie kept her eyes forward.

Zac walked beside her.

That was the part that got under her skin.

For years, it had only been her feet on this path. Her bag on her shoulder. Her hand wrapped around her keys when it got too dark. Her steps speeding up by the wall because she hated that corner but refused to admit it.

Now Zac walked through it like he had always belonged there.

That should have annoyed her.

It did.

A little.

Mostly, it made the path feel less long.

"You okay?" he asked.

Roxie nodded. "Just tired."

"Coach Miller?"

"Coach Miller is a demon in athletic shoes."

Zac laughed. "Coach Miller and Coach Hayes aren’t close friends for no reason."

"That explains everything."

"Heard he made you run the full routine until your souls left."

"He did. Then told us to sleep like he didn’t personally remove my ability to move."

Zac looked at her legs. "You walking okay?"

"Don’t look at my legs like that."

His eyes snapped forward.

Roxie smiled.

His ears turned a little red.

"You done with practice?" she asked.

"Yeah. Hayes kept us long enough to remind everyone that one playoff win doesn’t make us special."

"Does he know who your quarterback is?"

Zac looked at her.

Roxie shrugged. "What? I’m being supportive."

"You are being suspicious."

"Same thing."

He smiled a little. "We’re going to VCU tomorrow after our morning lift."

Roxie paused.

Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag.

"VCU?"

"For regionals."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "Are you coming alone?"

The question came out smaller than she wanted.

Zac’s face shifted.

Then he reached over and tapped the tip of her nose with one finger.

"No."

Roxie blinked. "Don’t touch my nose."

"You looked like you needed your nose touched."

"I looked normal."

"You looked like you were building a crime scene in your head."

She glared.

He smiled. "I’m going with Dylan, Mason, and Kyle."

Roxie let out a breath before she could stop it.

Zac noticed immediately.

"Wow," he said. "That is offensive."

"I’m sorry."

"You sounded relieved."

"I was."

His hand went to his chest. "Hurtful."

"You know what I meant."

"I do, which is why I am choosing to be dramatic."

Roxie smiled despite herself. "You’re already dramatic."

"I’m quarterback dramatic. Different category."

"Worse category."

He laughed.

The sound moved through the cemetery path, low and real, and Roxie hated how much she liked hearing it there. In her shortcut. In the place she used to hurry through alone.

They walked past a row of older stones, names softened by weather.

Zac slowed slightly so his pace matched hers.

Roxie noticed.

She pretended she didn’t.

"Are Dylan and Mason going to be annoying?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Great."

"Kyle is quieter."

Roxie snorted. "Yeah, but that boy’s deadpan face is a lie. He looks calm until someone touches the ball wrong."

Zac laughed. "Accurate."

"He has rage in lowercase."

"Kyle would respect that description."

"Mason is worse?"

"Mason is planning signs."

Roxie stopped walking. "No."

Zac’s grin spread. "Yes."

"No signs."

"I told him that."

"And?"

"He laughed."

Roxie covered her face with one hand. "I hate all of you."

"You haven’t seen the signs yet."

"Mason planning a sign is never good."

Zac stepped around a low stone and waited for her to catch up. "They want to support the cheer team."

"They want to embarrass me."

"Probably."

Roxie pointed at him. "You control them."

"No one controls Mason. He’s a free soul."

"You’re the captain."

"Mason respects no government."

Roxie laughed, and it surprised her.

The laugh came out tired but real.

Zac looked at her when it happened.

Softly.

Like he wanted to keep it.

Roxie looked away first.

The path curved toward the far gate, where the cemetery wall opened back onto the sidewalk near her street. The sun had dropped lower, but the sky still held enough light to make the old stones look gray instead of black.

Zac’s shoulder brushed hers once.

Neither of them moved away.

"How are your parents?" she asked.

The question came out carefully.

Zac’s face changed.

Only a little.

Enough for her to see.

"Cold war," he said.

Roxie’s smile thinned. "That bad?"

"They didn’t smile when I told them you dumped me." His jaw tightened. "But they’re literally glowing."

Roxie stared at him.

He looked at the path, trying to make it sound like a joke.

It wasn’t.

"Sorry," he said.

Her chest pulled.

His parents were relieved.

Naturally, they were.

Roxie Jones stayed away from their perfect table. Roxie Jones didn’t walk through their front door. Roxie Jones rejected their son before they had to do anything.

They could glow over that.

It made sense.

It still hurt.

Roxie looked down at her shoes. "It’s fine."

"It’s not."

"It is."

"Roxie."

She lifted her eyes to him. "What do you want me to say? That I’m shocked your parents don’t want me dating you?"

His mouth tightened.

"I’m not shocked," she said. "I’m not even offended."

That was a lie.

Zac knew it.

He took one step closer. "I am."

Roxie’s throat tightened.

"Don’t be."

"I am."

"You’re wasting energy."

"I have plenty."

"You have playoffs."

"You have regionals."

"Exactly. So stop making your family hate you for me."

His eyes hardened. "They’re doing that themselves."

Roxie opened her mouth.

Nothing good came out, so she closed it.

He stood in the cemetery path with his football bag over one shoulder, hair pushed messy under his hood, face serious in that stubborn Prescott way she wanted to slap and kiss in equal amounts.

Roxie looked away before her face got stupid.

"Your delivery needs work."

His mouth twitched. "Yeah?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

They started walking again.

The gate came into view.

Past it was the sidewalk leading toward her house, the cracked pavement, the familiar turn, the quiet street waiting like it always did.

Roxie’s legs ached.

Her shoulders hurt.

But Zac was walking beside her.

For once, the shortcut felt like a shortcut.

When they reached the gate, Zac looked at her. "You want me to walk you all the way?"

Roxie lifted a brow. "What kind of secret boyfriend would let me get murdered fifty feet from my house?"

His face changed.

Secret boyfriend.

He heard it.

So did she.

Her cheeks warmed.

Zac’s smile came slow. "A bad one."

"Then don’t be bad at your job."

"Yes, ma’am."

"Never call me that again."

"Yes, baby."

Her stomach flipped.

Her face warmed.

She hated him.

She smiled anyway.

Zac leaned close, but he stopped before kissing her.

Checking.

Waiting.

Careful.

This time, careful didn’t feel like leaving.

Roxie rolled her eyes and grabbed the front of his hoodie.

"Once," she said.

He smiled. "Generous."

Then she pulled him down and kissed him under the fading light by the cemetery gate.