The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

The week after regionals should have felt good.

It did.

For about five minutes.

On Monday morning, the cheer team walked into Briarwick with medals, sore bodies, and the kind of attention that made everyone act like they had personally helped them qualify for state.

People clapped in the hallway.

Freshmen stared.

Teachers smiled like they had suddenly remembered cheer was a sport when it came with a placement.

Someone taped a printed congratulations sign near the main office.

BRIARWICK CHEER ADVANCES TO STATE.

Under it, someone had written VCU in blue marker with three exclamation points.

Karen stood in front of it with both hands on her hips. "I like the enthusiasm, but the handwriting is criminal."

Angela took a picture anyway.

Coach Miller congratulated them during lunch, accepted the applause at the pep announcement with a stiff nod, then handed out revised state practice schedules before the last bell even rang.

Karen stared at the paper. "He celebrates like a villain."

Angela’s eyes widened. "Saturday practice?"

Roxie read the schedule again.

Saturday.

Sunday afternoon.

Extra stunt blocks.

Conditioning.

Routine upgrades.

By Wednesday, the medal felt less like a celebration and more like a reminder.

State was coming.

And while the cheer team got dragged back into practice like third place had personally insulted Coach Miller, the football team got worse.

The whole school had shifted toward Zac’s regional final like it was a weather system coming in.

Posters went up near the gym.

Students talked about tickets.

Teachers told football players good luck in that extra serious voice adults used when they wanted to sound supportive but also remind them the entire school was watching.

Ravens was undefeated.

Zac Prescott was undefeated.

People said it like the two were the same thing.

Roxie heard his name everywhere.

In the cafeteria.

In the hallway.

Near the lockers.

Girls saying he looked locked in.

Boys arguing about the other team’s defense.

Someone from junior year saying scouts might be at the game.

Roxie said nothing.

She kept walking.

She also looked for him every time his name floated past her.

That was annoying.

Their once-a-day rule had lasted exactly two days before becoming stupid.

Not because they were obvious but because they were miserable. They had turned it into smaller things.

A look across the hallway.

His hand brushing the back of her chair in chemistry.

A text during lunch.

Her pretending not to smile at her phone.

By Thursday, he looked tired.

By Friday, he looked like the whole school had climbed onto his shoulders and started giving instructions.

Roxie saw him after practice.

The cheer team had finished late, but football had ended earlier than usual, which felt suspicious enough that half the athletes looked confused. Coach Hayes had apparently decided that boys who could barely stand were useless for a regional final.

Karen heard that and said, "Wow. A coach choosing sleep. Revolutionary. Someone should be inspired."

Coach Miller looked at her. "We are practicing tomorrow."

Karen stared at him. "Never mind. Men continue to disappoint me."

Roxie was still in her practice clothes, hair pulled back, bag hanging from one shoulder, when her phone buzzed.

Zac: Lot C. Two minutes.

Her pulse jumped.

She looked around fast. No one was looking around.

Roxie typed with one thumb.

Roxie: I have work.

Zac: I know.

She stared at the screen, fighting a smile.

Zac: Two minutes.

Roxie slipped her phone into her bag.

"I’m going," she told Angela.

Angela looked over. "Your mom?"

Roxie’s hand tightened on the strap.

"Yeah," she said.

Roxie lifted two fingers and left before either of them could care too much.

Lot C sat behind the gym, far enough from the main parking area that most people used it only when they were late or hiding something.

Perfect.

Zac’s truck was parked near the back, half-shadowed by the line of trees near the fence.

He was in the driver’s seat.

Roxie opened the passenger door and climbed in.

The inside smelled like leather, sweat, and his stupid cologne.

She shut the door and looked at him. "Two minutes?"

Zac leaned back against the seat, one hand on the wheel, helmet hair still messy from practice. "You took three."

"Report me."

"I might."

"You look terrible."

He laughed once, tired. "Thanks."

Roxie studied him.

His jaw had that tight look again. The one he got when he was holding too many things in his mouth and pretending he could swallow them all. His hoodie was wrinkled. His shoulders were tense. There was a fresh scrape near his elbow, and his eyes looked darker than usual.

"Practice bad?" she asked.

"Short."

"That’s bad?"

"Hayes told us to go home and sleep."

Roxie blinked. "Coach Hayes? That’s terrifying."

"I know." Zac smiled, but it faded fast.

Roxie’s stomach dipped. "What?"

He looked through the windshield. "Regional final next week."

"I heard."

"Everyone heard."

"Yeah."

He rubbed his jaw. "Hayes is acting calm. That means he’s worried. Dylan keeps watching film like he’s trying to enter the screen. Mason is pretending he’s fine, which means he is absolutely not fine. Kyle hit someone so hard in practice today Coach made him sit out for ten minutes."

"That sounds like Kyle."

"That was Kyle after calming down."

Roxie leaned against the seat. "What about you?"

Zac’s hand tightened on the wheel.

There.

She saw it.

He looked at her, then away.

"I’m fine."

Roxie gave him a flat look.

His mouth twitched. "Don’t make that face."

"What face?"

"The one where you act like I’m stupid."

"You are."

"Sometimes."

"This is one of those times."

He let out a breath and tipped his head back against the seat.

The truck went quiet.

Outside, someone laughed near the gym doors. A car started in the distance. The football field lights were still on, pale against the darkening sky.

Roxie waited.

Zac finally said, "If we lose, everyone will act like the season was a waste."

Roxie’s chest tightened.

He stared at the roof of the truck. "If I throw one bad pass, it’ll be the pass. If I get sacked, it’ll be because I held too long. If I run, it’ll be reckless. If I don’t run, I’m scared. If I win, that’s what I was supposed to do."

Roxie said nothing.

His voice stayed low. "And if I lose, my father wins."

There it was.

The real thing.

Roxie looked at his profile.

Zac Prescott, Briarwick’s golden boy, undefeated quarterback, the boy everyone thought moved through school like the ground personally liked him.

Roxie swallowed. "Your father is wrong about most things."

Zac turned his head toward her.

She shrugged. "I’m comfortable saying that."

His mouth curved a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You’ve met him once."

"I’ve seen him once and that was enough."

His smile faded into something softer.

Roxie hated soft.

It always made her feel like she had been caught.

She looked away first. "You’ll win."

"You don’t know that."

"No," she said. "But I know you."

His eyes stayed on her.

The words sat between them, warmer than she meant them to be.

Roxie cleared her throat. "And I know your ego would survive a minor earthquake."

"There she is."

"I was getting uncomfortable."

"I noticed."

He reached across the space between them.

Slowly.

His fingers touched hers where her hand rested on her bag.

She let him lace their fingers together.

His thumb moved over her knuckles.

Small.

Tired.

Needing.

Her chest hurt.

"You working tonight?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"I can drive you."

"No."

His jaw tightened.

Roxie felt it before she saw it.

"Zac."

"It’s dark."

"It’s not even six."

"It gets dark fast."

"I’ve walked to work before."

"That’s not comforting."

"I know the route."

"Also not comforting."

She sighed. "You can’t drive me to Corner Grill."

"Why?"

"Because people know you."

"People know me everywhere."

"That’s the problem."

His fingers tightened around hers.

He looked irritated now.

At the fact that he was sitting five minutes from the Grill and still could not do the simple thing he wanted.

Roxie understood that.

She hated that she understood it.

"You knew this," she said quietly.

"I know."

Roxie softened first, which was disgusting.

"I have work," she said. "I’m going to the Grill. I’ll text when I get there. I’ll text when I’m done. I’ll survive the tragic journey."

Zac didn’t smile.

Roxie leaned over and kissed him.

Quick.

Just enough.

Zac’s hand came to the side of her face before she could pull away, holding her there for another second. The kiss stayed soft, but there was frustration under it. His. Hers. The week. The game. The secret. The fact that they kept finding corners and cars instead of space that belonged to them.

Roxie pulled back first.

His forehead rested near hers for half a breath.

"I have to go," she whispered.

"I know."

He didn’t move.

"Zac."

"I know."

This time, he let her go.

She opened the door and climbed out before she could change her mind.

The cold air hit her face.

Zac rolled the window down. "Text me."

She adjusted her bag. "Bossy."

"Text me."

"I will."

"I mean it."

"I know you do."

His eyes stayed on her.

Roxie looked around the lot again, then leaned closer to the open window. "Win your regional final, Prescott."

His mouth curved. "Yes, captain."

"I’m serious."

"So am I."

She stepped back.

He watched until she reached the sidewalk.

She forced herself not to look back more than once.

Fine.

Twice.

He was still there both times.

Roxie walked toward the Corner Grill with her bag on her shoulder and the cold sliding under her sleeves. The sky had gone gray-blue, the kind of evening that made streetlights flicker on early. Cars passed. A dog barked behind someone’s fence. Her legs were sore from practice, but walking felt easier after the truck.

Annoying.

She reached the turn near Maple Street when a motorcycle slowed beside the curb.

Roxie’s hand tightened on her bag strap.

Then the rider lifted his visor.

Ethan.

She relaxed at once.

He cut the engine and planted one boot on the ground. "You always walk like you’re about to fight the sidewalk?"

Roxie stopped beside him. "You always sneak up on girls like a criminal?"

"I was loud."

"You ride a motorcycle. That doesn’t make it less creepy."

Ethan grinned. "Fair."

He wore his work jacket over a black shirt, helmet tucked back enough for her to see his hair messed under it. He looked like he had come straight from somewhere and was pretending he had not gone slightly out of his way.

Roxie looked at the bike. "You working tonight?"

"Yeah. Same as you."

"Then why are you here?"

"I saw you walking."

"You were stalking me?"

"I’d stalk Ryan Reynolds. Not you." He nodded toward the back of the bike. "Want a ride? We’re going to the same place."

Roxie hesitated.

A ride would be faster.

Also annoying because Zac would probably hate it.

Ethan watched her face. "Or you can keep walking. I don’t really care."

She glanced down the street.

Then at the bike.

"Do you have an extra helmet?"

Ethan reached behind him and pulled one from the side. "I’m reckless but not that reckless."

"Wow. Growth."

He handed it to her.

Roxie put it on and climbed on behind him, keeping careful space at first.

Ethan glanced back. "You have to hold on. I’m not responsible if you fell down."

"I think legally you are." Ethan snorted.

Ethan snorted. "Then hold on and save us both paperwork."

Roxie grabbed the back of his jacket.

The motorcycle started under her, loud enough to cover the nervous breath she let out.

Ethan pulled away from the curb, and the cold air hit her face through the opening of the helmet. The school disappeared behind them. Lot C disappeared too. Zac’s truck, his tired eyes, his hand tightening around hers, all of it stayed in her head anyway.

If we lose, everyone will act like the season was a waste.

She hated that sentence.

She hated his father more for making him believe it.

Ethan turned onto Maple Street, heading toward the Corner Grill, and Roxie held on tighter as the streetlights passed over them.

She had made state.

Zac still had to survive his regional final.

For the first time that week, Roxie was less worried about being seen.

She was worried about him.