Stealing for Keeps (Frost Lake High Book 1)
Stealing for Keeps: Chapter 25

The Collinses’ home isn’t as extravagant as I expected, though it’s still the biggest house I’ve ever been in.

The living room has a huge sectional where my teammates are camped out in front of the large TV on the wall in front of it. There isn’t a lot of other decor: a clock, a large canvas art piece that looks like one of those you can get at a home good store, and a framed jersey.

“Who is Cooper?” I ask Rowan, nodding toward it.

“Not sure.” He raises his voice and yells, “Cap, who’s Cooper on the wall?”

Vaughn’s gaze quickly darts to the jersey and then back to the bag of chips he’s opening as he stands in the kitchen. “A friend my dad played with his first year on Arsenal.”

I make a mental note to look him up later. He wasn’t mentioned in the Jude Collins biography. I finished it in two days and returned it to Mrs. Finch, who proceeded to convince me to check out two more sports biographies: Arnold Schwarzenegger and Michael Jordan.

“Disco! You’re on my team.” Barrett holds up a PlayStation controller in invitation. “Let’s see your gaming skills.”

I’m happy to sit down. I twisted my ankle today in practice during a drill. I’ll be fine, but putting my full weight on it is uncomfortable.

For the next hour, we all hang in the Collinses’ living room playing video games and eating junk food. When Coach arrives with pizza, we all disperse to the kitchen to fill our plates and then sit around the long dining room table. While we eat, Coach goes over the schedule for the rest of the week. We’re missing a day and a half of school, leaving Thursday afternoon after lunch to take the bus to our first game, then staying the night in a hotel before heading to our Friday night game.

My parents aren’t able to make it because they didn’t want to pull Torrance and Wyatt out of school. I get it, but my dad still hasn’t seen me play with my new team. Next weekend, we have another home game, and it can’t come soon enough.

When I told Claire that I’d play soccer even if no one was watching, I meant it. But if I could only pick one person to be in the stands, it’d be my dad. It’s his love of soccer that got me into it in the first place. He never played, except kicking the ball around with me, but he watched it and talked about it like it was this magical, extraordinary thing. I get it now, but as a kid, it was just a fun thing to do, the two of us.

Coach leaves us and heads upstairs where I assume the bedrooms are. I could easily get lost in this house.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask Rowan after I toss my trash.

“Down the hall on the left.” He nods his head in the direction.

I walk through the house, slowly, taking in the details. There are a lot of blank walls that make me wonder how long they’ve lived here. We’ve only been in our new spot for a few months, but Mom has last year’s school photos up on the wall and art that the three of us made over the years.

I pause when I get to the first doorway, then suck in a breath. My feet move in without me giving them permission. There’s a large oak desk on one side with one of those comfy, leather office chairs behind it. On top of the desk is a MacBook, a few notebooks, and other miscellaneous office supplies that I only give a cursory glance.

Because the rest of the room is filled with trophies and awards, signed soccer balls, jerseys…and so much more. A full-body tingle rolls through me. It’s like stepping onto hallowed ground.

I read the name of the award and the date on each one. In many instances, I can picture the photos of him accepting them or the games that led to it. A lifetime of achievement, a career that any player in my shoes could only dream and hope for.

I pick up the ball with his Arsenal teammates’ signatures. His final team. They won the FA Cup that year. I can’t imagine going out like that.

“Hey.”

I jump even though the word is said quietly.

I turn, ball still in hand, to replace Vaughn standing in the doorway.

“Sorry.” With a sheepish smile, I set the ball back in its spot. “I couldn’t help myself. This room…” I turn and take it all in. Every team Coach was a part of is represented, the jerseys he wore, team photos… I could spend days in here. Weeks maybe.

“That ball is his favorite thing in here.”

“Who could pick a favorite?”

“Wanna know my favorite thing in this room?”

“Definitely,” I say. What can be better than a signed ball from the FA Cup–winning team?

A small grin lifts one side of Vaughn’s mouth. He walks over behind the desk and opens one of the drawers, then pulls out a bottle of booze. Unscrewing it, he takes a sip, then holds it out to me.

“What is it?” I ask, stepping forward and taking it.

“Twenty-five-year-old Macallan. It’s a three-thousand-dollar bottle of whisky,” he says as I’m taking a sip.

The liquor warms my throat as I swallow. I cough at both the burn and the number.

He takes another drink and then drops it back into the drawer and closes it.

“I’ll take the ball over the whisky any day,” I tell him.

Laughing, he leans against the side of the desk, then scans the room like he’s taking stock of something he hasn’t seen in years. Too quickly, he looks back to me. “How’s your ankle?”

I shift my weight and roll it gently. “Feels pretty good.”

“Good. We’re going to need everyone tomorrow.”

“I’ll be ready.”

He nods but doesn’t move from his spot, and I get the sense there’s something he wants to say, so I don’t go anywhere either. I could live in this room forever.

“How’s everything else?”

It’s an odd question, and I’m not sure what he’s digging at, but I shrug. “Fine.”

Nodding, he doesn’t say more, but the fact that he’s still sitting here says plenty.

“Something else?” I ask, prompting him. As much as I enjoy sitting in here, his silence is awkward as hell.

“Claire.”

Maybe I should have been expecting it, but I wasn’t.

“What about her?” I ask, feeling a warmth spread through me. Claire and I have been spending as much time as possible together. Walking to classes, touching when we think no one is looking, kissing while we should be working on homework. I can’t get enough of her. And maybe Vaughn’s noticed.

“How is she?”

I open my mouth to answer, then close it. “You mean… What do you mean?”

“Skating was her whole world before, and I know how tough it must be now that she’s got the boot off but still can’t compete. Plus, her mom is intense. She scares me.”

A strangled laugh escapes. “Yeah.”

“You’ve met her?”

Oops.

“Briefly. We have that art project and worked on it at her place a couple of times. In the dining room,” I add, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of his stare.

“She’s incredibly hard on Claire. Ruby, her sister, too. But Claire was her golden ticket. Since she was a kid, Claire’s mom had her competing every chance she could, traveling all over. Claire was unbeatable in competitions. She’s got the face and the talent, the whole package. You should have seen her on the ice.”

“She loved it though, right? The way she talks about it, skating is all she ever wanted to do.”

“Yeah.” His head nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe. I don’t think her mom gave her a lot of other options. I remember this one time, Claire wanted to do the talent show at school. I think we were in sixth grade. Anyway, no big deal, right?” He shakes his head. “Wrong. Her mom threw a fit. She made Claire feel like shit for wanting to miss one practice to do something else. She loved skating, sure, but her mom pushed her hard. Year-round curfews, diets, practices before and after school, the best coaches and choreographers, you name it. It was a lot. And that’s coming from a guy whose dad used to wake him up to run five miles every morning during the summer.” He gives me a rueful grin.

My throat tightens. I knew her relationship with her mom wasn’t the best, but hearing it from Vaughn’s perspective makes it all sound so much worse than I imagined. No wonder she didn’t have time for other hobbies or interests. My parents have always supported me, but they never pushed.

“Anyway.” Vaughn stands. “I’m glad you two have become friends. You’ll keep an eye on her? Let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

“You still care about her,” I say. I don’t mean it as a question, but he nods.

“Always. I love her. I’ll always love her. I didn’t stop wanting to be with her. I just couldn’t be there for her like she wanted. You know what it’s like. Soccer has to come first.”

A month ago, I would have whole-heartedly agreed with him, but there’s something about it that just feels wrong when I put Claire on the other side of things.

My voice is tight as I reply. “Yeah. I get it. My entire family moved so I could do this.”

“Then let’s fucking do this. You and me.” He holds out a hand, and I take it without hesitation.

“Let’s fucking do it.” I follow him out of the office. “Great teammates are better than good players.”

He arches one brow as he looks over his shoulder at me.

“It’s from your dad’s biography,” I admit.

“Oh, right. He was talking about his last team with Arsenal.”

“You’ve read it?” I don’t know why, but I’m surprised.

“When I was thirteen, I read everything I could get my hands on, looking for proof he was as big of a prick as I thought he was.”

I can’t help it; I bark out a laugh. “And?”

“Aside from some seriously bad fashion choices and questionable haircuts, I didn’t replace much.”

“The fur coat, right?” I ask, an image coming to my mind of Coach walking hand in hand with Vaughn’s mother at some movie premiere.

“He still has that in his closet.”

“No way.”

“I’ll show you sometime. Just don’t touch it. He would definitely kill me.”

“Over the ball?”

“He’s a complicated man, Keller.”