Chapter 9
Ainsley
Present
My finger hovers over the doorbell, a slight shake to it before I press the button.
I’m about to step across enemy lines. Literally.
At least Landon’s mom is nice. She always says hello when we run into each other in town. Then again, she could just be polite. I don’t know if her opinion of me has changed over the years. Moms are loyal. If Landon hates me, she probably does too.
The door swings open, and Mrs. Fletcher’s eyes light up. “Ainsley Morgan, oh my goodness. Look at you.”
I step inside and into her open arms, unable to avoid the tight hug she’s forcing upon me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I pull back and offer her a genuine smile. “Well, that makes one out of two Fletchers.”
She scoffs and waves her hand. “Nonsense. Come on, the girls are out back.”
As I’m led through the house, nostalgia slams into me.
It’s like I’m a teen again. My eyes sweep over the pictures decorating the light-grey walls.
Photos of Landon as a child hang in a staggered row, along with a collage of school photos from each year.
Everything looks the same as it did in high school, except for several empty spots; blank spaces with nails sticking out of the sheetrock where picture frames used to be.
Where are all the pictures of Landon’s father?
“Coach Ainsley!” several of the girls cheer when I step out onto the patio in the backyard.
My hand arcs in a big wave to everyone. Wearing black basketball shorts and a teal Breakwater High t-shirt, Landon keeps his back to me, facing the grill and flipping burgers.
I pull down the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands. “Mrs. Fletcher, maybe you should grill my burger for me. I don’t know if I trust your son not to poison me.”
“He wouldn’t dare.” She laughs and squeezes my forearm. “And call me Marie, please.”
Landon glances at me over his shoulder, amusement gleaming in his eyes. “You’re safe with my mom here.”
The corner of my lips twitch. “Don’t want her to be an accomplice, huh?”
“Would you two stop it?” Marie rolls her eyes. “No one will be murdering anyone, here or elsewhere.”
Landon and I exchange a glance. We’ll see about that.
Natalie tosses a ball with a couple of the JV girls as she offers them tips on how to cradle the stick.
“Be careful, Nat,” I warn. “You remember what happened to my fence last year.”
Natalie groans. “It wasn’t my fault, Coach.”
Landon’s eyebrows shoot up. “What happened last year?”
I sweep my arm toward Natalie. “Go ahead, Nat. Tell him how it wasn’t your fault.”
“I was just playing around with the girls, and when I went to pass it to Tori,” she tosses a glare at Tori, “she ducked out of the way and the ball went through the fence.”
Tori holds up her hands on either side of her head. “It was either me or the fence, Coach. Sorry, but I chose your fence.”
“See?” Natalie’s wide eyes flick to mine. “I told you it wasn’t my fault.”
“How hard did you pass it for the ball to go through the vinyl?” Landon asks.
I cough out a laugh. “Exactly my point.” I dig my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my photos to find the lacrosse ball-shaped hole in my fence last summer. “Look, I had to replace the entire panel.”
Landon leans over as his eyes crinkle with his grimace. “Sucks to suck.”
“I told you, I would’ve paid for it,” Natalie says, propping her hand on her hip.
“Oh, she made you pay for it.” Tori glares her way. “She made us all pay for it.”
“All those drills really helped though.” I open my arms wide. “You’re state champions, aren’t you?”
Marie chuckles. “It’s true. You ladies had an amazing season. I was cheering you along from the sidelines.”
My head tilts. “You were?”
“Oh, yes.” She grins, flicking her gaze to her son. “We were so proud to see you making history in this town.”
We...?
“All right, who wants cheese on their burgers?” Landon asks.
Almost everyone’s hands shoot up, including mine. “Make sure mine is well done, Chef.”
“It’s already on its way to hockey puck status.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. He remembers?
As Landon passes around the plates, his phone chimes. “Mom, it’s time for—”
“Already on it, my boy,” she calls as she makes her way toward the house.
I watch the way he stares at the house, even after his mother is inside, the concern pinching his eyebrows together.
What’s going on?
Once everyone has food, the girls make small talk, both teams seeming to interact and get along.
It’s comforting to see the seniors taking on leadership roles with the JV kids.
It makes me feel like I’ve put together the right team; one without drama and cattiness that tends to come along with high schoolers.
Landon abandons his food on the table, and carries a plate to his mother inside. Apparently, she’s not coming back out to eat with us. An unknown yet familiar worry twists my gut.
Without a word, Landon exits the house and sits down beside me and takes a bite of his cheeseburger.
“Everything okay?” I’m not sure why I ask. It’s none of my business. Yet it feels like I need to know.
Landon lowers his voice, making sure the kids don’t hear him. “She has MS.”
I set my burger down on my plate. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
He nods, keeping his focus on his food while he continues.
“She was experiencing some strange symptoms for a while, but no one was able to pinpoint exactly what it was. Then one day she got so dizzy that she fell and hit her head. The doctors at the Emergency Room ran some tests, and that’s how we found out. ”
“That’s why you came back.” After all the years he spent away from home, I was surprised to see him back here. Now it makes sense.
His hazel eyes flick to the house. “I didn’t want her here going through this alone.”
It’s the same reason I attended a college close to home. Regardless of how upset my father was that I refused to go away to school, I knew in my heart I needed to be here for him. To enjoy our last few years together.
Watching my father deteriorate was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. He was too young, had too much of his life left. But I understand his decision to end treatment and go out on his own terms.
As much as I can’t stand Landon, I have respect for someone who gives up his life in order to be there for his family.
It’s not easy. Selflessness is commendable, but comes with its own myriad of issues.
You lose a piece of yourself, of your life.
And though you’d make the same choice all over again in a heartbeat, that doesn’t make it any easier.
Especially when you don’t have siblings or any other family members to lean on.
I scoot my chair closer to Landon. “Hey, where’s your dad?”
His jaw works under his skin. “Hopefully somewhere getting the karma he deserves.”
I nod in understanding. “Karma comes for everyone at some point.”
He shifts in his chair as he takes a sip from his soda can. “How’s the burger?”
“It’s good. I like the seasoning you put on it.”
“It’s the cyanide. Gives it that extra flavor.”
I grunt out a laugh. “You’d love that. Then you could be head coach.”
“I already am head coach.”
I roll my eyes. “If you had a choice between varsity and JV, you saying you wouldn’t take it?”
“I wouldn’t.” His eyes stay locked on mine, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s telling the truth. “I like the idea of working with the girls who have unlocked potential. Training them and helping them to grow and get better at the game. It’s not always about being the top team, or winning.”
Here we go with the inspirational lecture.
“Winning is how you measure growth. If you keep losing, something’s not working.”
His head jerks back as he sets his burger down on his plate. “You can measure growth in other ways. Teams can still make good plays within a losing game. Points on a board can’t tell you a story the way these kids can.”
The girls turn their heads, stopping their conversations to listen.
“You remember what it was like back then,” he continues. “All that we were struggling with on and off the field. It’s the same for them. Sure, we need to teach them how to play the game, but we can teach them a hell of a lot more than that.”
I look around the table at these teenagers, and I see myself.
Too young to be going through the things they’re faced with at this age, from divorced parents to body image issues to social media—and that’s not including the usual things we see on the news, like poverty and war.
Add in the beautifully harrowing fact that they’re women in a world where we’re told we’re less than, and have to work twice as hard to prove ourselves to people who will never truly appreciate all that we are.
I turn to our teams. “Lacrosse was an escape for me. My dad got diagnosed with cancer when I was in high school, and we didn’t catch it early enough.
Playing was a way for me to take out my emotions, to channel them, and it was something I could control in the midst of feeling like my world was spiraling out of control. ”
“My little sister had leukemia,” Dominique says, her voice quiet and her eyes cast downward. “She died last year.”
Last year, when I told her she didn’t make varsity.
Guilt knots itself in my gut. “I’m sorry.”
“What was her name?” Landon asks.
“Jada.” Dominique lifts her eyes to Landon and her lips tip up in the corner. “She was really funny.”
I smile, my father flashing through my mind. “So was my dad.”
Each of the girls take turns going around the table and sharing a struggle they’ve gone through, or someone they’ve lost. I sit back and take it all in, watching as they form bonds that’ll help them navigate their remaining years at Breakwater High.
But when I glance at Landon, his eyes are already on me.
My eyes narrow. “What?”
“You really think I’m after your coaching spot?”
I hike a shoulder. “I never know what to think when it comes to you.”
He shakes his head like that disappoints him. “I don’t want all the added pressure of varsity. You can have it. I’m right where I want to be.”
“I guess time will tell.”
His head tilts. “You don’t believe me?”
“You haven’t given me a reason to.”
Actions speak louder than words, and though it was a long time ago, his actions told me everything I need to know about the person he is.
People can change, sure, but I won’t give Landon Fletcher the opportunity to prove it to me one way or another.