Lucy shrugged. “Your loss, then.”
Cole half laughed. “See ya, Lucy.”
“See ya, Teddy Bear.”
9
Charlotte sat in silence at the back of the empty church. Amelia sat beside her, hands folded in her lap, not saying a word.
She’d been stunned to see the look of desperation on Cole’s face as she turned toward the heartbreaking scream at the back of the room. He’d picked AJ up like he weighed nothing, then carried him out with a kind of care that reminded her of the way he’d been the day of the funeral.
Her heart wrenched. I wish I could help.
That’s when she noticed Amelia, left alone in the pew. That’s when she decided if she could do nothing else, she could make sure the little girl was okay.
“Thanks.”
She turned toward the voice to find Cole standing in the aisle, holding AJ’s hand. She stood. “Sure.” She looked at AJ, then back to Cole. “Is he okay?”
Cole nodded, but he looked slightly overwhelmed. “He will be.” He looked past her to the little girl, still sitting quietly where he’d left her. “Bug, you ready to go see Miss Hildy? She made you an apple pie for dessert.”
Bug.
The nickname endeared her to him against her better judgment. This big, strong man wasn’t the kind of uncle who only saw his nieces and nephew on holidays. He was familiar with them. Involved in their lives. She felt the subtle shift in her opinion of him, but her face remained indifferent.
Amelia said nothing. She stood, slipped past Charlotte and into the aisle beside Cole. His eyes found Charlotte’s—after all, she was staring. “Thanks again.”
“Sure,” she said.
He turned to go, holding a small hand in each of his own, and as they passed through the doors, Amelia glanced back, blinked, then disappeared into the lobby.
And Charlotte felt more helpless than ever.
Monday morning practice was a disaster. The kids weren’t communicating. Cole wasn’t communicating. There was an all-around feeling of I don’t want to be here.
By the end, most of the boys were dragging, so Cole called the practice early, and he didn’t hide his frustration. He didn’t even call them in the middle of the field for their post-practice pep talk—he just sent them off to the locker room with a grunt.
“You okay?” Bilby wore a disapproving look.
Cole turned toward his assistant coach. “Fine.”
“You don’t seem fine,” Bilby said. “You were pretty hard on them today.”
“They need it,” Cole said. “They’re not working hard enough.” They trudged toward the school, Bilby working double time to keep up with Cole’s pace.
“They don’t have to be state champs, Cole,” Bilby said. “But we can make them better men.”
Cole stopped. “Are you going to be the one to tell that to the athletic director? The boosters? They’re on a high from last season, yeah, but they expect the same thing this year.”
“Well, that’s not how this works.” Matt squared off in front of him. “You’re the best coach I’ve ever worked with, but not because of your winning record. Because you care about the kids. You seem to have forgotten that the last few months.”
Cole resumed marching toward the school, Bilby hot on his heels.
“I know it’s been a hellish few years for you, Coach,” he said to the back of Cole’s head. “But these boys look up to you. They could use a leader.”
“I got it, Bilby.” Cole pulled the door open and stormed into the school building. He walked down the hall to his office and closed the door behind him, hoping the light slam punctuated his sentence—and told his assistant coach he was done talking about it.
He turned and found Asher sitting on the couch.
“Ash. What’s up?”
The kid looked up at him. “Hey, Coach. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“We can make them better men.”
Matt’s words hung over him like vines from a tree.
He could’ve talked to Asher yesterday at Hildy’s Sunday dinner. Cole ate Sunday dinner at Haven House fairly regularly, but this was the first time he’d been there with Asher and his brothers. Trouble was, he was so preoccupied with his niece and nephew, he’d barely spoken to Asher, even though he could tell something was bugging him.
Asher had barely looked up from his plate, and whatever was on his mind, it hadn’t gone away overnight. He’d been completely distracted all morning.
“’Course.” Cole stepped farther inside the office, dropped his clipboard and a football onto the desk, and sat down across from his quarterback. “What’s going on?”
Asher leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He was a wiry kid, but strong, fast, and able to see the field and adjust on the fly. That was rare. In truth, Asher West had even more potential than his predecessor, and Jared had gotten a full ride to Michigan State. It might take another year before Cole helped Asher realize that potential, but it was there—he knew it was.
Think of how a scholarship like that could change Asher’s life. If the kid was willing to put in the time, he’d be—
“I have to quit the team,” Asher blurted, interrupting Cole’s thoughts.
“Say again?” Cole tapped on the desk with his fingers. He hadn’t pegged Asher as the kind of kid who was afraid of a little hard work.
“I’m sorry, Coach. I know you put in a lot of time with me, and you don’t really have a backup, but I can’t make the practices anymore.”
“You going on vacation or something?” Cole heard his rough tone and made a mental note to soften it.
Asher looked at him. “Yeah, Coach, like I’ve ever been on vacation.” It wasn’t like the high school junior to mouth off, but his words dripped with sarcasm. And they should. What a stupid thing for Cole to say.
Haven House kids didn’t get vacations. They were all in survival mode.
“Well, what is it, then? You afraid to follow in Brown’s footsteps? Afraid of a little hard work?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” Asher’s jaw tightened. “And you wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand you’ve got one heck of an arm, kid,” Cole said. “I understand this is about your best chance at having a life outside of Harbor Pointe.”
“Oh, really? You think some college is going to come snatch me up?”
“Why not? Worked for Jared.”
“I’m not Jared,” Asher said. “MSU isn’t gonna give me a full ride.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Cole said.
“Coach, you’re just getting my hopes up talking like that,” he said.
“You’ve got what it takes to play college ball, Ash.” Cole looked at him. Was he just getting his hopes up? His mind scrolled through all the moments Asher had impressed him. It was like a highlight reel of potential. It would take work, and it wouldn’t happen overnight. Might not even happen this season, but he believed in Asher. Cole knew he could turn him into a stellar quarterback by his senior year.
Asher shook his head, as if he was mentally tossing the idea around. “It’s a pipe dream, and you’re just trying to get me to stay.”