“Summer practices usually start a little later, Coach,” Bilby said. “Maybe give them a little bit of a break since they’re all volunteering to be here.”
“They’re volunteering to be here because they want to win.” Cole tucked his clipboard under his arm and faced Matt. “Do you?”
He walked away, aware that his mood was foul and he shouldn’t be allowed to talk to anyone in his current state. But he’d been in a foul mood for months—why stop now?
He blew his whistle and the team circled up at the center of the field. Cole looked at the faces of these young boys, boys he’d known, in some cases, for a few years, and in others, a lifetime. They watched him now, most likely expecting an inspirational speech about how they had a state title to defend, about how they weren’t seeded to win anything notable this year, about how it didn’t matter because they could defy odds and exceed expectations.
But Cole didn’t have those words in him. Not today.
Not after seeing Gemma earlier that morning for the first time since the divorce was final. Couldn’t she have found a new place to vacation after everything she’d put him through? Sure, Harbor Pointe had been her summer home for years before they got married, but was it too much for Cole to expect a sliver of consideration?
He thought back on the circumstances surrounding their divorce and had his answer. Definitely too much to expect.
“Good practice, guys. We’ll meet out here tomorrow morning, same time.”
“But tomorrow’s Saturday.”
Cole looked at the redheaded Teddy Phillips. “And?”
The kid’s jaw snapped shut. “And nothing, Coach.”
“Look, I don’t have to tell you we aren’t exactly favored to repeat last year’s success,” Cole said. “But we’re gonna train and we’re gonna play like we are. Got it?”
There was a collective muttering.
“I’m sorry, what?” Cole raised his voice.
“Yes, Coach!” the boys yelled in unison.
“Bring it in.” He thrust his fist into the circle and the boys piled their hands on top of his.
“Hawks on three,” Cole shouted. “One, two, three—”
“Hawks!” the boys shouted and took off toward the school, where they’d shower, change, then head in to one of the first days of summer like they didn’t have a care in the world.
Cole envied them that freedom.
Well, most of them.
“Twenty-two!” Cole called out.
Asher stopped and turned around to face him. “Coach?”
Cole waved him over.
When the kid reached him, helmetless and sweaty, he looked up at Cole in anticipation. Cole wished he was the kind of guy who could say everything he was thinking or feeling—the kind of guy who could speak to this kid in such a way that it gave him hope that his future was going to get easier.
But he wasn’t. Words didn’t come easily to him, and even less so lately. Still, this kid mattered—regardless of his potential as a quarterback.
“You okay?”
Asher looked away, and for a split second Cole thought the kid might cry. He wasn’t great with words, but he was even worse with tears. Men shouldn’t cry, especially not in front of each other, unless there was an athletic victory involved.
“Fine, Coach. I’m fine.”
But it was obvious Asher was not fine. And how could he be? Child Protective Services had showed up at the dumpy apartment where Asher lived with his mom and two brothers, only to discover that this almost-junior in high school had been taking care of the family on his own.
His job at the Dairy Depot couldn’t have been enough, yet somehow, the landlord hadn’t evicted them yet and nobody had starved. Asher was doing better than a lot of adults Cole knew.
Still, the weight of CPS showing up had to be a heavy one. He’d been working to keep that family together for months, and now, in one day, he could lose it all. They were threatening to take the kids from their mom, and who in their right mind would foster three boys?
Cole slapped a hand on Asher’s shoulder. “You need anything, you call me. Day or night.”
Asher slowly met his eyes.
“You got that?”
The boy nodded.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, Coach,” he said. “Thanks.”
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Asher ran off toward the school, leaving Cole standing on the field, aware that he could’ve said more. After all, the two of them had a lot more in common than the kid knew. But he’d kept that information for himself, choosing instead to make a point to check in on Asher and his brothers, daily if he had to.
If he’d known how bad things were last year—he stopped himself from completing the thought because he knew it was a lie.
Even if he had known about Asher’s situation last year, he wouldn’t have stepped in. How could he? He was barely holding it together himself at the time. He thought he’d finally put all that behind him after the divorce, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Not after that morning.
Not after Gemma.
But he wasn’t going to waste another second thinking about his ex-wife. He’d wasted too many already. A year’s worth and more. Enough was enough.
He walked into his office and flipped on the light. With practice over, Cole had the rest of the day open. It used to be the thing he loved best about his job—summers off. Summers with Gemma, reliving days that weren’t unlike the days when they first fell in love.
Now, though, his open calendar taunted him like a bully demanding his lunch money.
He packed up his things, then walked out the side entrance of the nearly empty high school. His stomach growled. Right on cue.
He made a quick phone call to Hazel’s Kitchen and ordered breakfast to go. He’d pick up his food, go home, and get started on his next renovation project.
When he bought the run-down lakeside cottage, he hadn’t expected to love renovating it as much as he did. He’d bought it on a whim, planning to fix it up and sell it, but when Gemma left, he sold the house they’d shared and moved in to the old cottage. It had a great view of the lake and no trace of his ex-wife.
His next project was the master bathroom, and he welcomed the distraction.
He pulled up in front of the diner and groaned at the sight of the crowd of people inside. People who knew him and who knew Gemma. People who likely knew she was back in town. Heck, for all he knew, Gemma could be in there right now.
He considered abandoning his order and driving away, but it wouldn’t be fair to Betsy. The owner of the small diner relied on regulars like him, and despite how it appeared, he did care about the people in this community.
He’d hit a rough patch—eventually he’d get back to normal. Right?
He turned the ignition of his vintage Chevy truck and went inside. He’d been thankful only days before when he’d realized that after a year, the rumble of voices didn’t quiet every time he walked in the room anymore. It was as if people had begun to accept the fact that he’d moved on. That Gemma was gone. That there was nothing else to talk about.
But someone had undoubtedly spotted her in town over the last two days. He sure had, draping herself all over Maxwell Juniper, pretending she didn’t see Cole as they walked across the street in the crosswalk right in front of his truck.