Sideliners

By Dana Claire

Divided by Circumstance. United by Football.

Two types of folks live in Pottsville, Texas. Those who have two jobs and those who have two houses. But no matter their address, Friday night football brings every soul in town together under the same stadium lights. Problem is, th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chamberlain Publishing House
• Release date: Mar 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987263525

Book preview

Chapter One

Reed

Two types of folks lived in Pottsville, Texas. Those who had two jobs and those who had two houses. But no matter their address, every soul in town gathered at the same football field every Friday night. Problem was, the have-nots always watched from the sidelines. Until today.

Run it again, Coach Ken called across the field. He paced the painted edge, decked out in a red and black Pottsville Pirate tracksuit.

I breathed hot air into my clasped hands, banishing the morning chill as I watched the Sammies, as we called them, miss throws, stumble, and collide with each other. Even easy tasks like snapping the ball were incomplete. Either the center fumbled or the quarterback missed.

My right hand flexed, fingers gripping an imaginary ball as I envisioned how the pass would look with me on the field. The ball would leave my hand in a tight spiral, sailing smack-dab into the receiver’s hands.

Noah rubbed his palms together while squinting at the horizon. Damn, the sun’s barely up.

My crew loitered around me by the bleachers, same as every morning since freshman year. Normally we congregated at my kitchen table, sipping over-roasted, charcoal-bitter coffee. The cheap stuff my dad could afford. But when football season came, they knew I’d be on the sidelines watching, no matter how early. Because even though I couldn’t play, my heart would always belong to the turf.

Leah yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth, leaning back into JP’s chest, her eyes half closed. I’m still asleep, she mumbled. Keep it down.

I chuckled under my breath. Sure, my friends showed up cussing and griping, but they came. And if I’d wandered into the depths of hell, they would follow me there, too, with fists at the ready and a few choice words to make the Devil blush. Because when you’re a Willie, you’re family.

Leah shimmied out of JP’s embrace and tied up her curly black hair with a rubber band. This team sucks. If they could move or throw half as good as Reed, we’d actually win once in a while.

I ignored her, not because she wasn’t speaking the truth, but because I saw no point in acknowledging it. Instead, I focused on the shitty pass Dalton Hadley-Adams, the worst Varsity quarterback we’d had in decades, just threw. No matter how many times they ran that play, Dalton couldn’t make his mark. When he started as a freshman, the media claimed him football royalty, forecasting a great career. But then sophomore year, he choked and never got his mojo back.

Coach Ken was either a glutton for punishment or purposefully blind to his team’s lack of talent and synergy. Wouldn’t want to ruffle the wrong parents’ feathers, would he? Or expand his range of pickings to us lowly Willies. Oh, no, sir. Retired NFL player or not, the boosters would fire him in a heartbeat, then run him and his family out of town without a sliver of guilt. Willies didn’t have talent as far as they were concerned. In my granddad’s glory days, some used to try out, but none ever made the team. Now, Willies didn’t even show interest in playing, and the town accepted their absence as proof.

We haven’t won since sophomore year. Even Reed couldn’t save this team, JP grumbled, grabbing Leah by the hand and swinging her around. She laughed as she twirled, then leaned back into a dramatic dip. The dirt-stained sweatshirt tied at her waist grazed the dew-covered grass. JP kissed her on the nose and let her up.

I smirked.

They’d been lovebirds since JP moved to town in eighth grade. We’d left it up to Leah whether to bring him into our crew. She’d hesitated until freshman year when JP took the rap for a joint that would’ve cost Leah’s dad his job and maybe his freedom. Since then, Leah deemed that no matter what happened in their relationship, he was a Willie for life. Unfortunately, Sheriff O’Reilly agreed. Nowadays, the sheriff took it upon himself to search JP whenever he ran into him.

Yeah, well, if those rich Sammies think they’re so badass, then why do they keep staring over here? Noah said, lighting up a smoke. He exhaled a white cloud. I waved the fumes out of my face. After the giant dump they took on the field last week, you’d think they’d want to focus more on practicing and less on us. He set his frayed baseball cap on his head and swiveled the ripped rim to the back.

Some of their receivers aren’t that bad. JP leaned his forearms on top of the rusted gate.

Leah wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. It’s Dalton they need to replace, y’all.

Noah looked over his shoulder, pinning me with eyes that matched the color of the field. We rehashed the old argument without saying a word. He’d wanted me to try out for QB last year despite knowing the reason why I wouldn’t. In true crew fashion, Noah had pushed until I slammed my fist into his pretty-boy face. He had four inches on me, but I had twenty pounds of muscle on him. He went down like a sack of rocks. But Noah being Noah, he’d laughed it off. A Willie never gives up on another Willie, he’d said as he wiped a hand across his bloody lips, even if that Willie is a jackass. We Willies left ego at the door and allowed understanding into our hearts. A motto we lived by. We didn’t have much, but we had each other.

I turned my back on the field. Let’s go. I’ve seen enough.

Leah frowned but nodded. She knew how much the game meant to me. When we were eight, she’d put together a lemonade stand for money to buy me football gear. The problem was, we didn’t have the funds for store-bought powder mix, so we’d used the lemons from her backyard tree. People complained. Said it tasted sour. Some asked for a refund. After that, we gave up on the idea of being anything other than Willies.

You mean you don’t want to stay and watch the weakside linebacker’s fourth false start? Noah snickered. He pulled another drag from his cigarette.

Just like the weakside linebacker the Willie label originated from, nobody expected much from us. Our parents either did drugs, sold ’em, or worked double shifts at low-end jobs just to put food on the table. People liked to nurture potential, to latch onto something they could put their stamp on and say, I made that happen. No one wanted to put their stamp on trailer trash.

JP pointed to the field. Come on. The strongside linebacker is way worse. He looks like he’s searching the sky for butterflies out there. A real team will plow right through him before he knows the ball’s in play.

The Sammies, named for the strongside linebacker, were the kids who got the opportunities and helping hands, lived in the mansions, drove the nicest cars, and had the sheriff looking the other way. The rich pricks. The ones who were accepted onto the football team. Because here in football land, the playbook was the Bible, even if most folks wouldn’t admit it to their preacher.

Noah flicked his cigarette, which landed under my feet as I stalked away from the field. I was snuffing the embers, grinding the sole of my shoe in the dirt, when something hit me from behind.

What the fuck! Rubbing the back of my sore head, I tracked the offending football across the ground, then whirled toward the source.

Those motherfuckers. Noah lunged, but my hand shot out to hold him back.

Don’t, I said, leaning down to retrieve the ball. I stood and spun it in my hand. The rivets grazed my palm like a handshake. The ball and I were old friends, about to do some business. With a goal in mind and the steadying presence of the taut leather beneath my fingertips, I just needed to locate the target. Calmed by the warm familiarity of a practiced movement, I scoured the players laughing on the other side of the gate. Oh, you think that’s funny? I yelled across the field.

Their smiles faltered. The Sammies didn’t normally cross me, but every once in a while, an occasional brave dummy would emerge, and I’d put them back in their place. I had gotten into so many fights, Principal Leon and Sherriff O’Reilly didn’t even blink when I walked into their offices. But with my third strike looming, I’d been playing more by the rules lately. That in mind, I decided I’d better switch targets.

On the sidelines, their coach noticed his players huddled by the end zone, out of formation. He glared at me and my crew. Yeah, that’s right, Coach Ken, blame it on the Willies.

My lips peeled upward, and before Coach Ken could even think about running us off, I launched the football toward the opposite end zone. Heads of players and coaches followed my throw, and mouths popped open one by one. I didn’t wait to see where it landed. Didn’t have to. On average, I threw spirals on the level of college QBs. I knew what they saw. Talent.

I smiled, pure satisfaction lifting my cheeks and my spirits.

Leah, JP, and Noah’s eyes lit up like little kids watching firecrackers. Leah jumped on JP’s back, swinging her hoodie over her head like a lasso while Noah threw his arm around my shoulder and yelled, Yeah, buddy! That’s what I’m talking about.

Shit. The reality of what I’d just done settled in. My smirk faded, then drooped. Throwing that pigskin wasn’t just a bad idea, it was downright stupid. I’d worked through high school to keep my skills on the down-low for one reason and one reason only. So, when I looked over my shoulder and caught Dalton’s narrowed eyes and crossed arms, I knew I’d screwed up.

A long time ago, Dalton Hadley-Adams and I made a pact, and my stunt from the sidelines had just broken it.

Chapter Two

Savannah

If you looked up PDA in the dictionary, I swear you’d find a picture of JP and Leah canoodling against my blue metal locker.

JP’s hand buried deeper into Leah’s untamed black curls. He tugged. She moaned. I rolled my eyes. A daily occurrence I’d lost patience with, especially since getting back on the cheer squad relied on my grades and making it to class on time.

I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. Can you two please move? Oh, they moved all right—groping hands sliding over and under fabric. Nothing but smooching noises answered. Seriously. Get a hotel room. Hell, just find a broom closet. I need my books.

A closed lock dangled from the hinges of Leah’s locker, which meant she had her stuff already and had I left the library ten minutes earlier, I could have prevented this. Every day, I did my best to get here early, grab my things, and avoid them practicing the art of baby making. But on days like today, when I got wrapped up and lost track of time, I’d be subjected to this. And the Willies wondered why we looked down on them. They had no self-respect.

I put my hands on my belt loops. Seriously, move!

Students shuffled down the halls, some yelling out catcalls at the scene. Others, like me, twisted their lips in disgust. My gaze followed JP’s wandering hands down to Leah’s butt. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, and she giggled, wrapping her ripped-jean-clad leg around his waist, molding herself to his body.

That’s it. I whirled around, looking for the closest teacher, and slammed right into him.

Arrogant, bullish, pigheaded Reed Maddox. Dark hair, darker eyebrows, and eyes like a starless night. He wore his signature joyless clothes—a discolored charcoal T-shirt and faded black jeans scuffed up from real wear and tear. In Reed’s case, roughhousing.

Penetrated by his hateful stare, I tightened my fingers around my bookbag strap, shoulders tensing. His chiseled chin flexed. Of course, that added to his sex appeal, but I knew better. Willies and Sammies didn’t mix.

JP, Leah, get your shit and get to class, Reed growled, never taking his eyes off me.

I swallowed, unable to speak as the two of them jumped apart like they had been caught by their parents. JP took off down the hall, while Leah hung back for a second out of Reed’s sightline and blew me a mocking kiss. With a laugh, she jogged after JP.

But Reed hadn’t moved. He blocked my path like a brick wall. I froze, innocent prey confronted by a cruel predator. His frown intensified as he crowded my personal space, dwarfing me. Without thought, I backed up a step and he followed—all six feet of him, covered in a dense layer of pure, corded muscle. I always wondered how he stayed in such good shape. I never saw him at the school weight room when I visited Dalton there. And I knew he didn’t have a gym membership in town or at the country club. His sun-kissed forearms, currently taut as if holding back a punch, suggested he got his exercise outside of a Pottsville gym class.

I’ll get her locker moved, he said, breaking me from my thoughts.

My mouth dropped. He stepped around me and continued down the hall. The first bell rang, snapping me back to my senses. I turned and weaved through the throng of students hurrying to class to catch up with Reed. I stopped him with a hand on his forearm. A jolt of static electricity shot through my fingers, and we both flinched. Like a rubber band, I snapped my hand back to my chest.

I swallowed and cleared my throat, rubbing my tingling fingertips together. Thank you.

The vein in his jaw ticked. He moved closer, his breath grazing my nose. "You think I did that for you, Princess?" His voice hitched just enough to give me pause.

I glared, unwilling to cower to a Willie. I hated my nickname uttered from his mouth. He’d refused to let it die when he heard my dad call me that freshman year. Now his devotees mocked me with the moniker every chance they got. Most of the time I ignored them, but whenever he tossed it in my face in private, an old but ferocious pain awoke between my ribs. My father used to call my sister, Penelope, and I, The Princess and the Pea. For a long time after her death, that word summoned raw, uncontainable sobs, and now Reed unknowingly used it as a weapon against my heart.

His dark brows knitted as his navy irises darkened to blend with his pupils. I did that for them. Your high and mighty ass would’ve made sure they got detention. The force of his voice intensified. I protect my own. With one last twist of his lip, he turned and walked away.

My fingers curled around my bookbag as I visualized the padded strap as his neck. Arrogant jerk, I grumbled.

Who?

Arms wrapped around my middle, and I shrieked.

It’s just me, Dalton said at my backside.

I sank into his embrace as he kissed my cheek. He smelled like sandalwood cologne and the peppermints he kept in his console.

The Willies. I swear. I spun in his arms. He grinned wide, and I warmed inside. I don’t get it. Like, I know it’s a hard-knock life or whatever, but can’t they at least be civilized?

Dalton kissed the tip of my nose. You have no idea. Reed and his gang ruined morning practice.

I huffed. Dad, who everyone else called Coach Ken, mentioned some of the Willies watched their training before school. I don’t even understand why they go. Sounds like a waste of time. None of them play on the team. I brushed my hand through Dalton’s blond hair and lifted on my toes to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. I lowered my heels and hugged Dalton’s waist. What did Reed do? Another fight?

Reed Maddox had been in so many fights in the last four years I was surprised he hadn’t taken up professional boxing. He thought of himself as some vigilante, swooping in to defend whenever a Willie caused trouble, like a dark knight championing the villain side.

Dalton shook his head. Nah, but he did cause a scene. He pulled me in closer and rested his chin on my head. His rapid heartbeat thumped against my cheek. I wanna ask you something. His voice shook. It’s serious.

I tried to pull out of his arms to look at his face, but he held me tighter.

Would you still love me if I wasn’t the quarterback anymore?

This time, I did push free of his embrace, and my bag slipped off my shoulder with a loud thud. What? Why wouldn’t you be? I leaned down to retrieve it, almost knocking over a passerby.

Dalton looked away, something he only did when he lied to me. Not that he lied often, but I could always tell. He fibbed about silly things like saying he’d finished his homework just so we could fool around during our study sessions in my room. Or that time I’d asked him if he’d enjoyed The Kissing Booth, and he said yes but played on his phone during ninety percent of the film.

As I stood, Dalton peered over my head like he was scouting for eavesdroppers. What if I got hurt or something? Or if my classes were too challenging? Or coach decided to play someone else? He took a strand of my hair and twirled it in his fingers, his light green eyes locked on my auburn ringlet like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. I mean, it’s not like you’re cheering this year, so we could both just watch from the sidelines.

I frowned, stung by the reminder of my poor grades and their consequences. Every Friday night spent on the bleachers with my mother, watching my two best friends shake their pom-poms and do their high kicks, only made me burn to get back on the team even more.

But what was Dalton talking about?

First of all, my momentary lapse on the cheer squad is temporary. I’m getting my grades up. I stepped back, and my hair dropped from his grasp, forcing his gaze to hold mine. But you’re a straight-A student, so what are you talking about classes being too challenging? I’ve never seen you get less than a B-plus.

Dalton dealt with dyslexia, a hereditary trait passed down by his mother. From a young age, he worked with specialized educational programs and tutors to overcome his challenges. Which meant he focused extra hard at school, never letting his grades slip. Unlike me. Crap. Class.

Dalton, I really need to get going. Mr. Sagamore is going to have my head if I’m….

A memory resurfaced, unearthed by a passing thought. Reed stood over a bloodied, curled up Sammie who’d said something Reed deemed inappropriate to his best friend, Leah. I scanned Dalton’s body for injuries. Wait. Are you injured? Is that what Reed did today? Did he hurt your throwing arm? Nothing would surprise me when it came to Reed Maddox, the poster boy for brawling.

My hands reached for Dalton, but he backed away, rolling his eyes with a bitter laugh. Do I look hurt? He waved over his body.

His red and black Pottsville Pirate football T-shirt clung to his torso just like his faded jeans molded to his thighs, with no sign of bandages hiding beneath them. So then, again, why would he act like his spot on the team was in jeopardy?

As if cementing what I didn’t say out loud, he added, Reed wouldn’t touch me. I’m no good to him injured.

My nose scrunched. What does that mean? I crossed my arms, assessing him like I’d never laid eyes on him before. Dalton, why would you be no good to Reed injured?

Dalton sighed. I just meant it wouldn’t benefit him. He’s pretty much got one strike left and they’ll expel him.

Okay. I dragged out the word. If Reed didn’t do anything, and you’re not hurt, why wouldn’t you be the quarterback? Are you afraid my dad wants to give another player a shot? I swear he’d never do that to you.

Dalton waved me off. No. No one on the team could take my spot.

Then what…

The second bell rang, and now we were officially late to class. Students around us flew down the halls, scurrying into their respective rooms.

Crap. Another tardy. I threw my hands up. I have to go. I started to run down the hall when Dalton called out my name. I stopped and turned around.

Dalton walked backward, arms fanned wide. His expression lightened into a big, playful smile. You never know, baby. Maybe I’ll become a sideliner. And with that, he turned and disappeared around the corner.

An ugly thought slunk into my mind. If Dalton wasn’t the quarterback and I wasn’t head cheerleader, what would we be at Pottsville High?

Chapter Three

Reed

As the second bell rang, I slid into the seat next to Noah, and we bumped fists.

Already spread the word to the Willies to find out who threw that ball at your head this morning, Noah said so only I could hear.

I stacked my notebook and textbook on my desk. Good. I leaned back into my chair, and the two front legs lifted off the floor. I want a name. Today.

You’ll get one. We’ll remind the Sammies who they’re dealing with. Noah winked, making his dimple pop.

Damn straight. Unfair as it might be, my simmering wrath needed an outlet that didn’t face inward. Between being clocked in the head by a pigskin, my brash decision to make that throw, and Princess’s hallway meltdown, my patience with the Sammies and their entitled asses had surpassed its daily limit. Who better to receive a beating than the catalyst for my foolish choice?

Whispers broke my thoughts. Princess’s two best friends, Mindy and Rita, hunkered together at the desks in front of me. They were just as stuck up as her. Maybe worse, with their noses wedged between the football team’s privileged, trust-fund ass cheeks. I watched Mindy and Rita go after Dalton and his crew’s attention constantly, always hanging on one of them, flipping their hair like a horse swatting flies, and making suggestive comments about as subtle as a call-girl in church. I got more unwanted visuals of their flesh than I did of the girls in the magazines under Noah’s bed. Part of me wondered if Princess ever noticed or cared how her friends acted. Not that she was perfect or held her nose much lower. And she certainly knew how to get under my skin more than I liked to admit.

My mind drifted to Savannah running after me, that strawberry-colored sweater hanging off one blushed shoulder. Paired with her brown cowboy boots and distressed, form-fitting jeans, she screamed Texan pride. I thought about what was under that sweater more than anyone knew. Her auburn hair was hypnotic, bouncing against her back in big, onion ring curls. I couldn’t deny Princess was gorgeous and that the guy in me wanted her. But spoiled and bratty weren’t my thing—another reason our zoning districts never mixed.

The blonde, Mindy, tapped Rita’s shoulder across the aisle. They turned to each other, scooting their chairs closer and giving me a better view of their profiles.

He texted me a couple times, but clearly he’s still hung up on her or he would have dumped her already. Mindy looked around the room like she might get caught by whoever she was gossiping about.

I think you’re playing a dangerous game, Rita warned. She held a small mirror in front of her face while the other hand applied frosty pink lipstick in a shade like cotton candy. The last thing you want to do is cause problems on the team. She smacked her lips together, making a nerve-fraying sound no guy found attractive, then put her accessories back into her neon green crocodile purse with the words Teddy Blake etched on a gold plate. Why she’d have someone else’s name on her bag was beyond me.

Mindy huffed. I’m not the one who should be careful. I’m single. She glared at her friend. And you’re too pasty for that color, hon.

Rita threw her a sidelong glance. You gave it to me for my birthday last year, so you’re only insulting yourself. She draped her bag strap over her chair. Anyway, I think you need to think this through. No one wins in this scenario. Do you really want to be known as ‘that girl’?

Mindy grunted noncommittally.

Either way, we need to focus on cheerleading, not unavailable boys, Rita said with the finality of a frazzled peewee football mom in the pickup line.

You’re right. And since we’re in charge now, I have some changes I want to implement before you-know-who has a chance to get back on the team, Mindy added with a flick of her hair.

I internally groaned. These two needed a lesson in subtlety. Everyone knew Princess had recently stepped down from captain. I zoned out while they chatted about some new routine for the upcoming game this Friday against Malvern, but then Mindy abruptly stopped, sitting upright. She pushed Rita out of her space and whisper-yelled, "He’s coming." She pulled down the hem of her V-neck sweater to expose more cleavage and fluffed her bleach-blond hair, her gaze set on the door.

Dalton sauntered in, bag dangling from his grip, his coat laced through the strap. Rita pushed her seat back in front of her desk as she waved. Mindy bit her lip and twirled her hair, acting all coy. Wow, these girls had no shame.

I shook my head. And the Sammies thought we were bad. At least we stabbed you from the front.

Dalton flashed his playboy smile at Mrs. Dreyfus, completely ignoring the cheer twits. Our teacher melted, batting her lashes back at him. She motioned to a seat in the front row, not even acknowledging how late he’d arrived. Any Willie would’ve gotten detention. No questions asked.

Must be nice, Noah sung, verbalizing my complaints.

Must be.

Dalton threw his black and red varsity jacket over his chair like a flag announcing his status, making sure the big captain C on the chest pocket stayed visible, and I swear Mindy and Rita audibly