Chapter 2
two
Sadie
“I thought we had the jelly sandal conversation last time?” I ask the nine-year-old that’s basically limping at this point.
“They’re so cute,” she croons, her cheeks pink from either embarrassment or the early summer sun’s heat.
She’s not wrong—the sandals are adorable. Actually, they bring me back to a time where I begged my parents for them at the store, even though my mom told me how they’d give me blisters. My mom was right, but she could never know. I went through a box of Band-Aids a week that summer.
The little girl stands in front of me wearing a skort, matching tank top, and a legit pink satin bow in her hair. I’m a firm believer that sports are for everyone and this isn’t her girly-girl side showing; she’s in physical pain from those plastic hellscapes on her poor feet.
“We’re almost done for today, but next time, let’s do half and half. You can switch into your tennis shoes when these start to hurt your feet, ok?”
She nods before doing a spin and beaming at me. I watch her run back to her ‘team’ and they all whisper about what we just talked about. The girls cover their mouths and giggle while the boys pretend not to listen. I love watching kids make friends during the summer.
I clap my hands loudly, getting everyone’s attention. “Okay, let’s finish this with a shootaround outside. Parent pick up starts in one minute.”
The kids cheer, run to grab their bags, and race to be the first outside to get one of the basketballs. It’s nothing but the sound of dribbling and energy burning from little humans and I take a moment. Slow down, pause, drink it in.
This is the third year I’ve been in charge of the rec center in Golden Harbor. It’s not much when you look at it, but it’s these types of moments that really make a difference. Giving parents the option for summer care, because even though the kids don’t have school, parents still have to work.
I do what I can to help our small community, one I used to visit every summer when I was a kid.
My dad was a college basketball coach at a Division I school a few hours south of here, but Golden Harbor was where we escaped to.
Where he wasn’t Coach Becker, where he didn’t have to watch film or take recruiting calls during dinner. Up here, he was just my dad.
That’s why I came back, why I run this place. If I can give even a sliver of that feeling to these kids—the freedom, that summer-magic kind of safety—then it’s worth every hour, every budget headache, every minor injury, including today’s blistered jelly-sandals incident.
Not only was my dad someone not to share when we’d come here, but I was simply Sadie. There was no one asking me what my plans were when it came to the sport my family practically breathed into my bones.
My mom used to joke that, when she was pregnant with me, I was never calmer than when she was watching my dad coach. The sound of the basketballs, the squeak of the shoes on the hardwood, was the only time I was chill.
Most of the parents have picked up their kids, some of them wishing for five more minutes and others having checked out about twenty minutes in.
I have a few high schoolers who volunteer throughout the summer, and they’re in charge of check in and out—I get to do more of the fun stuff with the kids.
“Alright! Last round. Get your shots up and put the balls back once you’re done!” I shout to who’s left.
The kids scatter like confetti, laughing, tripping, picking their favorite spot on the court with only one hoop outside. We’re lucky enough to have two full courts inside, so I didn’t push when we only had the one out here—we treat it like a bonus spot to hang out, do drills, pass time.
The sun kisses my shoulders and I look to the sky. It’s a perfect June day without a cloud to be found. I’m thinking of how I’ll spend my night when there’s a loud CLANG.
Next door, at the vacation house I know to be vacant, a basketball slams into the side of a black car, one I’ve never seen before. It bounces off, then rolls into the yard.
“Oh no.” I wince as one of the boys freezes, hands still overhead from his overly ambitious half-court shot attempt.
He runs up to me, pulling at my shirt. “Coach Sadie,” he whispers, eyes huge. “I need a redo.”
A redo. The phrase they learn during their first day with me. Free to be used when you miss your last shot, forget the play we’re running, or when you need a minute to try again.
“Yep,” I say with a sigh. “But let’s hope the owner is chill.”
Spoiler: he is not. Because standing there—jaw tight, sunglasses on, expression set to “don’t even breathe near me”—is a guy I absolutely recognize, but pretend I don’t. Not here. Not with kids around.
Colson Burke, NBA star.
Well, at this point he may be a former NBA star. Definitely a current storm cloud.
He turns slowly, eyes locked on the brand-new dent in his car, then at the guilty nine-year-old, then at me. Well, I think at me, considering he hasn’t taken off his sunglasses.
And, oh yeah, he’s pissed.
I jog over, hands up in surrender.
“Hey! Hi. Hello.” I give him my friendliest, most ‘everything is fine’ smile. “We, uh… may have grazed your car. Lightly. As in, barely. As in, it’s probably more of a love tap?”
His mouth stays flat. “That was not a love tap.” He has a point. The dent is… visible.
“Coach Sadie, is it okay?” the guilty party yells over as he waits outside his parent’s car.
I wave him off so I can handle the six-foot-five thundercloud standing in front of me.
I clasp my hands. “So… we dented your car. But good news, it has character now. One of a kind.” I smile, rocking on my heels, trying to get him to crack.
Colson stares at me like he can’t decide if I’m delusional or dangerous. “It didn’t need character,” he says flatly. “It’s a BMW.”
Glancing at the house, I reply, “Well, for the safety of your stay, may I suggest the garage?” Part of me wants him to tell me what he’s doing here, to explain how long he’s staying.
Slowly, he looks to the garage and back to me. He lips press into a thin line and it’s clear he won’t be sharing anything with me.
“This an every day thing? With the bouncing? And the kids? The yelling?” He crosses his arms and rubs his forehead.
I bite back a smile. “We’re working on being a quieter bunch, but you know. Kids. Summer.” I shrug my shoulders.
Colson exhales sharply through his nose, annoyed but not erupting, and maybe this is the only win we’ll have during this interaction.
“Look,” I tell him, lowering my voice. “I’m really sorry. We’ll make it right. I can have the center cover the repair. We have a small fund for, uh, damages.”
He lifts a brow. “You have a fund for this?”
“In theory.”
It’s really just me pooling any and all leftover funds from the camps and events before personally covering everything else.
The rec center is the busiest during the summer.
I still run classes and offer the space for other coaches and instructors in the fall, but I also pick up shifts at a local bar.
I’ve even worked at the small, local library when our elderly librarian has needed a day off or two.
I’m multifaceted, but he certainly doesn’t need to know that.
I stick my hand out. “I’m Sadie. Sadie Becker. I run the rec center.”
He hesitates like touching another human might physically hurt, then reaches out and shakes my hand once. Quick. Polite. Over it.
“Colson,” he says.
“I know,” slips out before I can stop myself.
His jaw ticks.
Cool. Great job, Sadie. Excellent first impression. Car damage and then an awkward interaction that’s the equivalent of a root canal.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, welcome to Golden Harbor.”
He looks at the lake, at the kids, at the dent.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Thrilled.”
I smile because I don’t know what else to do.
The thing about Golden Harbor is that most people are genuinely happy.
It’s like this is a small piece of the public who have remembered what it means to be a community.
To help each other out. To see the good in others.
I’m not sure Colson Burke shares that sentiment.
“You’ll be here for a while?” I try to make the question sound as light as possible.
Colson turns, his dark hair flopping onto his forehead. He waits long enough that I wonder if he’s even going to answer.
“Yeah. A while. Something like that.” He says the last part as he walks away, back to the house.
Didn’t have this—an NBA player posted up next to the rec center—on my bingo card for today. One thing’s for sure. It feels like this summer is about to get even more interesting.