Chapter Nineteen
Camden
“Are you sure this is okay?” Dot asks. She looks from me to Coach Shaw, then back again. “I can drive him. Maybe I should drive him. You know what? I’ll get my keys.”
“Dot, it’s fine.” I reach out to catch her shoulder as she turns back to the house. “I told you, it’s no problem. I’m heading over for the first day of practice. There’s no need for you to make a whole separate trip.”
Dot wrings her hands. I didn’t realize that people actually did that. I thought it was just a turn of phrase. There’s no other way to describe it, though. She’s throttling her poor fingers. “But what if you get tired, Dad? Or what if you need to stop for something on the way home?”
She’s trying so hard to fill every gap. Trying to hold the whole world together with her hands. God, I want to be the one to hold her together for once.
“I can handle it, Dottie.” Coach reaches out with his free hand to pat her hair.
With the other, he grips the cane that’s been keeping him upright.
“I’m sure that Camden won’t make me walk home if I tell him I need to pick up a prescription on the way back.
” To me, he adds, “As far as I know, I don’t. ”
“But if you did, it wouldn’t be a problem.” It’s hard to hold the man’s gaze for any period of time. After all, I’m sleeping with his daughter, and we’ve never talked about my intentions, or even told him outright that we’re dating. It’s one of the reasons I want to talk this morning.
In the two weeks since he’s been home, Coach has started to look so much like his old self that I can’t quite wrap my head around it.
There are scars on the lower half of his face and on his neck that stand out in shiny streaks, but they don’t have to be bandaged anymore.
His hair, which had to be shaved off, is growing back in.
He’s lost weight, and his eyes… His eyes are different.
He’s not the same man he was at the end of last season, and never will be.
I get why Dot’s so worried about being there for him, and why she doesn’t want to leave him in the hands of a stranger even though she does sometimes. He’s healing physically, but he’s fragile in a way that hurts to see.
“I’ve got this, Dot.” I rub her arm. “I’ll bring him back safe and sound. You should take the morning to relax. I hear there’s a new book out in that series you like.” I raise my eyebrows significantly. I may or may not have bookmarked the sexy audiobook that she played in our hotel-from-Hell.
“Ooh.” She nibbles her thumbnail. “Well, if you’re sure…”
“Hey!” From his cattycorner yard, Cash waves his arm above his head. “You kids need a hand gettin’ that geezer in the front seat?”
“You’re older than I am!” Coach calls back.
“True.” Cash sighs and presses his hands to his back with an exaggerated groan. “That’s why we keep these young guys around, with their good backs. Camden, stop messing around and help Ranger get in the car.”
“Yes, sir.” I move toward Coach to offer my assistance. He waves my hands away, so I stay close without touching him, doing a sort of awkward body-block in case he falls.
It’s a good thing I do. When he’s got one foot halfway into the front seat, he wobbles and starts to tip sideways. I catch his arm before he can fall.
Coach sucks in a breath and closes his eyes.
“Sorry,” I say, even as I help guide him into the seat. “Did I hurt you?” There are scars on his arms, too, though they don’t stand out as much as the ones on his face.
He huffs an embarrassed laugh. “Only my pride.”
“See?” I smile back at Dot. “We’re good.”
“It’s fine for today,” she says.
“It’s fine every day. Family first, right?”
Dot blinks at me. “Uh, okay?”
I ease the door shut, making sure not to shut Coach in. He gives me a thumbs-up.
“We’ll see you later,” I tell Dot. “Enjoy your book.” I’d love to give her a lingering kiss, but I guess we’re not doing that in her dad’s presence, which is probably for the best right now.
On top of the general awkwardness of the Hey, Coach, I’m banging your daughter conversation, we’re going to be cutting it pretty close.
I settle for a single beep of the horn and an enthusiastic wave. Dot waves back.
We don’t even reach the end of the street before Coach addresses the elephant in the car. “Is there something you need to tell me, Camden?”
I keep my eyes on the road and hope the warmth in my face doesn’t give me away. “Sir?”
He snorts. “Really? Ten seconds ago, we were family.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. Then I clear it again. I’m not sure where to start, especially not with a guy who’s known me since I was in diapers. “Well…”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Dot,” he offers.
“Yes. You’re right. That’s a good start. I’d like to spend all of my time with Dot.”
Coach laughs. “Yeah, I picked up on that. Years ago, in fact.”
“Years?” I repeat. How the hell did Coach figure me out before Dot did? Although I guess dads are notorious for keeping an eye on the boys who pay special attention to their daughters.
“Dot told me about what used to happen at her lemonade stand. I’ve known ever since then that you loved my daughter.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “She has a lot of her mother in her.”
The image hits me so fast it’s like time folds in on itself.
Dot at ten years old, hair in crooked pigtails, standing behind her crooked cardboard stand at the end of the block.
Her handwriting on the sign—Lemonade, 50￠—looked like a ransom note, and she had glitter glue on her elbows from some other project she’d abandoned halfway through.
I remember the smell of sugar and lemons, and Vanessa’s voice telling her she should charge more. Coach had been there that day too, crouched beside her, fixing it after a gust of wind nearly tore it loose, telling her the same thing.
My heart is hammering so hard I have to look back at the road. I swear if I meet his eyes right now, he’ll see every single thing I’ve ever felt for her written across my face.
“You think so?” I ask. “I always thought they were pretty different.”
Coach studies me from the corner of his eye. “How so?”
I take a moment to formulate my answer. It helps that I have to focus on the traffic patterns as we merge onto a larger thoroughfare.
“From what I remember, Delilah was an extrovert. She liked crowds and meeting new people. She had stage presence. Dot’s quieter and more private. She doesn’t trust people easily.”
“All true,” he agrees. “But they’re both stubborn. Once they make their minds up, whew, boy, there’s no changing them. They love fiercely. Although, Dot was always better at holding grudges. And she’s always been hard on herself.”
My mouth’s gone dry. He’s right there, a cane between his knees, and I’m about to ask him if I can marry his daughter. This man taught me how to tie my skates. What if he says no?
I don’t comment on the way Coach talked about them both in the present tense.
I force a swallow. The hum of the engine sounds too loud in my ears. I can see the curve of his scars in the half-light. I’ve never felt more exposed, more hopeful.
“If you know how I feel about Dot, then it should come as no surprise that… Well, I’d like to ask her to marry me. With your blessing, of course.”
“Of course,” he echoes.
“Uh. Sorry, was that you repeating me, or…?”
“I’m giving you my blessing, Cam. I look forward to welcoming you to the family.”
“That’s it?” I glance at him for a split-second while we’re stopped at a red light.
“What, you want me to get out my rifle and threaten you? Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have one. I guess I could grab the hose like Cash…”
“I’m not complaining,” I assure him. “But I thought you might have some more questions for me. When I plan to propose, or where we’d live.”
I’ve been in love with his daughter since she was ten, and now he’s trusting me to love her for life.
“Eh, those are just details. You’ll sort them out.” He’s quiet for a moment, watching the city roll by. “Fuck the details.”
I laugh in surprise. “Is that so?”
It feels like a benediction, rough and unvarnished. My chest is too tight, my eyes sting, and I grip the wheel a little harder to keep myself steady.
“Yup. Life is short, and we’re never going to get as much time with the ones we love as we wish we had. Propose when you’re ready, and be good to each other. That’s all I ask.”
* * *
Renee, the team publicist for the Venom, meets us at the back of the arena with a scooter for Coach. It looks a bit like the kind they have in grocery stores, although sleeker and lighter.
“Oh, this isn’t necessary,” he protests, even as he leans on his cane. “Talk about overkill.”
“Would you be happier walking?” Renee asks. “It’s a hike, and the arena was built with full accessibility in mind.”
Coach grumbles about being able to get around under his own power, but as soon as his butt hits the scooter seat, he sighs. “You win. This is best. Thank you.”
“Let me know if you run into any issues,” Renee tells him. “Don’t think of it as complaining; think of it as helping the team avoid a potential lawsuit in the future.”
Coach winks at me. “And here I thought the Giovanettis were being altruistic.”
I laugh, albeit guiltily. Dante has a reputation, for sure, but I remember how kind he was to Dot when her dad was in the hospital. He’s not a hero, given how he’s responded to some crises, including the incident with Bowen and Vi last year, but he’s not a heartless villain, either.
Renee gets us through the tunnel and out to the ice. The second Coach rolls to the boards, the guys stop their drills. Helmets turn. Sticks tap the ice one by one until the whole arena echoes with the clatter—an improvised salute.
“Coach Shaw!” Knight shouts. “Thought we’d have to send a search party!”