Cole drew in a breath and studied the kid. In all these months of coaching him, Asher had always remained quiet and withdrawn.
His conversation with Bilby rushed back. Cole might’ve blown it on the field that morning, but here was a chance to do better. This kid didn’t need tough love right now, and Cole knew it.
“What’s going on, son? Really?”
Asher shook his head, and Cole could see in just seconds, the boy had shut down. He didn’t trust Cole enough to tell him anything. And that was Cole’s fault.
“You wouldn’t get it,” Asher said. “But I have to quit, so you’ll have to find another quarterback.”
And with that, Cole’s only hope at a winning season walked out the door.
He let out a sigh—a heavy one—and rubbed his temples. The knock on his door was followed by Matt’s “Hey.”
Cole leaned back in his chair, motioning for his assistant coach to sit down.
“What was that about?”
“He just quit,” Cole said.
“He quit?”
“Yep. Didn’t give a reason, but he’s done.”
“He can’t quit. If that kid quits, he can kiss college goodbye. No way he’ll be able to afford it without a scholarship.”
“I can’t force him to stay.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Asked him why. Asked him if it was because he was scared. Asked him if he didn’t want to do the work.” Cole sighed. He shouldn’t have said that, he knew it wasn’t true. What did he think—he could bully the kid into staying? He glanced over and found Matt’s look of disapproval waiting for him.
“I know,” Cole said. “I could’ve handled it better.”
After a long pause, Matt cleared his throat. “I’m not supposed to know this, but I think Asher was out looking for a second job yesterday. I saw him downtown.”
“So?”
“So, I think he got one at the donut shop and they open at four in the morning. His shift probably doesn’t end until at least ten. I don’t think this is him wanting to quit. I think he just needs the money.”
Cole shook his head. “Well, why didn’t he say that, then?”
“Maybe you didn’t give him the chance.”
He tapped his fingers on the desk again.
Cole felt like a first-class jerk. Asher had to know that Haven House wasn’t a long-term solution. It hadn’t been designed that way. So, if their time there ran out, and parents weren’t a viable option, Asher and his siblings would go into the system.
This kid was trying to make money so he could keep his family together. He wasn’t out selling drugs or stealing cars—he quit to work in a donut shop.
And Cole had practically accused him of being afraid of a little hard work.
Way to go, Turner.
“Do you know how much longer they can stay at Haven House?” Bilby asked.
Cole shook his head. “No, but I can find out.”
He racked his brain trying to think of anyone who could help. The urgent look on Asher’s face—the constant line of concern knit across his brow—that sixteen-year-old kid’s entire life was a disaster and not because of anything he’d done. He wanted to keep his family together, and football was a casualty of that. Of course it was. Football meant nothing if he and his siblings were split up.
Cole had an opportunity here—a real chance to help a kid who had been put in his care. It had been a long time since he’d really made a difference in anyone else’s life, and he vowed in that moment to step up and be the coach these boys needed.
And if they won games in the process, great. And if they didn’t, Cole would make sure they walked away with something much more important.
“Let me see if there’s something I can do,” Cole said.
“Like what?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I get it figured out.” Cole picked his keys up off the desk. “I’ll call you later.”
10
Monday morning, Charlotte woke to find four new text messages. All from Marcia.
Okay, you’ve had your little break. Time to come back to the real world!
You only have so many years left, Charlotte. Now is not the time to have a mental breakdown!
Martin isn’t going to wait around for you, Charlotte. He will find a replacement!
And Charlotte’s personal favorite:
You’re making a huge mistake!
It wasn’t like her mother to use so many exclamation points. She must mean business. But for the first time in her nearly thirty years, Charlotte didn’t care. It was as if it had finally hit her that she was responsible for her own life. She had no one to blame for the emptiness but herself. She’d bought everything Marcia sold, and the result had been a life of loneliness.
She’d achieved every professional goal she’d set for herself (with Marcia’s influence). And only now did she realize it had all left her feeling a little empty. Living for applause, for “atta girls,” for the approval of others had left her cold. She was ready for something new.
Ready for her work to mean something.
She’d woken up early and gone for a run. It cleared her head and gave her a chance to explore Harbor Pointe.
She rounded the corner, easily getting lost in her thoughts as she ran through the quaint neighborhoods that were about as different from the Chicago landscape as a person could imagine. It was odd how Lake Michigan views could be so different depending on their surroundings.
Cottages with neatly manicured lawns lined the brick road, most accented by sprays of purple and pink flowers. Children rode their bikes, laughing and playing. Across the street, two girls were jumping rope. It was like something out of a movie.
Two women pushed strollers in the opposite direction, and Charlotte moved out of their way as they passed, both of them smiling and giving her a polite “Hello.”
So this was what a small-town life was really like.
She reached an intersection and recognized the street to her right. Julianna’s street. The stark realization that things were not always as they seemed smacked Charlotte—hard. Behind the walls of these idyllic homes, at the heart of desirable neighborhoods, there was pain. Real, unbearable, up-ending pain.
She turned down the street. She knew Connor probably didn’t want to see her, but she’d told him she was going to be a better friend, and she meant it. And maybe a part of her wanted to tell him about the rescheduled recital.
Maybe she wanted his approval.
She slowed her pace, eyeing the front porch when she noticed a little girl was sitting on the swing, writing in a notebook.
Amelia.
Charlotte stopped in front of the gray cottage. The thick white trim perfectly accented the windows and door, but unlike the other houses she’d just been admiring, the Ford yard wasn’t so neatly manicured. Dandelions covered the green grass like a blanket, and the flowerbeds were overgrown. She knew nothing about tending to a yard, but even she saw the difference between theirs and the others on the street.
I just want to help.
“Hey, Amelia.” Charlotte stood at the bottom of the porch steps.