Chapter 12
ALLYSON
Practice ended ten minutes ago, and I should be halfway home by now, mentally preparing for an evening of spaghetti and frozen meatballs.
I know it’s not the best option, but Cooper said the carb loading of just spaghetti was an overindulgence and we needed protein to balance it out.
I’d blinked in surprise but finally agreed that adding some meat would be fine.
But that’s not where I am and not what I’m doing at all.
Nope, I’m standing off to the side, trying really hard to not look like a stalker. But I guess that’s exactly what I am, considering I’m waiting for Bruce to finish talking to Mike.
My eyes roam over the park, finding Cooper, Liam, and Evan happily sharing their homemade zucchini bread with the ducks. Though sharing might be an exaggeration because they’re taking huge mouthfuls for themselves with each bite and tossing tiny pinches of the bread for the birds.
I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I can’t help but tune in when I see Bruce put his hand on Mike’s shoulder and rumble, “I’m so sorry, man. That shit sucks.”
My ears perk up. I’m not usually gossipy, but I’ve got enough small-town experience to recognize when there’s something to know.
He shakes Bruce’s hand off. “It could be worse. I could be one of the guys they laid off. A shift change isn’t so bad when you look at it like that,” Mike says glumly, like he doesn’t believe his own words.
Mike told us at the first meeting that he’s a machinist in a factory two towns over. I’m not sure what exactly he builds or even what he does, but he seemed to like his work.
“What’s that mean for you and Jamie? And Evan?”
Mike scrubs a hand across his head, the shaved-short hairs making a scratching sound I can hear even from a few feet away. The park’s gone quiet, kids all headed home for dinner, and now only the occasional scream of a cicada sounds out.
I try to step away to give them a bit of privacy, but I feel Bruce’s eyes telling me to stay, to wait for him. I want to talk to him, though I have no idea what I want to say. It just seemed like the prudent and polite thing to do after the weekend of weird ups and downs.
I’m going for Adulting 201 now, I guess.
“It’ll be fine. Jamie understands, and we’ll make whatever adjustments we need to at home.
I’ll be there in the mornings more, so I can do breakfast with Evan and take him to school.
And sleep in the afternoon until I have to go in.
” He nods, trying to convince himself as he repeats, “It’ll be fine. ”
Bruce nods. “What’s that mean for the team? You won’t be able to come to practices at all if you’re working third shift, and you’ll be sleeping when we have games.”
And suddenly, I’m selfishly upset. I feel for Mike and Jamie and the changes their family is apparently going through, but if Mike can’t coach, does that mean the team is no more? Cooper is going to be devastated. I’m going to fail at giving him this thing he wanted so badly.
Mike’s grin is feral. “You remember telling me that your word is good and you were the Wildcats coach until the end of the season, no matter what?” His eyes look over to me, letting me know he’s aware of my presence in the darkening evening.
“Yeah . . .” Bruce says slowly.
Mike points a finger at Bruce. “Good, ’cause I’m holding you to your word. I want you to coach the boys, run the practices, and lead the games. You up for that?”
Bruce’s chuckle is huffed from deep in his gut. “Fuck no. I ain’t ready for that shit and you damn well know it.”
“Too bad, Coach. You’re the new leader of the Wildcats. Don’t let me down.” Mike acts like Bruce didn’t even speak, certainly not like he said no to the proposal that he be the only coach. He even holds his hand out for a shake on it like they agreed to the sales price on a used car.
“Need to clean your ears out, man. I said no.”
Mike lets his hand fall and steels his eyes. “Didn’t take you for a quitter, Brutal. You told me your word was good, so are you saying that was a lie?”
Bruce sniffs, not swayed. “Don’t try to play a player, asshole. This ain’t what we talked about and you know it.”
Mike sags under the pushback. “Fine, here’s the whole deal,” he starts but then pauses and looks at me.
It’s so sudden and unexpected that I don’t have a chance to pretend I wasn’t listening to every word.
“Allyson? You wanna come on over and be a part of this conversation instead of eavesdropping? It involves you too, so you might as well.”
I step over slowly, glad the heat of the night gives me an excuse for the flush on my cheeks at being caught so blatantly.
“Sure, Mike. Uh, sorry for what you and Jamie are going through. It sounds like a pretty major adjustment.” Acknowledging that I was eavesdropping seems like the least dishonest way to join in.
“Thanks,” he says reflexively, but I can tell his mind is already focusing on how to say what he wants to.
“Here’s the deal . . . the Wildcats need a parent on roster as the head coach.
Now, what that coach does or doesn’t do can vary.
Most teams just have the one, so he—or she—does it all.
Coaching, scheduling, emails, snacks, uniforms, practices and games, handling parents, and whatever other shit comes up.
I don’t know for sure since I’ve never done this either. ”
He shrugs as he lists out all the things on his plate before settling heavily on Bruce.
“But we have Brutal, and let’s be honest, there’s not a single parent in the city who can coach these boys like you can.
Unfortunately, you can’t be the ‘Head Coach’.
” He pauses to do air quotes with his fingers.
“Or at least, not on paper. So here’s what I propose . . .”
He lets a dramatic silence stretch out, and Bruce and I chance a glance each other’s way. Why do I feel like we already know what Mike is going to say?
“Brutal, you’ll be the coach in action. You’ll run practices and handle the sidelines at the game. And Allyson, you’ll be the coach on paper. You handle emails, snacks, and parents. It’s the best of both worlds.”
Yep, that’s where I thought Mike was going and I’m already shaking my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bruce doing the same thing.
“I can’t, Mike. I’m sorry. I’ll be there for the games, but I’ve got work during the week. That’s why Michelle and I rotate. Surely, there’s someone else you can put down as head coach if it’s only on paper,” I argue.
Mike’s eyes narrow, not checking me out but sizing me up as an adversary. I square my shoulders and stand straighter.
His voice is hard as he tells me the truth.
“There are no dads who come to practices. You know that. Maybe Killian’s grandparents, but they can’t even walk to the sidelines every practice.
You know they’re not the youngest or the healthiest. As for the moms, yeah .
. . there are at least three who come to every practice and will be at every game.
And you know as well as I do, they’re only half here for their kid, so if you think for one second that their husbands are going to be onboard with their working elbow to elbow with Brutal, you’re delusional. ”
He looks to Bruce. “No offense, man. We talked about this.”
Bruce spreads his hands like ‘whatcha gonna do?’ I can’t help but roll my eyes. I mean, he’s not wrong, but does he have to be so damn arrogant about it?
Mike zeroes back in on me. “You don’t want those women working with him, either.”
He says it so quietly I tell myself that it was my own consciousness speaking and not him saying that out loud in front of Bruce, but the lift of Mike’s eyebrow daring me to disagree says it was him.
He’s right. I don’t want that, but I don’t want to admit it. So I bite my tongue, refusing to give in either way.
“You want football for your boy? You want this team for him?” Mike asks, driving his point home. “This is how that happens. Brutal handles X’s and O’s, and you do the organizing and be the face of the team.”
“Damn, that’s some serious guilt-tripping. What else you wanna throw at her? Got some shit about football being a metaphor for life too?” Bruce comes to my defense, but the damage is done. I know Mike’s right.
This is going to suck. And be so ridiculously awkward. And lead to so many sleepless nights and ruined panties.
But I told Cooper he would get to play. And I told Bruce we could be adults about this. One kiss and a trip down sunny memory lane doesn’t change that.
I take a deep breath, willing my words to be a prophecy. “It’s fine. I’ll be okay as head coach. On paper.” I look to Bruce, fearful that he’s going to desert me right as the shit is hitting the fan.
I might be willing to fight for this, but he doesn’t have any skin in this game. Not really. These aren’t his kids. He’s only here for the love of the game and because he said he would. But the situation has changed drastically and I wouldn’t blame him for walking away.
Well, I would. I’d blame him a lot and be pissed, but deep down, I’d understand.
Bruce’s eyes search mine, his hands clenched like he’s holding them back. “Are you sure?” he asks gently. So kindly and sweet that it almost brings a hot burn to my eyes, but I nod. “Okay, if Al’s in, I’m in. What do we need to do?”
Mike’s mouth hangs open in surprise. He didn’t expect that to work. Guess he doesn’t know the strength of his own arguments.
Or maybe he underestimated me and Bruce?
“I’ll take care of it as my last official head coach duty.
But starting Thursday, it’s you two. Good luck,” Mike says, almost like he’s ready to see some fireworks start any second.
“I’m going to get on home. But holler if you need anything.
I’ll get back with you during the day when I’m not at work. ”
He whistles loudly, and Evan perks up, used to the sound. He runs toward us, throwing back a goodbye over this shoulder to his teammates, and then he shakes Bruce’s hand. “Bye, Coach B! See you Thursday!”
And we’re alone. Mike and Evan are gone, and Cooper and Liam are down at the pond. They’re not far, but they can’t hear us.
“Are you sure about this?” I hedge.
“Are you?” he counters.
Our eyes lock, so much unsaid between us. But I can feel the commitment we both have to see this through.
“Give me your number so we can talk about practices and stuff,” I say, using my business mode as a shield.
Bruce pulls his phone out of the bag at his feet and rattles off his number. I text it, and the ding sounds like possibility, like opportunity, like a really bad idea when I’m hot and bothered at three in the morning from dreaming of him.
“You gonna be available for practices? I know how busy you are,” Bruce says quietly. I feel like he’s asking so much more.
I nod, not a single thought on my schedule at the office. “I’ll make it work. I want—”
He cuts me off, stepping closer and moving into my space. Every cell in my body is aware of how little air separates us as each inch of my skin yearns for his touch. He folds his shoulders in, cocooning me against the August night, and his lips softly brush over the shell of my ear.
“Tell me, Al. Tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen. I’ll do it.” His breath shudders, and though he dwarfs me, I feel powerful and in charge with him. My eyes slip shut and my palms find his chest, feeling the hushed rise and fall that belie his outward calm.
He’s waiting for a signal from me. One I contemplate giving.
It would be okay. Nobody would blame me. There’s so much fire between us, and I know firsthand how amazing he is. I bet he’s only gotten better with time.
But even as I know that in the moment, it would be so good, devastatingly good, later, I’d feel conflicted about it.
The pause drags out long enough that Bruce reads my messed-up, confused mind. His fingers weave into my hair, holding me still as he lays a butterfly soft kiss to my cheek. “Goodnight, Al.”
He steps away, leaving me cold even though it’s still humid and hot tonight. I don’t find my tongue to say anything before he disappears into the parking lot. His truck is loud, breaking my trance as he pulls out.
What have I done?