Chapter Eight
Running Interference
Ernie erupts in a fit of raucous laughter, going whole hog by slapping his thighs and wiping tears from his eyes.
I've known the guy for years, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him laugh like this.
But he isn't done yet. No, Ernie Barnes now throws his head back and lets out guffaws that must be straining his abdominal muscles.
But finally, he settles down.
"Mike, Mike, Mike." He's still trying to catch his breath. "You're a piece of work, kid. All these years I've been trying to get you to open up, and it takes two spitfires like Regan and Chandra to crack that titanium shell of yours."
I cross my arms. "I'm not that bad."
"Son, you make Fort Knox seem accessible." Ernie's eyebrows lift like he's explaining something to a particularly dense child. "This is good. Uncomfortable as hell for you, I'm sure, but good."
"How exactly is my personal misery 'good,' Coach?" I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight. I swear the office walls have suddenly closed in around me. The last thing I need is Ernie psychoanalyzing my love life, or lack thereof.
"You're finally interested in something other than football." Ernie leans forward, elbows on his knees, all traces of laughter gone. "Listen, Mike, I've watched you play like a machine for years. Precise. Calculated. Effective. But machines don't win championships. Men with heart do."
I roll my eyes. "Save the motivational poster crap for the rookies."
"Baloney. It isn't crap when it's true." He fixes me with that penetrating stare, the one that made me confess to skipping practice my sophomore year of college. "This Regan girl, she's got you rattled."
"I am not rattled."
The lie hangs between us like a wobbly pass.
"Sure, kid," Ernie says, slapping my knee. "And I'm next in line for the Heisman."
"What do you want from me, Coach?"
"For you to admit this Regan girl has you thinking about more than just football for once in your damn life."
The truth of his words hit me like a blindside tackle.
Regan does have me thinking about more than football.
Like her blue eyes that pierce my soul, or someone who understands the pressure of the game without being consumed by it.
The idea explodes in my mind from nowhere and everywhere at once, ambushing me.
I clench my jaw, willing the memories away.
This isn't about making my father proud.
This is about me getting my head back in the game.
So, I uncross my arms and let my shoulders slump. "Yeah, Regan hit me like a meteor, smashing all my defenses. Chandra thinks she still has a hold on me, but she's wrong. I can't afford distractions right now. The team---"
"Needs you at your best," Ernie interrupts, leaning back in his chair. "And your best isn't just your arm or your playbook intelligence. It's all of you, Mike."
"Are you suggesting I should forget about Regan?"
Ernie sighs. "No, kid. You don't need advice from me. What you need to do is make a choice about these girls and pick one or give up on them both. But don't listen to me. Listen to your brain and your heart."
I get what he means. Somehow, I've allowed two women to screw me up.
But it isn't their fault. Chandra dumping me didn't hurt the way I assumed it would, but Regan.
..I want her, and I kind of like her, but she comes off as cool and detached from everything except figure skating.
I understand why. But her coach, Bohdan, didn't appreciate me watching her practice.
The guy guards Regan like a junkyard dog.
I blow out a gusty breath while I try to organize the jumble of thoughts in my head. "Regan's's focused, Ernie. Like, laser-beam focused. I respect that. But sometimes I wonder if there's room for anything else in her life."
"Sounds familiar." Ernie aims a pointed look at me that makes me squirm. "You two are more alike than you think. Both of you locked in these cages of your own making, convinced that letting anyone in will somehow make you weaker."
"When did you get a degree in psychology, Coach?"
"Nice try, Hannigan." Ernie lifts his brows and smiles. "Why are you sitting in my office instead of calling that girl? The season doesn't start for another month. That means you've got time to decide which girl means the most to you, and which might be The One."
I leap up, needing to move, to escape the truth bomb Ernie just dropped.
The office suddenly feels too small, too confining.
"I appreciate the concern, Coach, but this is a problem I need to solve on my own.
" I stop mid-stride and glare at him. "You told me to make a choice.
But it takes time to do that, and I don't need other voices echoing in my head.
Let me deal with the girl situation in my own time and in my own way. All right?"
"That's exactly what I was saying." Coach Ernie smacks my arm hard. "Ya finally did it. Congratulations."
He walks out of the room.
I stand here mystified, watching Ernie's back as he saunters away like he just dropped the game-winning touchdown and knows it.
Typical. The man has a PhD in leaving me with my thoughts at the exact moment I don't want them.
The empty office suddenly feels too quiet, too spacious, with nowhere to hide from myself.
I drop back into the chair, letting my head fall back.
It's time to make a choice, Hannigan. And you know which one it is.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I fish it out, half-expecting, or maybe hoping, it's Regan. But Chandra's name flashes across the screen, accompanied by a photo I should have deleted months ago. It shows her smiling at a charity gala, looking like she supermodel.
I let it ring. Once. Twice. Three. Four. Five times.
While I stare at the phone with my thumb hovering over the screen, I experience a sudden revelation.
Old habits die hard, and for two years, ignoring Chandra's calls wasn't an option.
She was my girlfriend, after all. The woman I thought I'd marry someday, before she decided I wasn't what she wanted anymore.
Now here I am, caught between the past I no longer want and a future that I can barely see.
I swipe to answer just before it goes to voicemail.
"Mike!" Chandra's voice has that breathless quality she uses when she wants something. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
"Just had a meeting with Coach Barnes." Not technically a lie. "What's up?"
"I'm in town for a few days." A long pause follows, I can imagine her sitting at her favorite bistro, wearing some designer outfit that costs more than my monthly mortgage. She's probably checking her hair or her makeup in a mirror. "I miss you, Mike. Don't you miss me? Even a little?"
"Chandra..." I begin, unsure of where she's going with this. "I don't think dinner is a good idea."
"Because of that skater girl?" She has a sharp edge in her voice now. "Mike, she's only a distraction. We have history between us. We understand each other."
I get up, needing to move again. "That's the problem. Our history isn't exactly filled with highlight reels."
"We had good times too," she interjects, her voice softening to the honeyed tone she uses when she wants to get her way. "Remember Paris? The weekend in Napa? The way we used to make each other laugh?"
I do remember. That's the problem. Those memories are like highlight reels from someone else's life---good times that feel disconnected from the reality we lived day-to-day.
But the biggest problem we had was that she paid for everything, from Paris to Cabo and everywhere in between.
A guy needs to feel like he's like he's in charge, at least some of the time.
"Look, I'm not saying we didn't have any good times," I say, pacing the length of Ernie's office. "But you were the one who walked away, Chandra. You decided I wasn't enough."
"That's not fair," she protests. "I was confused. My career was taking off, and you were so focused on football. We both made mistakes."
I stop at the window, looking out at the practice field where a few rookies are running drills. The sun beats down, and I catch a brief glimpse of the backside of a girl who might be Regan. But then she swivels her head around, and I know that's not Regan.
"Goodbye, Chandra."
I end the call.