9. Kate
“Are we getting a suite?” Tessa is practically crawling out of her skin with excitement as we announce the location for camp this year.
“Will we get a night out like last year?” Chloe squeals next to her.
The girls continue giggling, planning their vacation on the beach instead of the camp that is meant to help them with college scouting. I can’t blame them entirely, though—we’re going to the beach.
Sunny Florida.
The thought of sand in my toes, water splashing my ankles, my skin sizzling under the sun… If I’m being honest, I have to contain my own excitement. I’ve never been to Florida, or to the beach before, actually—not for lack of trying, of course. Unless we count the hole-in-the-wall restaurant Ellie dragged me to last summer, Tropic Burger. All the waiters wore hula skirts, and I do mean all of them. Jimmy Buffet played on repeat over the speakers. And there was sand everywhere…the ground, our seats, the tables. It was a miracle it wasn’t in our food. That black bean burger special was the closest thing I’ve had to a beachside meal in my entire life.
“No suites. Yes, one night out. And no dates, so don’t even ask.” I force a stern look at the group.
Unified groans and moans commence at my audacity. How dare I ruin their chances of canoodling with players from other schools when they could potentially meet the long-distance partner they’ve been waiting for since freshman year?
“And don’t even try sneaking around. I will find out!” I point my pen individually at the eight girls sitting across from me on the gymnasium floor. More painful moans and groans. You’d think I was grounding them with this behavior.
“Now, we’ll have group conditioning workouts in the mornings. Then, you’ll break up into your individual sport groups. Tess and Chloe, you’ll represent our volleyball team, so please be on time. Birdie, you— Birdie, please focus.” Her head is craned in an awkward position as she doom-scrolls on her phone.
“Huh?” It’s not really a question, just a sound she makes as her eyes stay pinned to her phone.
Birdie Whitmore is my most unreliable athlete, yet the most talented. Taking the top rank in every sport she participates in, I have no choice but to take her to camp with me. Somehow, the girl can nail a brand-new routine with one eye on her screen and the other pinned on the football players. And her grades are perfect. She’s like some superhuman species that I can’t quite figure out.
“Can you at least pretend you’re listening?” I roll my eyes and continue, “You, Andie, and Claire will represent cheer, but you’ll be doing rhythm with color guard and pom due to the number of athletes and space. That leaves Daphne, Stella, and Jess representing softball. Everyone will be joining the baseball team for hitting practice and—”
“What?! They get to practice with the boys?” Chloe’s eyes fill with rage at this information. Good gravy, somebody save me.
I let out a sigh and try to wrap up before any of these girls find out Sarah Kim will be spending almost all her time with the football boys. “We leave at 6 a.m. tomorrow. Please don’t be late.”
They take that as their cue to leave and scurry out of the gym, not a single glance over their shoulder to say bye. I switch the lights off and head toward the exit, the setting sun peeking in through the small square windows at the top of the bleachers. The red letters of Glendale glisten on the floor as the light bounces off them.
I take a moment to lean against the wall that sits underneath the Volleyball State Champions flag and slide down until I hit the hardwood floor. The soles of my shoes squeak as I pull my knees into my chest.
The smell of citrus wood cleaner and rubber hit me as I take a deep breath. So many years of my life have revolved around this little gym. From the years I played, to becoming the assistant coach, to now being the athletic director for all of Glendale. The years flash across my mind in a blur, good days and bad, swirling around and bringing me to this moment. Right here. On this gym floor. Alone.
Ugh, that word. Alone.
I’ve been saying it way too much lately. And feeling it even more.
I’m not sure when these feelings truly hit, but I know that, lately, the reality that I am more alone than I have ever been in my entire life has been a major downer. So much so that I’ve led myself to believe the only way out of it is online dating. Online dating, for crying out loud! Not that it’s inherently bad to find your soulmate through an algorithm. Uncle Jerry met Sheila that way, and they’re happy as clams.
I guess I just pictured myself reaching for the last bag of gluten-free flour at the store, hand colliding with another. One larger and rougher but soft in all the right places. A gentle graze of a thumb across my knuckles. Eyes landing on the man of my dreams right there in the middle of Whole Foods.
It’s absurd. I’m aware. And I do grocery pick-up now, so that idea is the furthest from possible on the sheer fact that I rarely step inside the store anymore.
So here I am, putting myself out there for the internet to see. It’s terrifying, being judged solely on my pictures and a 200-word limit About Me section—which is not near enough space to share who I am with someone. But I’m trying nonetheless, no matter how uncomfortable the swiping makes me.
The Nick thing was clearly a bust, but it was a start. Putting myself out there after Eric has been the biggest challenge of my life. And up until a few months ago, I was really enjoying my life and the people in it. The idea of trying to date wasn’t near as appealing.
“It’ll happen for you one day.”
Benny’s words are etched in my mind. I remember the crisp morning vividly. I was helping him pick out a ring, helping plan and organize the proposal, all the way down to which knee he would kneel on. The guy ended up proposing on a park bench a day early because he couldn’t wait any longer, but still. A full week”s planning went into it, ending with us enjoying one last cup of coffee as two single people.
I never doubted Benny would find the love of his life one day. My cousin is one of the best men I know. He was destined for happiness. I just never expected to be the last one to find happiness. I’m literally the last one. In our entire family. The last person of typical dating age that doesn’t make people question if they collect doll heads or shark teeth. I’m looking at you, Aunt Edna.
His words were meant to be encouraging. Of course they were. I know this. But my brain decided to spiral into a toxic thought pool and practically drown in pitiful lonely me thoughts.
I hate feeling lonely.
I’ve done everything in my power to not feel lonely, ever since I was little. When my parents were so consumed in their own lives that they never noticed me, I ran down the road to Lola’s. When the girls on the team would try and ignore me, I’d go hang out with Benny and the rest of the track boys. When I took the job at Glendale, I refused to feel alone among my peers and forced them to be my friends. I tend to be suffocating in relationships. I’m highly aware. But none of them seem to mind. Even Malcolm, who hates everyone and everything, has never once made me feel alone.
But for the last two years, I have been alone. Truly alone.
“There’s nothing wrong with being by yourself,” Lola would tell me constantly.
And that’s what I’ve been since Eric left.
Going from seeing your boyfriend every single day, even working with him, to living on your own with your dog was jarring. It took me months to be okay with sleeping by myself. Some nights, Malcolm or Benny would sleep on my couch. Just knowing someone was there was all I needed.
Until one day, I didn’t. I was finally okay with being by myself. Independent. A free spirit with no constraints to another person.
The bombshell was liberating. This revelation might have come after one too many margaritas, but it was a revelation all the same. I was going to be alone, and I was going to be okay with it. To hell with men.
A ding from my phone brings me out of the memory.
You’ve Matched! in bright-gold letters pops up on my phone. The dating app I signed up for has informed me numerous times today that I’ve “matched” with someone. This should be exciting, but the dread of actually opening up the app and seeing what awaits me has had me sliding the notification closed and not going any further.
I take a deep breath, blowing my ringlet curls out of my face, before hopping up onto my feet. I take one last glance at the gym, letting the nostalgia fill me with a sense of calm. I truly love this little place. It’s my home. For a moment, I feel like, as long as I have this place, I’m not alone. Who needs an internet boyfriend anyway?
But can the gym hug you and kiss you and buy you ice cream when you’re sad?My inner rational thoughts sound eerily like Lola. I picture her eyeing me from the stands across the floor.
“Dang it. Fine,” I say to myself, pulling my phone out to check the app.
Then another ding comes with the phone in my grasp, signaling another match alert. That’s five in one day. I shove the phone in my pocket, overwhelmed by it all.
Another ding. Cheese and rice, this is going to be exhausting.
“Sha-booyah! Sha-sha-sha-booyah, roll call!” the girls chant on the right side of the bus with a few reluctant boys on the left joining in. The bus driver, a Florida native, joins in to the best of his ability. Malcolm sits in the seat next to me, his head tilted back, eyes firmly shut as we bounce down the highway toward our hotel.
The rapid movement makes it near impossible for me to rest, but Malcolm has no issues snoozing away next to me. I stare at him, tracing the line of his perfectly shaped beard as it leads to his lips. Memories of mistletoe and subtle hints of brandy threaten to overtake me when we hit a pothole. I tear my eyes away from his lips, traveling my gaze downward, landing on his Adam’s apple.
And an Adam’s apple it is.
It bobs slightly.
My mouth dries for some odd reason. Since when has Malcolm had such an intriguing Adam’s apple? How many times am I going to say Adam’s apple?
An all-too-familiar ding snaps me out of my trance. I sigh and click my phone screen off.
“Another match, huh?” Malcolm’s low voice comes out in a purr. His eyes are still closed, but the corner of his mouth twitches up when I cross my arms.
“Yes,” I groan, leaning my head against the seat. “I still haven’t checked any of them.”
“What’s stopping you?”
What is stopping me? I want to date again, so why am I refusing to check out any of my matches? And why is Malcolm’s Adam’s apple so dang interesting?
“You’re staring.” He smirks at me.
“I am not.” I whip my head forward.
“You’ve always been a terrible liar, Stanley.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel bad?” I attempt bumping my shoulder against his, which he attempts to dodge, turning his chest toward me, and at the same time, we hit another pothole. The combination of events throws me into Malcolm’s huge body. Hard. My head smacks against his chest. He grips my shoulders to steady me, squeezing twice before sitting me up.
“Golly! Do you have body armor under there?” I growl, rubbing the side of my head.
“Nope. Just solid man.” He chuckles, giving his chest a one-two pound that sounds like hitting a wall. Solid man. “You good?” he asks as his eyes evaluate my face with concern.
I see stars for a moment. “I’m fine. Hard to believe there isn’t a sheet of rock under there with how bad this hurts.”
“Would you like to see for yourself?” He gives that smirk again. Is he…flirting?
“What? No! I was just saying it feels like I smacked into a wall. Like you’re just so hard, er…I mean, wide—no. You’re just…ugh…you’re just a lot.”
“Again, I say, solid man.” This time, his smirk is followed by a wink and wave as if to present himself as a prize to the audience. And I’m definitely staring at his chest now.
“We’re here!” Birdie screeches from the back of the bus, saving me from the awkward lingering of my eyes. I’m pretty sure they are going rogue, and my brain no longer has control over what they look at. Or…gawk at.
The entire right side of the bus—the girls’ side—lets out giddy screams, scrambling for their bags and barreling toward the door before we even come to a full stop. A screeching halt sends Chloe, Tess, and Birdie flying to the floor, with Claire tumbling into a seat. Charlie and Garret cackle a few rows behind us, whistling and clapping as the girls try to peel themselves off the floor. I have to bite my lip to resist cackling with them.
“She is beauty; she is grace!” Travis yells from the back of the bus. The boys hoot and holler at his quip, leading the girls to bicker at them.
Malcolm grabs my hands and presses them against my ears, his callused hands pressing firmly against the sides of my face and muffling the chaotic noise building as everyone starts to argue. Everything around me fades away, and for a solitary moment, all my senses are focused on Malcolm’s hands. I can’t help but lean into it, my eyes fluttering at the sensation that travels down my neck from his touch.
But then Malcolm lets out a whistle loud enough to burst an eardrum, snapping me back to reality. The bus falls silent.
He grumbles as he stands and faces the kids behind us. “Alright,” he projects, using his military-coach voice, a rumble from deep inside his chest. “Get your crap, and get off the bus. You’re athletes, so try not to trip over your own feet while you’re at it.”
The kids leave the bus in a single-file line like a group of little troops following Commander Geer’s orders.
“These kids will be the death of me this week,” Malcolm mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can uncover your ears now.”
My ears?
My hands are still splayed against my face, the memory of Malcolm’s hands holding them firmly in place. I chuckle, flexing and twisting my hand, before stepping off the bus.
As we pile off the bus, we embody a group of chaotic toddlers barreling toward the double glass doors of the hotel. Based on their squeals, points, and touching of everything, you’d think these kids had never been out in public before. I have to do my best to be the adult in the group and not react like the rest of them, forcing myself to not get distracted by the lush, green palm trees that line the cobblestone walkway. Or the trickle of white sand tracked in by the other guests. Or the salty air whipping my curls across my face as we make our way inside to the hotel lobby. Or the fancy man in a fancy uniform, taking our bags like we’re royalty.
A shiver of giddy excitement rolls up my arms, and I have to shake them out as I approach reception.
“Welcome to the Regency at Palm Beach!” The tall man standing behind the counter forces a smile at the group of teenagers hovering in front of his desk. “You all must be here for the Collegiate Scouting Camp, I presume.” The group starts talking over each other in response, invading Mr. Front Desk’s space even more, if that is possible.
“Alright, alright. You’re embarrassing us. Sit over there and chill out.” Malcolm rescues the poor front desk clerk. “Glendale High School, checking in.” He leans his arms on the desk, rolling his neck and cracking his back.
The apple bobs again.
“Here you are. Thirteen athlete passes, two coach passes, and three rooms.”
“Wait, what?” My gaze rips away from Malcolm’s neck as I laser focus on Mr. Front Desk. “That can’t be right. We reserved four rooms.”
“Yes, four rooms. Two athlete suites and two coach rooms,” Malcolm growls irritably. The noise is almost palpable—if a growl could be palpable, anyway.
“Oh dear, let me have a looksie.” Mr. Front Desk’s fingers fly across the keyboard, and a small bead of sweat builds on his temple as Malcolm and I watch him. “Well, it looks like a, uh, Mr. Bill Cummings reserved only three rooms.”
“Freaking Bill,” I groan. We left it up to the janitor-turned-assistant-coach to make reservations. Rookie mistake. “Could we reserve a fourth room, then?”
“I’m so sorry, but we’re fully booked for the week.” Mr. Front Desk’s eyes go from solemn to sheer terror as I stare at him. You know those moments in cartoons where someone is so angry they have steam coming out of their ears? If that could actually happen in real life, I have no doubt it would be happening right now, steam and flames blasting out of my ears as I stare down this man. “I–I’m so sorry.” He fidgets behind the counter, voice practically quaking. “We could put you on a waitlist.”
“That’s alright. We’ll manage. Thanks, Jeremy.” Malcolm takes the room keys and camp passes from Jeremy. A ripple of shock moves up my spine from the hand he’s placed on my lower back as he steers me away from the desk. “If you stared at him any longer, Stanley, he would have burst into flames.” His beard tickles my ear as he whispers, “He’s innocent in all this.”
“Well, Bill isn’t here for me to blame, so Jeremy it is. How are we going to manage with only three rooms?” I grumble in a whisper. My heart is beating out of my chest as we approach our group gathered in the lobby. And I don’t know if it’s the Florida heat or the thought of sharing a room with Malcolm, but something is happening inside me—something I can’t quite pinpoint—and my face and neck feel like they’re on fire.
“Is the thought of sharing a room with me getting you all hot and bothered?” Malcolm chuckles.
“What? No. What makes you say that?” I heave a breath, trying to fill my lungs with oxygen and failing. What is with the air in this place?
“You’re beet red.” He faces me, crossing his arms over his chest. Gosh, what a chest. It’s a man’s chest. Which yes, Malcolm is clearly a man. But why is his chest so…interesting all of a sudden? Why is Malcolm all of a sudden so interesting? “And fanning yourself with your room key.” He eyes the tiny plastic card I’m waving back and forth between us.
“I— It’s— Florida is sweltering, alright? I am sweltering. This entire lobby is sweltering!” My words come out louder than I intend as I flail my arms out to the sides. Eyes bug out at me from our group, and Malcolm does the thing where he pretends to smooth out his beard, but really he’s just suppressing a cackle, before handing out room keys.
“You good, Ms. Stanley?” Devon asks, already unconvinced with whatever response I will conjure up.
Instead of words, I wave my hand and bow. Because that’s a clear indication that I’m good. Totally good. All is chill in the world, and I am not bothered in the slightest about the room mishap or the inconvenience it poses. I am chill.
“Alright. Guys, you’ll be in suite 416, and ladies, you’ll be in 428.”
“We get suites? Dude, yes!” Travis is elated as he holds up a hand for Malcolm to high-five. It’s denied.
“Suites are just a cool way to say pull-out sofa, dude.” Garrett pats Travis on the shoulders as a sign of support for the devastating reality. Travis is unfazed as he giddily skips to the elevators.
“Coaches rooms are between you guys, so no funny business. I’m looking at you, Jess. Save the pranks for at home.” Malcolm lets his military tone seep through his words, and Jess nods erratically. Sir, yes, sir.
Up on the fourth floor, we accompany the kids to their rooms, waiting as the girls get settled into theirs and head toward the guys’ room.
“You know I’m not going to stay in the room with you, right?” Malcolm follows me closely down the hall as we approach the suites.
“Where are you going to sleep, then?” I ask, feeling a twinge guilty at his chivalry. Of course he’s already come up with a plan to make sure I’m comfortable. He’s probably already made other arrangements within the fifty steps we’ve taken from the front desk.
“With them.” Malcolm winces as Charlie knocks over a hallway table, Devon swiftly catching the lamp that nearly shattered on the ground. “On the floor.”
The boys proceed to wrestle in front of their room door, desperate to be the first to open it.
I stare at the mayhem before me, thanking the universe for the lone bed and night of silence awaiting me on the other side of my door. For a millisecond, I forget about Malcolm’s back problems and the fact that him sleeping on the floor will set this entire week on a path of a grumpier Mr. Geer, if that is even possible.
I can’t let him suffer like that.
Malcolm has slept at my house before, on the couch, but still. I could hear his light snoring through my thin walls. It’s not like this is completely uncharted territory. Why is sharing a hotel room with him freaking me out so much? There’s enough space to navigate each other and avoid all awkwardness. There are two beds, and we can survive sharing a bathroom.
It’s fine.
The suite door down the hall swings open and slams into the wall as the guys forcefully wedge themselves through the space. The door slams shut with a loud bang, bros and dudes hollered behind the closed door.
“You can’t stay in there. Listen to them.” I gape down the hall, grateful to be in charge of the quiet girls two doors down.
“It’s fine. I’ve slept through worse.” He gives me a wink, hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder as he goes to walk away.
Grabbing his hand, I plead, “Don’t.”
Malcolm eyes me, the blue of them glistening under the fluorescent hallway lights, his wheels clearly turning as he ponders his decision before shoving his hands in his pockets. He lets out a slow breath and asks, “Are you sure you’re comfortable with it? Because the last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable.”
Needing to convince myself more than him, I shrug aggressively and say, “We’re adults. It’ll be fine.” I playfully swat his arm, and his shoulders relax at the act.
It will be fine, Kate.
“Just stay with me.”