Varsity captain, p.1
Varsity Captain,
p.1
Varsity Captain
Varsity Series Book 4
Ginger Scott
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Preview of Book 2 in the Varsity Series
If you enjoyed this series, you might also like:
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also By Ginger Scott
Copyright 2021
Ginger Scott, Little Miss Write LLC
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Ginger Scott, Little Miss Write LLC
For Team Lucas.
Chapter One
Lucas Fuller
It’s hard not having anything to say to the man I’ve idolized half my life. That’s what our rides home from practice have become, though—disciplined silence with momentary flashes of politeness between father and son.
“Is the air on high enough for you?” There’s his contribution.
“I’m good.” My polite response is now in the can.
I’m still months away from getting my license. I can’t wait until I’m able to drive myself to football workouts. There’s already a brand new Nissan pickup truck in the driveway, and it’s hard not to think of it as a bribe. I’ll take it, though. That’s the least I can squeeze out of the shitty situation I fell into simply by being Todd Fuller’s kid.
I still can’t see how we got to this point. It just seems so . . . I don’t know, impossible? I guess that’s what every kid thinks before their parents’ marriage falls apart. Mine are clinging to the scraps, and Dad seems desperate to repair those tattered threads. Mom, she just seems angry. Maybe a little unwell too. And her rage seems dialed in on the one person I need to talk to—June Mabee.
My best friend and neighbor is the only person who has ever gotten me. She’s the only person I can vent to when I’m sick of the pressure from football. Sometimes it feels as though my dad is shaping me into his trophy just so he can brag about me to his friends and colleagues, and June is the only person who doesn’t make me feel like a whiny privileged asshole for feeling crushed by it all.
I guess I can understand my mom’s fury and wanting to keep “our business in our house,” as she frequently says, but June isn’t a threat. She’s as much an innocent bystander as I am.
Dad pulls into our driveway and I chance a quick glance to June’s house. Our driveways nearly connect, and when I stand in just the right place I can see life inside her house—she and her mom moving around the kitchen, or June running up the stairs, the shadow of her passing across the curtains in her room. I wish I could run into that house, into her room, lock myself inside and avoid everything else for a little while. Forever.
“Get cleaned up for dinner. Mom made a roast. She’d like us to eat at the table.” Dad kills the engine on his truck and climbs out, but I give myself a tiny moment inside alone.
We started eating dinner together as a family when it all unraveled. It’s part of my mom’s need to hold on. My dad says it’s important to her. I don’t know. I think they’re focusing on a lot of the wrong things to call important. But what do I know: I’m a fifteen-year-old kid.
Dad pauses at the garage door leading into the laundry room, waiting for me. I relent and climb out after him, and the second my feet step over the threshold, my stomach tightens into the impossible knot that seems to live there when I’m in this house.
Dad heads to the right, toward the kitchen, and I veer left, to the stairs. I take them two at a time. I open the door and drop my bag just inside, then close it with a gentle click. My back falls against the woodgrain and I breathe out, my tight shoulders relaxing a tick as I rub my hand over my face.
It doesn’t take long for the shouting to start. The rounds of arguing have gotten shorter over the last few days, but they still happen regularly. Dinner seems to be a trigger. Probably because my dad always missed dinner . . . before. Now, his mere presence at the meal is an opportunity to remind him of the ones he missed, and the lies he used as excuses.
At least Mom is sober. Still, I’m always on guard, watching over her and looking for signs that she’s slipping. I’ve started a daily practice of sifting through the backs of our cabinets, behind the dry goods and the rarely used cleaning products—her common hiding spots. They’ve been clear for weeks. Dad cleared out his office liquor cabinet when she came home, but I’m sure that’s only temporary. I tell myself I’d be able to tell, that there would be obvious signs she’s drinking or taking pills. Would there, though? I missed them the first time. Of course, I wasn’t really looking. I was too absorbed in my own shit to notice. Not that it’s my job, but if not me, then who?
My pocket buzzes with a message to my phone and I lift my head to stare out my window. I already know who it’s from. Summer has always been June and my time. She’s been helping me find a part-time job that might work around my football practices. I haven’t responded to the last job posting she sent. It’s getting harder to be two people—the person I am in this house, and the one I am with her. It feels like a betrayal both ways no matter what I do. But June doesn’t need to feel like I do. She has enough happening in her life. Her dad moved out weeks ago. I watched him pack up and go. As bad as things are in this house, my dad stayed.
She must be somewhere else because I don’t see her light on in her room, and downstairs seems quiet. I hope she’s made a new group of friends. I hope she is out enjoying her summer. I hope she doesn’t depend on me to be her person, because I don’t know if I can.
Curious, I pull my phone out to read her text.
JUNE: Hey! Everything ok? Haven’t heard from you for a few days, but I know practice already started for summer. Did you check out the job I sent? It’s for ice cream. Ice! Cream! Lucas—free ice cream. That’s all I’m saying. OK, well, enough of that. I also wanted to see if you wanted to get dive-in movie passes for the pool this year. They’re half off if I get them now. Let me know! Ahh! Summer!
I’m smiling by the time I’m done reading. Spending time with June does that to me, even if it’s only time with her words. Tory keeps nudging me to ask her out, like out out, as in a date, but it seems wrong. She’s like my sister, only . . . very much not my sister. I think if I asked, she’d say yes. And that makes it scarier. Things with us would change, and as much as I’ve thought about the what ifs, there’s a whole lot of risk involved. I open her message to reply and hover my thumbs over the keyboard, dying to type YES to all of it. Then the yelling grows louder.
“I’m sorry but I don’t feel bad about her divorce. That’s what that woman gets!”
“Shannon, you’re getting carried away . . .”
I wince. My dad always stokes the fire. It’s as if he wants her to go back to rehab.
“You are done helping her, you hear me? She can get a new lawyer, Todd. She has a job. No more charity from you. No more anything from you or I swear to God, I’m gone! I’m gone and I will make sure everyone knows exactly what that house is all about.”
I slip my phone back into my pocket at the sound of someone’s heavy feet stomping up the stairs. I’m not sure who I want it to be more—or less.
The soft knock on my door spikes up my pulse. I hold my breath and twist where I stand, cracking open the door . My mom’s eyes are wild, but I can tell she’s trying to calm down. She shuts them and draws in a deep breath through her nose, huffing out once and letting her shoulders drop as I open my door wide and move to my bed.
“I’m sorry,” she says, coming in and taking a seat next to me. “I know you can hear that, and that’s not right. Not fair to you.”
“It’s fine.” More blanket lies from my mouth. I’m never fine or good, but that’s all I can seem to tell people.
“We’re gonna be okay, Lucas.” My mom’s tone is oddly assured. I lift my head and meet her gaze, feeling as if I have to play along. I’m also hopeful, but along with that feeling comes a sense of falling, like walking along a very thin edge.
“Okay,” I croak out.
I hate this.
“I bet the Mabees will move. So even that won’t be weird after a while. And we’ll just go on with our lives, and be stronger as a family. Hey, why don’t you invite the D’Angelo boys over, have a sleepover?”
She’s excited by the idea, and even though it’s the last thing I’m in the mood for, I smile and nod.
“Sure. Sounds fun,” I lie.
She gets up from the bed and runs her palms down the front of her slacks,
“Hey, and Lucas? I know that you and June are close, but maybe . . . maybe give each other some space for a while. She’s been told a lot of lies, and I’m not sure she’s ready to deal with the truth yet. It seems maybe it’s easier if you sort of drift apart. You’re getting older anyhow. It happens. And besides that, I’m sure they’ll move.”
She presses her lips into a forced smile so I do the same.
“Yeah.”
She nods at my response, pleased. My phone buzzes in my pocket just before she leaves, though, and her eyes twitch. I know she wants to stick around to see who my message is from. I’m sure she already knows.
“I’ll call Tory now, see if they want to come over.”
She fixates on my slight grin, studying my face for a full breath. My need to swallow consumes me, but I don’t—that would reek of guilt. And I am guilty. June is in my pocket. My mom is in my room. My family is broken.
One more nod, this one tinged with a sour bitterness that injects me with guilt, is all I get before she shuts my door and leaves me alone with my dilemma. I glance at my phone again.
JUNE: ?
It’s clear that June doesn’t know what’s going on. She’s in blissful ignorance, and honestly, I hope she stays there. Unfortunately, I can’t go back.
We can’t go back.
As painful as it is, I let my thumb continue its destructive movement over my phone screen, sliding June’s name to the side, revealing the option to block her texts, her calls—her everything. It won’t be forever. It’s just for now, until things get figured out, until my parents work through their issues and her mom finds them a new place. I’ll call her as soon as it’s over and explain everything, and maybe we’ll still get to have our summer. Maybe she’ll understand.
The lies. They just keep on coming.
Chapter Two
Two years later, the night before senior year
“You know those D1 offers can be rescinded.”
I wonder how many times this year my dad is going to rattle off that line. I bombed one test last year—one—and I didn’t even truly bomb it. I got a C. But it was enough to get the you know those D1 offers comment from my old man.
Tonight’s offense? Acting like a typical eighteen-year-old boy.
It’s not that my dad has a thing against me going to parties. It’s that he has a thing about me going to parties at the D’Angelo house. Tory and Hayden aren’t trouble really, but they do throw big parties that sometimes get out of hand. Their parents are gone a lot, and there’s not much to do around here, so when the twins host a party, everyone we know shows up.
Almost everyone.
“I’ll probably be home early. Relax,” I shout as the door shuts behind me, cutting my dad off from throwing in one more empty warning. I couldn’t give a shit about my D1 offers, which, of course, I can never say out loud. I’m pretty sure my dad’s head would actually blow off of his neck if I told him that. Me playing ball for a big school has been on his dream list for me since I was born. Making up for his shortcomings, I guess. My old man only got a year in before his arm gave out.
Sometimes, I wonder if mine will, too. A part of me wishes for it.
Tory’s waiting in the passenger seat, and the fucker scares the shit out of me when I climb in my truck. I punch his bicep. Hard.
“Damn, Fuller!” He rubs the sore spot. I hope it bruises.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that. I thought I was picking you up. What’d you do, walk here?” I glance around and check my mirrors, looking for a car that dropped him off.
“Just back out. I’ll tell you when we start rolling.”
Despite his request, I leave my tires parked right where they are and glare at him. It takes about two seconds for him to break.
“Fine. I had Hayden drop me off. While you were changing and talking to your dad, I snagged some top-shelf shit from his cabinet. We’re seniors now. Time to graduate from beer, get a little more fucked up.”
I roll my eyes and crank the engine.
“I’ll stick with the beer, thanks.” I sigh.
My friend shakes his head while I reverse. He can peer pressure me all he wants, it’s futile. I do what I want, and I’m impervious to the power of adolescent suggestion. I refuse to be a lemming.
“I heard Abby say she’s bringing June tonight,” Tory pipes in, nodding toward the dark house next door as I shift and race down my street.
“Like Abby would actually talk to you.”
“Fuck off. She did. So what if when I asked if she was coming she said ‘Yeah, and I’m bringing June so we can both shoot you down at once.’”
I can’t help but snort out a massive laugh.
“Pshh, whatever. You’re gonna have to deal with June is all.”
I let my laughter linger, but it quit being real seconds ago. As much as I want to pretend June isn’t a problem for me, she very much is. I have forbidden myself from even thinking about her, which came easily when she switched schools for our junior year. I guess she’s back now. Her mom lost her job or some shit, so private school was a no-go. She probably deserved it. I’m sure her boss found out about her side gigs. I just don’t know how June hasn’t figured it out yet. Whatever, though. Not my problem.
“I mean, it’s not like you’re really with Ava anymore, so I don’t see why talking to June is such a big deal,” Tory continues.
“My issues with June have nothing to do with Ava. Drop it, Tor.”
He mocks me, repeating my words in a whiny voice that sounds nothing like me, then turns the stereo up and quits provoking me. Tory knows my story, mostly. He was around when the Mabees drove my mom over the edge. It’s hard to hide your mom’s alcohol and pill addiction, especially when it ends with her being hauled off to rehab. I needed someone to talk to about it, and Tory is my best friend. He was my support system. And yeah, he’s right about Ava, my ex. She hates June more than anyone I’ve met, besides my mom. If I spend even a second talking to June in front of Ava, she’ll probably punch a hole through Tory’s wall. I can’t do anything to send Mom on another spiral like the one my dad did a couple years ago. No girl is worth doing that.
June was a childhood friend. A crush. People grow apart. It happens, like my mom said.
Cars are already piled up on the street surrounding Tory’s house, so I find the closest spot I can. Tory’s twin, Hayden, is shooting hoops in the driveway when we show up, and a few girls are outside drinking. I back away to give my friend room to take a pass from his brother and dunk the ball so he can get the applause that follows. He eats it up.
Tory’s ten times the athlete I am. He’ll be in the NBA one day. No doubt. But I don’t think anything gets him going quite like the adoration of females watching him put on a show.
“Come on, Lucas. One quick game. What do you say?” He’s taunting me, his shirt already off as he spins the ball on his fingertip. Two of the girls sitting on the back of the twins’ car giggle at the sight.
“I’m good. Not much in the mood to get my ass kicked, but thanks.” I carry the bottles of liquor he swiped from my dad into the garage and then the house. I think my dad kept booze out of our house for a full month before he quit caring about the temptation it was to my mom. I often wonder if he was trying to lure her off her path again so he could look righteous while she looked weak. At the same time, part of me thinks she refuses to take his bait just to spite him. Maybe I’m giving their mental warfare too much credit. I don’t know.
