บททั้งหมดของ The Coach's Forbidden Play: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Sage's POV The rhythmic squeak of sneakers on the polished court was a familiar, painful symphony. I watched them, my former teammates, moving with a practiced grace that felt like a cruel taunt. Why did I even bother coming? I knew why. Because the yearning to be out there, to feel the ball in my hands, was an ache deep in my bones. Suspended. Until the test results came back. Two days. Two agonizingly slow days. I usually slipped in, watched for a bit, then vanished before anyone truly noticed, but today… today I just couldn't tear my gaze away.My eyes kept drifting to Andrew, a magnetic pull I couldn't resist. He was on the sidelines, his presence commanding, instructing the team, his voice a steady rumble of encouragement every time a shot swished through the net. Basketball wasn't just a game to me; it was my dream, a future I refused to lose. And Andrew… he was handsome, undeniably so. There was an authority to him, a quiet respect his presence demanded. I remembered the mee

Sage's POV The dull ache in my head was the first thing I registered, a throbbing pulse behind my eyes. I blinked, the unfamiliar ceiling swimming into focus. Sunlight streamed through a window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Where was I? I tried to push myself up, but a sharp wave of pain shot through my skull, making me gasp.Suddenly, the door opened, and a man stepped inside. My heart leaped into my throat. He was a stranger, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark, tousled hair and eyes that were an unsettling shade of hazel. His face was rugged, with a slight stubble, and there was a quiet intensity about him that instantly put me on edge. Panic flared, hot and sharp, overriding the throbbing in my head.I scrambled to stand, my legs wobbly beneath me. I almost fell, but he moved with surprising speed, his hand reaching out to steady me. I flinched, pulling back sharply, my gaze darting around the room until it landed on a lamp on a nearby nightstand. I lunged for it,

Sage's POV The lights of the bathroom hummed, casting a sickly yellow glow on Andrew’s face. He stood there, arms crossed, the picture of skepticism. "Are you really sure about all of this, Sage?" he asked, his voice laced with doubt.I clenched my jaw and a familiar heat rose in my chest. "Andrew, I wouldn't be standing here, risking… everything, if I wasn’t." My gaze locked onto his. "I saw it. In Rina's bag."My fingers fumbled with my phone, the screen coming to life as I navigated to the photo album. I thrust it towards him, the image of a pair of bright blue sneakers filling the frame. "Look. These. These are the same shoes. The ones I saw that day. The day they pushed me." My voice trembled as the memory was still fresh, still raw. The jarring impact against my back and the sickening lurch as I tumbled, the flash of vivid blue just before darkness consumed me.He took the phone, his brow furrowing as he studied the picture. "It's just… a blue shoe, Sage," he said, his voice fla

Sage's POV The cold air of the school hallway did little to quell the inferno raging within me. Standing beside Rina outside Ms. Hawthorne's office, my jaw was clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack."What do you stand to gain from trying to ruin me, Sage?" Rina's voice was a silky whisper, laced with a feigned innocence that made my stomach churn.I scoffed, it was a short sharp sound that held all the venom I felt. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, Rina. Ironic, isn't it? You're asking me what I'd gain, when you're the one who literally ruined me!"I saw a slow smirk spread across her face, chilling me to the bone. "Tell me, Sage, for even a fleeting moment, did you feel that rush of excitement? That tiny spark of hope when you thought you'd saved yourself, after you found the key and shoes in the locker room?"My breath hitched. A wave of nausea washed over me, my stomach clenching tighter than a fist. Her words were a direct hit which aimed straight at my most vulnerabl

Sage's POV The scent of freshly brewed coffee, a smell I hadn't associated with this house in months, hit me first. Then, the sight of my father, Mr. Davis. Standing in my kitchen, as if he'd never left. The anger, a slow burn that had been simmering for weeks, flared into an inferno."Dad?" The word was barely a whisper, laced with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"He turned in a casual, almost dismissive flick of his wrist. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met mine for a fleeting second before he pivoted, heading straight for the sink. The glint of a glass cup as he reached for it, the steady stream of water filling it and every movement was deliberate, unhurried. He was drawing this out, I knew it. He always did.I followed, in my presence , a silent question mark hanging in the air. The clinking of ice, the slow, agonizing swallow as he drained half the glass. My patience began to fray. "Dad, are you going to answer me?" I pressed, my voice tighter than I intended. "Why didn't