Chapter 37
Today is the big day. The team is excited, and frankly, I’m nervous. These guys have worked hard at practice, and all Austin and I want is for them to walk away with a win. I’m pacing the sidelines, though not just for the game, when Austin elbows me in the ribs.
“You know they’re only ten, right?”
I pause and shoot him a look. He knows damn well why I’m pacing. The squeak of sneakers across the court is what I should be focusing on, instead I’ve kept my eyes and ears peeled for Jo. I’ve tried to focus during warm-ups, but all I can think about is her.
Jo. I’ll see her today, and I have no clue where we stand.
I’ve spent all week wondering how to give her space when all I want to do is hold her together.
Should I have been direct with Jo about my plans next week?
Probably. Yes. But I had no idea how she’d react.
I knew if she tried to talk me out of it and I refused, that would only lead to a fight. But here we are anyway, fighting.
The second she walks into the gym, box of popcorn in hand, I feel her presence and my pulse kicks up.
Even cold and distant she’s still the most beautiful person in the room.
She’s wearing an oversized rust colored sweater with little western patterned boots that come mid-calf.
But when I see her hair, my face snaps into a considerate frown.
Today her hair lies straight under a knit beanie—and seeing that punches the air from my lungs.
She’s worn curls every day since I said I liked them.
Every single day. There’s no way that wasn’t intentional, and that small act of defiance cuts me to the bone.
More than every avoidance tactic she’s employed this week.
She climbs the bleachers, stopping to speak to a few moms along the way, and sits next to Penny and Abby. I study them, how off Jo is. Penny tries to engage her in conversation, but Jo mostly nods, her face impassive. I wish I could see into her thoughts, figure out how to fix this.
A voice chirps up beside me, yanking me from my thoughts.
“Hey there, Coach Kent.”
I turn to find an attractive woman with shiny lip gloss and perfume that smells expensive, and all wrong.
“Hey,” I reply, polite but clipped.
She sidles closer, toying with the zipper on her jacket, the sound grating, like nails on a chalkboard. That too strong perfume has me holding my breath.
“You sure are good with kids. Patient but stern when you need to be.”
Austin walks by with a smirk, clearly finding enjoyment in my discomfort.
“I know there’s not much to do in Singing River. If you ever get bored, maybe we could get together.”
I take a deliberate step back, enough to put space between us. “Thank you, but I’m not available.” I keep my tone neutral but firm.
The woman is still talking when I catch the flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye.
Lifting my eyes, I see that Jo is shooting daggers at us from her spot on the bleachers, slicing through me with precision.
Then her expression slowly rolls from daggers to pain, and I hold her gaze for so long that the flirty mom looks over her shoulder to see who I’m staring at.
Without a word she backs away and disappears.
Jo is the first to break eye contact.
So she does still care. Not that I doubted it. Not really. But her behavior this week has been unsettling and hurtful, to say the least.
Austin steps over and claps me on the shoulder. “Saw that.”
I jerk my chin in a nod.
“You gonna talk to her after the game?
“Not yet. She said she needed space and that’s what I’m doing. I’ll let her decide when we talk.”
Austin nods in understanding right as the referee blows the whistle for the game to begin.
I force my mind to compartmentalize and focus on basketball.
These kids sure have come a long way in a short time and they hit the court with their game faces on.
Passes connect between players more times than not, and there’s even a steal from the opposing team that has the parents in the stands cheering.
These kids are scrappy, quick on their feet, and surprisingly focused.
And right in the center of it all is Jay.
This kid is really something, even at ten.
I’ll be shocked if he doesn’t go on to play ball in college.
He dribbles down the court, fending off the opposing team, and lands a jump shot with ease.
In my peripheral vision, I see Jo jump to her feet, but again, I compartmentalize.
One of our guards intercepts, passing the ball to Jay, who sprints down the court with it.
His eyes dart to me, and I motion for him to cut left.
He does, dropping another lay up through the net.
Before I can stop myself, I’m looking to the stands for Jo’s reaction. She’s on her feet, wolf-whistling, and my lips quirk. There she is. At least I know there’s still some life inside her.
The next thing I know, we’re in the fourth quarter, still holding a lead, but it’s slipping.
The other team has found their rhythm, closing the gap fast. Only two points separate us now.
The boys are playing hard, but I can see the fatigue creeping in.
Jay’s usually clean footwork is getting sloppy.
Another kid allows the other team to steal the ball and they shoot for two points, tying it up.
Austin shouts a few calls and I’m pacing the sidelines again.
I call them in for a time-out and they jog over, chests heaving, faces red dripping sweat. They form a huddle around Austin and me, and I take a quick second to look at each kid.
“I know you guys are tired,” I say, crouching down to their level.
“But we only have one minute left in the game. Just one. And I believe we can win. You guys can outplay them, easy. But I need you guys to play smart, and keep your head in the game.” Each boy nods, and I go on.
“Everyone take a deep breath and play with all you’ve got for one more minute. Think you guys can do that?”
I glance at Jay and he nods. There’s a determination in his eyes, much like his mom’s.
The rest of the kids nod and we break the huddle.
The referee blows the whistle and the game is on.
We don’t have the ball, but between Jay and Parker, I’m fairly certain one of them could steal.
Right as I’m thinking it, the opportunity happens and Parker takes advantage, swooping in to steal the ball.
Cheers erupt from the bleachers when Parker passes it to Jay.
Jay dribbles on quick feet up the court, narrowly avoiding a few steals, and right as the buzzer is about to sound, he takes position at the three-point line and shoots the ball.
Time seems to stand still as the ball arcs through the air. I can practically hear the swishing sound when it goes through the net, winning the game.
The whole gym erupts, Jay’s teammates crowd him whooping and hollering like they’ve won March Madness instead of their first rec league game of the year.
Austin is clapping him on the back, and I’m so damn proud of him I hoist him onto my shoulders, laughing when he pumps his fist into the air.
When I finally lower him to the floor, he takes off toward the bleachers.
Jo’s already standing, arms outstretched, and Jay barrels into her, nearly knocking her backward.
I slowly walk their way, but hang back to give her some space.
Still, I feel the pull of her like gravity.
Jay wiggles free from Jo’s hold and takes off to see his teammates.
And here Jo and I are, for one fragile second, face-to-face.
My eyes connect with hers, because I could find them in any crowded room, and she doesn’t look away.
She looks utterly exhausted and defeated and all I want to do is ask what I can do to fix this.
She breaks eye contact first, the moment between us gone, but right as I turn, a hand brushes mine and I feel the electricity of the touch all the way down my spine.
“Good game, Coach,” Jo says softly. And for the first time all week, a lick of hope returns. Maybe she’s not letting go after all. Maybe Jo is trying to see if I’ll hold on.
And I will. As long as it takes.
Later, when the crowd has cleared, I slip out into the parking lot alone, and slowly the adrenaline from the last hour fades, along with my composure.
Gripping the steering wheel, I rest my forehead against the top of it, releasing a beleaguered sigh.
That brief touch of Jo’s hand, looking at me like she wanted to say more, nearly brought me to my knees.
She used to lean into me, and now she looks at me like I’m a cliff she’s terrified to fall from again.
But a tiny voice in my head whispers she didn’t pull away. That has to mean something. Closing my eyes, I allow the silence to fill in all the spaces I can’t yet fix.
Today was a win. And not only the basketball game.