HAYDEN

Practice was hell.

I don’t mean the usual kind where your muscles burn and your lungs fight for air and the coach’s whistle feels like a scream in your eardrums. No, this was a different kind of hell.

The kind where your head's a fucking mess and your body refuses to cooperate.

Every time I dropped back to throw, I felt like her eyes were on me even though she wasn’t there. Every time I ran a drill, I kept hearing her voice in that lecture hall.

Coleen Maine was haunting ...