20. Tyler
TWENTY
TYLER
There’s been an odd tension in the house ever since McKenzie temporarily moved in with us, but it seems she and I are the only ones who notice it. My daughter is completely oblivious to the quick looks I send McKenzie every chance I get or the way she glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking. We hardly ever talk anymore, and I find that, more than anything, I miss our late-night chats.
It was nice having her to come home to and talk with after a long day at work. I could try and talk to Kylie, but she doesn’t like to stay up late where as I’m a night owl. It takes me forever to wind down because there is so much going through my head. McKenzie was a great sounding board, and she actually has some of my same interests. Kylie would rather mow our lawn than listen to me talk about football. And she hates mowing the lawn.
In the past, when I tried to date women, it was clear they were only interested in my money and reputation. There was always an air of disappointment when they realized I was not into flaunting my money. The house I currently live in is bad enough with all the spare rooms I don’t even need. But they also wanted to always go out and be seen on my arm, getting our picture taken for their social media to document our outings. And they just loved it if a photographer happened to spot us stepping out of a restaurant. I hated every second of that.
But McKenzie doesn’t seem to care about any of that. She doesn’t even want my money or the spare room in my house. I think that’s a big reason I can’t get her out of my head. She doesn’t treat me the way other women do.
If only she was a few years older.
McKenzie has taken to cooking us dinner on nights when she doesn’t work at the restaurant. I’m not always home in time for dinner, but she puts a note on the fridge letting me know there are leftovers. It’s the closest we get to talking. I’ve noticed her cleaning more, too, even though I have someone come do that. She spends most of her time, at least while I’m at home, in her room or in Kylie’s room.
Outside of the house, I hardly ever see her in the field house anymore. Occasionally, I’ll pass her in the hallways if she’s talking to one of my staff members, but she just gives me a tight nod and a short “Coach.”
She’s taking the space I told her we needed quite literally, and I hate that I actually miss her. I miss her smile. I miss hearing her laugh when I walk in the house. I miss her popping into my office to randomly ask a question. Hell, I even miss hearing her joke around with my players. Even though I still wanted to break Hayes’s arm for getting anywhere near her.
It’s been a little over a week since I picked a drunk Kylie and McKenzie up from the party. We won our away game this weekend, and the team is in good spirits. We’re on track to make it to a bowl game and, hopefully, the National Championship, and I’m in a fucking good mood. The only thing that would make it better is if McKenzie would actually look at me.
It’s Monday, and I know McKenzie doesn’t work Mondays because I’m pathetic and memorized her schedule. So I text Kylie that I’m making dinner tonight and grab stuff from the store on my way home.
When I walk in, the girls are in the living room working on homework. Kylie’s face lights up when she sees me because she’s not mad at me anymore since I let McKenzie come back. I told Kylie a little white lie that I apologized to McKenzie and offered her a room. McKenzie must’ve said something similar because Kylie hasn’t called me out on anything yet.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Ky. Hey, McKenzie.”
“Coach” is all McKenzie gives me in return. I wish she’d call me Tyler again. I never thought I’d miss hearing someone say my name, but here we are.
Kylie tells me about her day while I start to make enchiladas. I love hearing about her day and how her classes are going. From what I can tell, she’s having a good first semester, which is exactly what I hoped for. I want her to stick around because she wants to, not just because she needs a break from her mom or her life back in Georgia.
“And how was your day, McKenzie?” I ask, hoping she’ll give me something even though I know I don’t deserve it.
“Pretty good.” Her voice sounds light and airy, almost fake, and I know it’s for Kylie’s sake.
“McKenzie, you should show Dad the pictures for your photojournalism class. He’ll love them,” Kylie suggests.
McKenzie finally looks over at the kitchen, where I’m rolling tortillas, and Kylie is eating chips straight from the bag.
“I’m sure he has better things to do,” McKenzie says.
“No, I’d love to see them.”
McKenzie finally makes eye contact with me, and it sends a shiver down my spine. It’s as if she’s trying to decipher if I actually want to see her pictures or if I’m just trying to appease Kylie. Little did she know, I’d proofread a fifty-page history paper right now if it got me a little closer to her. And I’ve seen her taking pictures on the field, so I’m sure whatever pictures she’s taken are fantastic.
“Let me get these in the oven, and then I’ll look at them,” I tell her.
McKenzie stands and brings her laptop to the kitchen. Kylie hands her a few chips while I finish up. When the food is in the oven, I give my full attention to McKenzie. I lean in to look at her laptop. I’m too close to her—I know it—yet I still don’t back away. Her lavender scent fills my senses, and I’m reminded of the time I stroked her hair while she lay on my lap when we fell asleep on the couch. It was completely inappropriate, but I loved every sinful second of it.
“These are ones I’ve been taking of the team since the semester started.”
She scrolls through, and I see tons of pictures of my players on the field and off. She’s got them practicing, working out, at games, and just hanging out with each other. The pictures are all fantastic, too. The guys are going to love these when they see them.
Then I scroll and get to the pictures of the coaches, and I’m met with my own face. She has shots of me laughing at something one of the guys said. There’s a shot of me from a game day yelling on the field. There’s another of me celebrating a win with my team.
My picture is always being taken during the season. I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean I ever look at them. I actively avoid all pictures and articles about me if I can help it. But these. . . these are really fucking good.
I come to a picture where I’m looking directly at her, and I’m smiling. A true smile. I remember when she took this picture. She was kneeling on the sidelines, and I heard her yell, “Coach!” Just hearing her voice had made me smile. I turned and found her eyes right before she snapped the picture.
I swallow hard.
“I’m trying to show all the different emotions that pop up in sports even when people don’t realize it,” she says quietly.
“These are fantastic, Kenz,” I say just loud enough for her to hear. “I hope you share these with the team.”
She looks at me, our faces just inches away. The urge to kiss her is overwhelming. I could do it. Just lean in a few inches, and she’d be mine.
But the crunch of a tortilla chip brings me back to reality, and I quickly take a step back. Kylie comes up behind me and points to the screen. “That’s such a good picture of you, Dad. You never smile like that.”
“I think this was right after a touchdown,” McKenzie lies. “It put the team in the lead.”
“Ah, yep. That’ll do it,” Kylie says and crunches on another chip.
“These are good, McKenzie,” I say, clearing my throat and searching for my water. “If you decide not to do sports journalism, you should consider photography.”
McKenzie closes her computer, and the corner of her mouth tips up like she’s trying not to smile. I only notice because I can’t keep my eyes off her mouth.
“Thanks, Coach.”
Hearing her call me Coach shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but it’s a swift slap in the face to get me to stop acting like a love-sick puppy. I’m the one who said we needed distance and space, and now I’m staring at her lips like I can’t control myself.
When the oven timer finally beeps, I grab the enchiladas and put them on the table with the rice, queso, and remaining chips that Kylie hasn’t already eaten, and for the first time in a while, the three of us sit down together at the table.
“Kylie, you know your grandma used to make these enchiladas for me like once a week when I was a kid?”
“Really?”
“Yep. It was one of my favorite meals. I made her show me how to make them when I moved out. I called her and made her walk me through the steps so many times.”
“That’s so cute,” she tells me and I see McKenzie smile out of the corner of my eye.
“Is there anything your mom makes that you love that much?” I ask Kylie.
“Yeah, she makes this lasagna soup that I can’t get enough of. It’s so good.”
“Hmm, yeah, I think I remember that.” Kylie’s mom and I weren’t together long once we hit the age where we had to cook for ourselves, but we did try for a little. “What about you, McKenzie? Any meals you miss from your mom’s kitchen?”
“Um, yeah. This is going to sound lame, but she makes really good spaghetti and meatballs. She makes her sauce from scratch, and it’s just the best. I’ve tried to make it myself, but it never comes out exactly right.”
“It took me several tries to get the enchiladas right. Maybe you can make us your mom’s spaghetti one night. I’d love to try it.” I’m about to offer to pay for the ingredients, but I have a feeling that won’t go over well. One thing I’ve noticed about McKenzie is that she’s fiercely independent. As much as I want to help her in the ways that I can, I know she doesn’t want that. Hell, she barely wants to stay in my house, but that’s one area where I’ve put my foot down. She can be mad all she wants as long as she’s safe.
“Yeah, I can do that,” she finally says.
Kylie starts telling us some stories about her mother’s failed cooking experiments, and while I try not to laugh, I can totally see Shae burning the top of a casserole or accidentally using horseradish instead of mayonnaise.
“Thanks for dinner, Coach,” McKenzie says when we’ve all cleared our plates.
“Of course. Figured I’d give you girls a break from cooking.”
“It’s about time,” Kylie teases.
“I’ll do the dishes,” McKenzie says, standing from her place at the table.
“I can do them.” I reach out to grab her plate and accidentally brush my fingers against hers. She lets out a barely audible inhale before she nods and lets go of the plate.
“Not gonna lie, Dad. You might have to start cooking more often because that was pretty good.”
I chuckle softly at my daughter before I start cleaning up. “Before you got here, I lived off grilled chicken and rice. I do need to start cooking again. I used to cook all the time, but I guess I just got busy.”
“You’ll never find a girlfriend by just making chicken and rice,” Kylie scoffs.
Kylie and I don’t talk about my dating life much, mainly because there really hasn’t been anything to tell her. She knows I’ve had a few relationships but none of them worked out. Dating has never been a priority for me. And now, I’m stuck on a twenty-two-year-old woman who I need to stay far away from.
“Not looking for one of those, Ky.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know. I know. The eternal bachelor. Honestly, I just want you off the market so my friends stop talking like they have a chance with you. It’s gross.”
I glance at McKenzie in time to see her go rigid. I know Kylie still doesn’t suspect anything between me and McKenzie, but it makes me hate myself even more that I’m considering going behind her back again for one last kiss from McKenzie.
McKenzie’s phone vibrates in her hand and she looks at the screen and smiles. “Matty, hey.”
Matty. . . I think that’s one of her brothers.
The smile falls from her face. “What?” She listens to whatever her brother is saying. “No. That’s not possible.”
Kylie and I share a look of confusion.
“No,” she says again, but her voice is a little more shaky. She listens for a few seconds longer before she hangs up without another word. She stands completely still, just staring at her phone screen.
“McKenzie?” Kylie says softly. “Is everything ok?”
And then McKenzie drops to the floor and breaks down in sobs.