Chapter 6 Sadie
six
Sadie
“What a dick. You should’ve duct-taped him to the bleachers,” Maren groans, shoving a bouquet of peonies into my arms like emotional support flowers.
“I can’t duct-tape a grown man onto town property,” I mutter.
“You could. You absolutely could. I’ve seen you duct-tape a broken table leg to a cooler for an entire tournament weekend.”
“That was different,” I protest, adjusting the stems. “The table didn’t have free will.”
Maren—my best friend and owner of Harbor Blooms, purveyor of gossip and unsolicited encouragement—gives me a pointed look over the counter. Her braid is messy, her apron covered in dirt, and she still somehow looks like a walking magazine spread.
“Who quits two hours before practice?” she asks.
“Coach Dave,” I say dryly. “Apparently he and his family landed a last minute rental cabin in the Upper Peninsula. Too good to pass up.” I mimic his sad excuse for leaving me high and dry.
“And he couldn’t have told you yesterday?” Maren lightly moves daisies into the three arrangements she’s working on.
“He texted me a canoe emoji,” I deadpan.
She winces. “That’s brutal. And dickish.”
“Now I’ve got thirty kids and no assistant coach. And you know how last time went when I tried to do a full scrimmage solo.”
“Six crying children?”
“Seven. And that wasn’t even counting me!”
She tosses a rose petal at me. “What’s your plan?”
I exhale hard, leaning against the counter. “Panic. Briefly. Then… I don’t know.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I need someone who can talk to kids, keep a drill running, lift a ball without throwing out their back, who knows the basics of the game.”
Maren slowly raises an eyebrow. “So… like your conveniently planted NBA-playing neighbor?!”
I stare at her. She stares back.
Her eyes widen. “Oh God. You’re thinking about asking him.”
“I am not thinking about him,” I lie, much too fast.
She lets out a laugh, clapping her hands and pointing at me. “You’re busted! I said about asking him. You’re over here daydreaming about Colson Burke.”
“I’m not busted, I'm desperate,” I hiss. “There’s a difference.” I wipe my hands on my leggings. “And I’m not daydreaming about anyone.”
“Desperate enough to ask the six-foot-five smoke show with the permanent scowl?”
I groan. The thing is, Colson could do this in his sleep. If he could act like other humans weren’t a virus he was trying to avoid.
I grab my keys. “I’m not doing this because I want to.”
“Of course not,” Maren says sweetly. “You’re doing it because you have no choice, and also because he’s hot.”
“It’s for the kids,” I insist, trying to convince her, and maybe myself.
“Coach Hot Rage!” she calls after me. “Let me know!”
I’m standing in front of Colson’s front door, about to knock, and this is the moment I question every life decision that brought me here.
My hand hovers and when I finally have the guts to knock, it’s louder than I hoped.
Through the window, I watch him walk toward the door. He swings it open, brows knitted, clearly wondering what the hell I’m doing here.
“Car’s in the garage if you have a bat or something you want to hit it with.” He jokes, but no sign of a smile touches his lips.
I stand with my hands on my hips. “I’m kind of in a bind.”
A few short seconds pass before he says, “Hard pass.”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
“I do,” he retorts. “And it’s a no.”
I inhale. Count to three. Resist the urge to run away and put an end to me asking for anything ever again.
“My assistant coach bailed,” I explain anyway. “I have thirty kids inside and I need a second adult before they burn the place down.”
“No.”
“Come on. One practice. You can even scowl the whole time.”
“I’m not coaching.”
“Because you can’t… or?”
“No.”
Before I can argue, a tiny voice pipes up from behind me.
“Coach Sadie? All the balls are on the rack. Just like you asked.” The kid—little Evan with glasses too big for his face—peers up at Colson like he’s staring at an actual Avenger. Evan’s mom needed to drop him off early so she could get to a meeting, and I always try to accommodate when I can.
Now, did I ask Evan to wander over to interrupt this conversation? No. Am I mad that he did? Also no.
Colson freezes.
Evan blinks. “My brother said you were the best playmaker in the whole league.”
Colson looks like he’s trying to pretend he didn’t get metaphorically punched in the stomach.
I fold my arms. “In the whole league? Wow!” I say to Evan, side-eyeing Colson.
“My mom told me if I can get A’s and B’s this year, I can get a new jersey. I showed her one of yours. The special city jersey from this year.” He rocks back on his heels and my heart warms from sweet Evan.
A muscle in Colson’s jaw ticks and for the first time since I met him, he looks… guilty. Probably has something to do with his future in the NBA being in shambles.
Evan puts the nail in Colson’s grumpy coffin when he asks, “Are you helping us today? I’d be the coolest kid in my grade if I can tell them I got to hang out with Colson Burke this summer.” His eyes are wide and honest.
I try not to smile, pressing my lips together, but I can’t help it. My lips tug up at the corner. I couldn’t have drawn this up any better. And it’s like I can feel his icy shell melting.
Colson rubs his hands over his face and drops his shoulders in defeat. “Just for today.”
“Yay!” Evan yells so I don’t have to.
“See you in ten minutes,” I call over my shoulder as Evan and I walk back across the yard to the rec center.
My stomach flips and I can’t tell if it's a surprise from him agreeing to help me. Or something else.
Something else I refuse to acknowledge.