Chapter 33
all i see is this girl
DOMINIC
September
Arms crossed over my chest, I stand on the sidelines, tracking every movement on the field.
The late afternoon sun is scorching, casting long shadows over the field and the bleachers.
When Torres stumbles, I grimace. As he stands, jerking his head in my direction, I turn my ball cap around and wipe at the trickle of sweat sliding down my temple.
Though school started weeks ago, the humidity is still through the roof. The air, thick with the scent of cut grass and sweat, feels like a sauna.
I lift my whistle, but rather than blow, I drop it again and let it dangle around my neck.
Two seasons ago, Coach McDermott finally talked me into the assistant coach position.
This year, I’m filling in as head coach, since his wife has been in and out of the hospital.
I know these kids well, and they respect me, which makes my job easier.
Miles thinks they look up to me because of our custom motorcycle shop, like they think I’m cool because I ride a Harley. Who knows, honestly.
When Torres falls on the field again, I holler, “Eyes up, Torres. Watch your footwork.”
Jackson trips over his own feet right in front of me, cursing under his breath.
“Wanna say that again?” I ask, using the stern tone I’ve mastered for this role. “If you wanna win, you need to be more attentive.”
Overall, they listen well, and they do what I tell them.
It took some time for me to grow up, and finally, at twenty-seven, it looks like I can set a good example, at least when it comes to being professional…almost.
At the end of practice, I bring them in to talk about what they still need to work on, making sure to also highlight what they did well. While there’s always room for improvement, this team is superb.
When I dismiss them, they scatter, grabbing their water bottles as they laugh and horse around. I chuckle to myself. One of the cheerleaders runs toward Torres, and he catches her with ease, planting a kiss on her lips.
Kids.
I turn away, ready to collect my things, only to find a blonde blocking my path. Her blue eyes are bright, her skin smooth, making her look younger than she is. While she doesn’t look much older than me, she’s got a kid on the team; she was probably in high school when I was born.
“Great practice today, Coach,” she purrs. Her loose tee slips off one shoulder, showing off the strap of a pink bra.
Annoyance flares inside me, but I keep my tone even. “Thanks, Ms. Reed.”
“What’s with the formality? The last time we saw each other”—she lowers her voice, her next words dripping with suggestion—“you weren’t so…professional.”
This is what I meant when I said I’m almost a good role model. Really, I’m more like a fucking idiot.
I blow out a long breath. “That was a mistake.”
“Hm, didn’t feel like one.”
If only that were the truth. But I have no desire to explain to her what happened between us was an unsuccessful attempt on my part to feel something, to fill the gaping void in my chest.
I should know better. Nothing has ever come close. I don’t know why I’m still trying.
Putting space between us, I say, “It was a one-time thing, and I made that more than clear that night. That won’t change.”
“Okay.” She gives me a flirty smile, as if she doesn’t believe me, then walks away.
Thank fuck. Fraternizing with players’ parents is taboo.
But, in my defense, I didn’t know she was Reed’s mother when we hooked up.
I’ve never seen her at a game, let alone a practice.
His granny is the one who always shows up.
I felt like an asshole when I realized who she was, but there’s nothing I can do to change the past.
But I can make sure I don’t make that mistake again.
Stopped at a traffic light, I drum my fingers over the steering wheel. On days like this, I’m so fucking thankful for air conditioning. I ride my Harley as much as I can, but I have to carry around too much gear when I’m coaching, so I drive my Escalade to and from practice.
It’s a toss-up which I like better, motorcycles or cars. In the end, what I really love is the speed and freedom each one provides.
My phone dings, and a notification banner pops up on my infotainment system. I tap it and listen as the robotic voice reads Matt’s text.
Matt:
Dinner tonight at 6. You remember, right?
Fuck. I forgot.
With a shake of my head, I hit the appropriate button on my steering wheel and dictate a response.
Me:
Of course. How should I dress?
Matt:
Is your “don’t be an asshole” costume still hanging in your closet?
Me:
For you? Always
Matt:
Thanks. Luna and I really appreciate it
I rough a hand over my face. I really can’t wrap my mind around the fact that my best friend, my fucking stepbrother, is getting married in a few weeks.
The kicker? His fiancée is his former colleague, the woman whose Tinder profile he swiped right on four years ago.
Though he apologized to her at first, denying his feelings and trying to play it off, in the end, he was crazy about her, swore he’d do anything to be with her.
It’s like a punch to the gut every time they tell the story. It only makes me think about how I didn’t go after my dream girl.
Matt? He’s not a coward like me. He wasn’t fucking around with the no-fraternization policy at the firm. He up and quit so they could be together. He got hired as in-house counsel for a fancy IT start-up, and in a matter of months, Luna had moved in. Now, they’re getting married.
Luna is great. She’s witty, and she’ll never pass up the chance to put an asshole in their place—especially me.
I can’t say I’m always pleasant around them, but it’s hard when they’re so disgustingly in love. Matt says sarcasm and insults are my love language. It’s not even remotely true, but there’s no sense in arguing.
Love, relationships, marriage…none of it is in the cards for me.
Because I destroyed any chance I had with the only girl I want to marry. Mia doesn’t even come home to visit. She’s built a life in Milan without a single look back. I’m bitter because being forgotten so easily is exactly what I deserve.
Pushing her away was the biggest mistake of my fucking life. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. It wasn’t until months later that I realized how wrong it was. By then, it was too late.
But whatever.
I tap the brake and pull into the parking lot of the coffee shop.
I need another dose of caffeine if I’m going to make it through family dinner.
If I could get out of it, I would. I have no doubt it’ll turn into another wedding planning session.
For weeks, it’s all Matt has talked about. My brain is quietly rotting.
Miles and I wanted to throw a bachelor party for Matt.
That I’d be interested in planning. But he has other plans, though he hasn’t shared them with us yet.
Whatever they are, I’m in, even if I do bitch about it.
I’ll do anything for my best friends. Matt and Miles are my family.
They stuck with me when my life was falling apart, when I was an insufferable jerk.
They stood by me, and I’d do the same for them.
This coffee shop is halfway between the high school and the shop, so I stop in just about every day. And not only is it convenient, but the coffee is fucking amazing.
I place my order, and as Lily gets to work on it, we chat.
Her little brother is on my team, so she’s always checking up on him.
Coach McDermott and I are strict, sure, but the last thing we want is to destroy a kid’s confidence.
So, even though we have high expectations, we’re not shy about recognizing all the things they’re doing right, and mentioning those things to Lily always brings a smile to her face.
When she’s finished, she places my cup on the counter. I thank her, and as I turn to leave, I catch sight of jet-black hair, and my feet stutter to a stop.
Am I hallucinating? Is this what sunstroke feels like?
Because there’s no fucking way it’s her.
Or is it?
The woman at the table by the window, with her laptop open and her fingers flying over the keyboard, is wearing a light blue shirt, unbuttoned in a way that makes the swells of her full breasts visible even from where I’m standing.
Her focus is trained on the screen, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth in an eerily familiar way.
I can’t move.
I can’t fucking breathe.
Mia Ashton is here, at my usual coffee shop. She’s so fucking stunning, just the sight of her enough to knock me on my ass. For a moment, my brain glitches, and I forget how to move, how to talk, how to do anything other than stare.
Four years and seven months of no contact. Four years and three months since the last time I saw her from afar.
And now, she’s here, like an apparition come to haunt me.
I shake my head, clearing the fog from my mind, and peer at the door. For a second, I consider walking out, consider just continuing with my day as if this didn’t happen.
In the end, my curiosity wins out. Her presence alone pulls me in, like we’re opposing magnets.
I’ve only taken a couple of steps when she looks up. Those deep blue eyes lock with mine, and the world around us ceases to exist. The café fades, along with the people milling about and the music playing overhead. All I see is this girl.
This girl who, when she was mine, was my whole universe. And now, as I drink her in, I know that hasn’t changed.
She is mine.
I pushed her away once, but I won’t avoid her again.
I saunter to her table, feigning nonchalance.
All the while, a war rages inside my chest. I have so much to tell her, so many stories to share, so many pictures of motorcycles to show her, bikes I built based on her designs.
But most of all, I want to say I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for fucking up the best thing that ever happened to me.
And with any luck, she’ll agree to listen.
Heart pounding, sweat beading on my back, I stop at her table, muster the best smile I have, and say, “Hey.”