Don't Kiss the Quarterback: Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 5

by Catelyn Meadows

  “What did he say when you told him?” Mia added.

  I hesitated. “Oh, I haven’t exactly told him yet.”

  “What?” both girls asked. We received a scathing glance from the librarian and lowered our voices, huddling closer to hear one another.

  “He’s been so happy,” I said. “I couldn’t risk making his heart go berserk again.”

  “You have to tell him, Bailey. He deserves to know, and somebody needs to take Charly down off her high horse.”

  Jenn nodded her agreement. “Seriously, how can she think she’d get away with that?”

  “Because this is Charly we’re talking about,” I said. As if sensing we were talking about her, Charly scowled in our direction. She wouldn’t be too happy with me, with either of us, if Tate found out, but that wasn’t what held me back.

  It’d been days. I’d had plenty of chances to share what I’d heard. But with the time that had passed, now it almost seemed too late to tell him.

  “Seriously,” Jenn said again, leaning down to make eye contact. “You really should tell him.”

  “You’re right,” I said, though for some reason, the idea slid an ice cube into my gut.

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Tate and I gathered in the bistro, diving into a snack of popcorn and pretzels. Others were in the room as well. I couldn’t stand the sight of Charly, but I couldn’t seem to take my eyes from her either.

  “Something’s bothering you,” Tate said, entirely too perceptive. “Is it Charly? Has she been giving you a hard time again?”

  I released a quivering breath. My little chat with Jenn and Mia hadn’t left me alone all day. They were right; I needed to tell Tate. I was currently plucking up the courage to do just that. “Why would you say that?”

  He chewed his popcorn with a simplistic look, as though I was foolish for asking the question. “Because you keep looking over at her every five seconds.”

  I sighed. Here we go.

  “The day of the game, I was in the hall and I overheard her and Carson talking as they walked past me. They acted all devious, like they were up to something, and I couldn’t help but overhear...”

  “You little eavesdropper,” Tate teased, taking another handful of pretzels. “What did they say? Don’t tell me they’re dating now.”

  I sniffed, warding away the fist in my throat. “Not that. It sounded like...it sounded like they were planning something at the game. Carson asked if whoever this person was would go for it, and Charly said this guy would because he didn’t like...”

  “Cheetos?” Tate guessed. He was still taking this too lightly.

  “You,” I blurted, my blood pounding in my ears. “She said this guy didn’t like you and so would go for whatever it was they were planning. She said you were the reason she took so long to get together with him.”

  Tate’s mood slipped from playful to perturbed in a snap. He straightened, boring his gaze into mine. “Are you serious?”

  I felt him pulling away from me. His expression slackened, turning into something like disgust.

  “It was awful. I didn’t—”

  “You mean that attack on the field was on purpose?” Tate slammed a fist on the table. Several kids glanced our direction at the loud noise. Several bits of popcorn toppled from the bowl between us. He shook his head. My heart counted out the pulsing seconds. “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”

  This caught me short. “Me? Tate, I’m so sorry. I figured you’d be nervous that day, and I didn’t really know what they were talking about at the time.”

  He swore and kicked away from the table, standing so fast his chair toppled to the ground. Several kids glanced at our table, including Carson. Tate locked eyes with him.

  I rose to my feet. “Then this weekend, we were having such a nice time together, I didn’t want to spoil it by making you angry. I didn’t...”

  Tate glared at me so fiercely it stabbed. My mouth dropped. I couldn’t believe he was mad at me, but he stormed away from me, straight at Carson.

  Fear spiraled into my ribs, but Carson merely rested a hand on his table and reared his head back lazily, as if being confronted by a Q-tip instead of a quarterback.

  “Is it true?” Tate demanded loudly. If he didn’t already have the entire room’s attention, he did now.

  Carson blinked. “Is what true?”

  Tate grabbed him by the vest and yanked him to his feet. The table dislodged, and several utensils clinked together as a cup was knocked over, spilling its contents to the floor.

  “That linebacker, Ollie Reyes from Lincoln, the one who cheap-shotted me at the game Friday night. Is it true you and Charly got him to attack me?”

  Carson wrenched himself free from Tate’s grasp and ran a hand through his hair. Color splotched his cheeks. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Tate shoved him back. “Because I’m asking you.”

  I plunged my face into my hands. I definitely should have done this at Dad’s last weekend. Then Tate would have had a few days to process, to talk it over with our parents, to cool down. Instead, I’d just taunted a sleeping bear.

  All other conversation had stopped. Every eye in the room was on Tate. Noticing this fact, Carson’s casual defenses fell, and he raised his hands. “She pulled me aside and told me about it. Told me she was dating him and wanted to take you down a notch for rebounding with your sister.”

  Tate swore again and flung his arm in my direction. “She’s not my sister, idiot. Do you all really think I’d be that pathetic?”

  Silence hummed in the bistro, thick and pulsing. Tate ran a hand over his hair. “You gotta tell Coach,” he said.

  Carson’s denial was instant. “No way—”

  “I got a heart condition, man! That guy clocked me without warning for no reason other than Charly’s petty vendetta, and you knew it was going to happen.”

  We all waited, buzzing, hanging on for Carson’s response. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  “You were my friend once,” Tate added, reminding him.

  Carson tucked a hand in his pocket. “Yeah. I was.”

  “So step up and do the right thing. Coach might not take my word for it, but if more than one of us fesses up—”

  I was so caught up in their confrontation, I missed Charly making her way toward them until she was steps away from Tate’s side. Her bushy curls were tucked high on her head, and the sleeves of her uniform were rolled to her elbows. She wore pants today instead of the pleated skirt.

  “Problem here, boys?”

  Tate wheeled to face her with aching slowness. His lip curled. I’d never seen him look so disgusted before. “You’re my problem,” Tate said.

  Charly tossed her head with a laugh and placed a hand on her chest, feigning innocence. “Me?”

  “You could have killed me,” Tate snarled. “Was that what you intended?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Hands clenched into fists, I worried he might shove her back the way he’d done with Carson, but fortunately, Tate kept his hands to himself. “Don’t play dumb, Char. I know what you planned with your linebacker boyfriend. Was he the one you cheated on me with too?”

  “You told him?” She rounded on Carson.

  Mrs. Whiddon, one of the teachers on duty in the bistro, came forward. She was a stout woman, with short, strong arms and legs, her hair cropped short. Under her scrutiny, the three of them settled into glares. Charly folded her arms and scowled at the floor.

  “You three need to cool whatever conflict you’ve got going here. Why don’t you take this to the counselor’s office, and you can talk this out?”

  “That sounds like a great idea,” Tate said, while Charly and Carson each gave an adamant, “No way!”

  “Then I suggest you calm down. You’re drawing unnecessary attention to yourselves.”

  Mrs. Whiddon marched away. Carson glowered first at Tate, then Charly, before storming off. Charly pursed her lips and folded her a
rms in defiance. Her glare settled on me, and in that moment, I knew she knew how Tate had found out.

  Tate scoffed at her and thundered toward the exit as well. I hurried to join him, but he held up a hand. “You’re just as bad as they are.”

  “What? I had nothing to do with it!”

  One hand on his hip, he stopped, headed for the hall, and stopped again. “You knew about my heart, Bailey. But you said nothing!”

  I couldn’t believe he was blaming this on me. “You’re eighteen,” I told him, working to control my tone. “You’re playing the most dangerous sport there is for a condition like yours—and yet it’s my fault?”

  “Whatever,” he said. “I’ve gotta get out of here.”

  I was dumbstruck. Tears choked in my throat and burned my eyes. I’d never had anything like that happen before, and I didn’t know what to do. I was half tempted to take Mrs. Whiddon’s suggestion and go talk to the school counselor—that was why we had a counselor, wasn’t it?—but instead, I dashed to my dorm, not quite managing to keep the tears at bay.

  Students paused and gaped at me along the way. Several asked if I was okay, but I didn’t stop until I got to my room. After ugly crying for who knew how long, I called Dad and spilled everything. My reasons for not telling Tate. What happened when I finally did tell Tate.

  Dad’s voice was calm but focused. “Do you know this linebacker’s name?”

  Tate had mentioned it. “Ollie something. Tate seemed to know who he was.” I wondered if Dad would call the police. An accusation like this was serious, but I didn’t know how much would be attributed to the nature of tackle football.

  “Where is Tate now?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t know. He confronted Carson and Charly about it in the bistro just now and then we got cut off by a teacher. He took off. He’s mad at me; he’s especially mad at his friends.” The thought hurt more than I could say. We’d had some amazing moments together at Dad and Laurel’s house. He’d poured his heart out to me, confessing how deep his feelings were running. Why—why couldn’t I have had the decency to tell him what I’d heard? “He probably hates me now,” I added with a sniff.

  “It’s okay, Bailey. I’m glad you called me, though I do understand why he’s upset. He’s experienced something extremely traumatic, and probably has a lot on his mind.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked the catch in Dad’s tone. “Are you worried about him?” I asked.

  “He’ll be all right,” Dad said, though his voice still carried that edge.

  I texted Tate the minute Dad and I hung up. Are you okay?

  I waited, hoping, aching for a reply. Nothing.

  And that was what I got from every other text I sent him afterward. A whole lot of nothing. I didn’t know what I could do to make things right.

  I made it through the next week of classes, doing even more horribly than before. My audition with Professor Granger was coming up, but I was a mess. Why did I think I could get the feature when I couldn’t keep my friendships together?

  Tate and I saw each other in Calculus and in American History. I was relieved that he seemed to be okay, though his face held a permanent scowl. I attempted to catch up with him as he left the bistro on Tuesday, but he kept walking and ignored me rather than hearing what I had to say.

  This sucked. I hated things being like this. The next afternoon, I glanced out my window and saw the team gathered for practice. The cheerleaders were out there too, and the marching band strolled through the adjacent baseball field, practicing their formations.

  Tate still hadn’t replied to any of my gazillion texts. On impulse, I hurried onto the field, hope bursting at the sight of him sitting on the bench and watching the rest of his team practice. I approached slowly, hoping this was my chance. But with my feet disturbing the track, he glanced over.

  Heart in my throat, I waved.

  He glanced away.

  “Tate, please!”

  He dipped his head and then rose and walked toward the opposite end of the field.

  “Oh, poor Bailey,” Charly taunted. She skipped away from the other girls on the squad. I didn’t fail to notice the fact that while the others, including Jenn, were all in pleated skirt perfection, Charly wore jogging pants and a coordinating jacket. Had she been removed from the squad?

  “Does your boyfriend-brother not want you around?” Hands on her hips, she gave me a fake little pout with her full bottom lip.

  She looked way too happy about this. What was going on? Hadn’t the school done anything?

  This was no moment to lower my head, cower, and retreat. I was done with that. “How can you be so heartless?” I asked.

  “What? You think I should cheer for you because you’re dating your brother?” She kicked one of the other cheerleaders’ pompoms in mockery.

  “I’m his stepsister, but we’re not any more related to each other than you and I are.” She scoffed. I persisted. “You didn’t see him at the hospital that night, Charly, but I did. After your planned attack to crush him to the ground. His heart rate beat over 200 beats per minute. They had to put him out completely to shock him—twice! —and that still didn’t work. They finally got his heart back to normal, but he could have died, Charly. Your little stunt could have killed him. And you think I’m the one who’s deranged?”

  Her expression slackened, but the blaze didn’t douse from her eyes.

  I didn’t wait for another quip or confrontation. Girls like her thrived on the negativity and the drama that came with it, but I was done with being the center of attention. I’d tried that, and it had only brought me misery.

  For now, I had to find a way to make things up to Tate.

  ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, Dad texted me to come to the office. Two police officers stood near the office in MLA’s main building, speaking with the school principal. Mrs. Partridge was also there, notebook in hand, jotting things down as she went. Charly, still in her cheerleading pants and jacket, Carson in t-shirt and jeans, and Tate in his uniform approached the office minutes later.

  Dad had said he’d be calling the police. Sounded like he made good on his word. I was glad, though. Charly couldn’t get away with a stunt like that. I wrung my hands, unsure of what would happen to her. Would she get expelled from the school?

  Dad and Laurel showed up next, along with people I could only assume were Carson and Charly’s parents. Dad waved to me.

  “We’re going to handle this,” he said. “I wanted you to know what was going on. Do you mind waiting for us out here?”

  “Okay,” I said, glad I’d brought my backpack. At least he let me know what was going on. I settled in on the bench across the office.

  For some reason, I didn’t have a hard time focusing on the reading assignments and the history chapters. I fed on the distraction, anchoring myself to it. I could never get through this impatient feeling hammering me down with every second that passed while they were all in there. I found myself immersed in the words, clinging to them, hoping they would help me through this helpless feeling.

  What if Tate never forgave me? I couldn’t believe he was this angry at me. I hadn’t been involved in Charly and Carson’s plan, but he was treating me like I was. It wasn’t fair, but I didn’t know what to do about it. So I dove into John Dryden. I swam through my arias, memorizing the Italian words, revamping their pronunciations, preparing harder than ever for my audition. I devoured my assignments out here in the hall.

  My pulse kicked the instant the door opened. The entourage shuffled out. Charly had never looked so dejected before. Carson had his hands in his pockets, and Tate’s shoulders were equally slumped. What had happened?

  I darted to my feet, hoping to catch Tate’s eyes. He couldn’t hate me forever, could he?

  Dad and Laurel talked with the police officers a few times before the officers pulled Carson and Charly’s parents aside. Meanwhile, Carson lowered his forehead to the glass display on the wall, and Tate and Charly were in a serious type of conversation.r />
  This was so different from the first time I’d seen them my first day here. That day, anyone would have thought they were serious enough to never want to hurt one another. Then their relationship had spiraled out of hand so fast I never could have anticipated it.

  Now Tate glared at her with full force, as though she were the last person he wanted to ever see again.

  Swallowing, I edged closer to Dad and Laurel, putting myself within hearing distance of Tate and Charly’s confrontation. She folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t know about your heart,” Charly said once Tate finished whatever he was saying. “I’m sorry.”

  Tate’s jaw jumped. He met her gaze. “Thanks,” he said.

  Carson also approached and held out his hand. “I’m sorry. I was out of line, and never should have kept it to myself.”

  “Thanks, man,” Tate said, taking Carson’s offered hand.

  Head lowered, Charly pressed her lips together and then shuffled to stand beside her parents. Then slowly, like a falling snowflake, Tate met my gaze and gave me the first smile he’d offered me in days. My heart grasped at the sight, wanting to hold onto it forever. I had so much to say to him. So much to confess.

  Before I could do anything, Dad and Laurel were at my side, exhaling heavily. “Glad that’s over with,” Dad said.

  “What happened in there?” I asked.

  Laurel put her arm around Tate’s waist. He was several inches taller than she was. “Disciplinary action is being taken against Mr. Bedford and Miss Hanes.”

  “Are they getting expelled?” I asked.

  Tate shook his head, but his mom answered. “No, though I think they should be. The police asked if we wanted to press charges. Steve and I decided that wouldn’t be necessary, but we did ask that they have some kind of repercussions for their actions since they had such serious results. That Reyes kid at Lincoln will also be given the same terms.”

  “What terms?” I asked.

  “Detention for one,” Dad said. “Carson has been suspended from the team, and Charly from the squad for the remainder of the school year. They’re also going to pursue community service to the school, so don’t be surprised if you see those two cleaning toilets, taking out garbage, or weeding flower beds.”