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“A tough start to the year for our Pioneers, as they currently sit at 0-2 and last place in the standings. The question at the beginning of the season was whether this team could get back to a district championship, potentially a state championship, game. That narrative has now changed, and many around the community are asking: Can this team even win a game? After suffering their worst loss in over 20 years last week, you must wonder what the mindset is like in that locker room. Another question that must also be answered is what Coach Bianchi will do about his quarterback. Gunner Weston walked off the field after one series last week…”

**********

“Hailey!” Ms. Summers, startled, quickly shut off the radio. “I am so sorry. I normally just listen to music.”

I’m sure.

Hailey nodded, rolling her eyes behind Ms. Summers’ back.

“Thanks for seeing me.” She eyed a scatter of papers across her teacher’s desk. “I wanted to talk to you about the musical.”

Ms. Summers froze, still facing the other direction .

“I know you really want to do this musical, but…” she said hesitantly, trying to make this as nice as possible, “I just don’t think we will be able to pull this off with our cast.”

Ms. Summers didn’t move. The stillness in the room was heavy and awkward.

“I know,” said the woman finally in a hopeless voice. Hailey slumped back in her chair. “I just…” Ms. Summers rotated in her seat, staring at a picture she had posted in the back of the room. “You know, Hailey, when I started at this school ten years ago, I was all over the place.”

She needs someone to talk to.

“I was fresh out of college and was handed the entire music department.” She swung back toward her student, now smiling ruefully. “They wanted me to run the high school music classes and the musical on practically no budget.”

Typical.

Hailey noticed the bags under Ms. Summers’ eyes. Like many people in this town, it seemed like her teacher had barely slept.

“After a few days and extremely low turnout for our musical tryouts, I---” She barked out a small laugh. “I broke down in the teachers’ lounge.”

Hailey watched as her teacher replayed the moment in her head.

“I was crying. I was lost. I had no support, and I was ready to quit. And then…” She glanced back at the picture behind her. “And then this man sat down next to me. Someone I had never met. He was not a teacher, but I could tell by his polo shirt that he had something to do with the school.”

Hailey shifted uneasily in her seat.

“He asked me what was wrong, and he just listened to me. For almost an hour, we sat and talked.” A small tear shone in Ms. Summers’ eye. “A man I had never met, and he sat with me for an hour, just talking. He just listened to me complain about how I had failed.”

She stood up and grabbed a few papers, straightening them against her desk in what was a clear attempt to steady herself.

“When I was done, he looked at me and smiled. He told me that I have a passion for what I do and that my moment with these students would come.”

She laughed again, putting the papers down, almost as if she did not know what to do with her hands.

“I had no idea who he was or what he meant. But after speaking with him, for some reason, I felt so much better.” She took one more look at the picture. “You know who that man was?”

I have an idea.

Hailey recognized the man from the photos at the pizza parlor and in the main lobby’s trophy case.

“It was Coach Weston, Hailey.”

Of course.

“Three days later, I received a flyer that the football team was running a fundraiser for all after-school activities, including the musical and Theatre Club. Right after the fundraiser, every football player came to my office and offered to be a part in the play and help with the stage crew.”

That would be nice.

The tear finally ran down Ms. Summers’ cheek as she rubbed her hands together.

“I filled every role, and we had our musical. ”

Hailey took a deep breath; for some reason, her body had clenched up during the story.

“That year, Coach Weston showed up to the play, and every year after, he would be in the crowd. He never missed a night, and he would make sure to come up after the final show to congratulate me.”

He sounds amazing.

“After last year’s performance, Coach…Coach told me that next year I should do this musical.” Ms. Summers put both hands up against the desk and steadied herself once more. “He told me that it would be special, that he would love to have the opportunity to experience this show with his wife.”

Hailey shook her head, realizing just how much this play meant to her teacher.

“I just wanted to give him his wish, to give him the tribute that he deserved.”

The room went silent again, and Hailey could feel a mist gathering in her eyes.

I did not even know this man.

She had originally detested hearing about Daniel Weston. No one wanted the job that her father took, and everyone around town hated her father for taking it. No one could replace their coach, and she loathed even the sound of his name. The more she heard about him, though, the more she realized how great a man he must have been. He sounded kind and caring. He was involved, not just in football but also in the community.

How could Gunner Weston be so different?

“Maybe I can help with that,” said a boy’s voice.

Gunner .

He stepped in slowly. A stack of papers shifted in each of his hands.

What is he doing here?

His face was different today, more like the one that had walked her out to the parking lot a few weeks before. His eyes were fixed on Ms. Summers, but she could still see the sorrow and ache that he tried to hide.

“Gunner?” Ms. Summers turned away, wiping unshed tears from her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Hailey could sense him glance over at her, but she refused to acknowledge him.

“I wanted to drop these off.”

She peeked back as he handed Ms. Summers a flyer. Hailey could not help but try to catch a glimpse of what was on it.

“Gunner...” The teacher’s hand began to shake as she read. “What---how?”

He began to fumble with the papers. Hailey tilted her head, intrigued by his changed demeanor.

What happened to him?

He seemed so tired and lost. He did not carry himself like the Gunner she had yelled at or like the boy who had sat behind his steering wheel with an arrogant smile on his face.

He is in so much pain.

“I spoke with some of the Boosters. I hope you don’t mind. They decided that my father would want to move forward with the fundraiser, as before, and have it support the after-school activities.”

What! ?

Hailey’s heart started pumping faster, and the hair on her arms began to rise.

“Plus,” he chuckled to himself, sending a small shiver up her side. “My dad would have hated his name on some stupid scoreboard.”

He looked over at her again; this time Hailey’s eyes locked with his. She saw the sadness and the grief she’d noticed before. He seemed exhausted, like everyone else in this town, but something kept pulling her close to him.

What is it?

“I owe you both an apology,” he said, handing Hailey a flyer. “The other night in the parking lot…that, that wasn’t me.” She could feel Ms. Summers’ gaze as he continued to stare at her. “At least, I hope that’s not me. I’m still trying to figure all this out.”

What is that look?

“I know that’s not who you are, Gunner,” Ms. Summers said, moving across the room.

He shook his head, flashing Hailey a smile as he straightened his posture.

Oh god, he is cute.

“My dad…” He turned away to speak with Ms. Summers, allowing Hailey time to finally exhale. “If my dad really wanted this musical to happen, well, he would want it done right.”

It was as if their teacher was watching her own child walk across the stage at graduation. Her grin was so wide that it took up practically her whole face.

“If you still have a spot open…” He took another deep breath. “I’d like to be considered for the musical. ”

What!?

Hailey nearly fell out of her chair.

Breathe, Hailey, or you will pass out!

“Gunner! Yes, of course!”

What is happening?

“I can’t promise I’ll be any good, but---but my dad always said life is made of moments.” He flashed another smile at Hailey. “Maybe this is one of those moments he was talking about.”

Ms. Summers began prancing around the room, the flyer momentarily forgotten in her hand.

“If you want, Hailey and I were about to go over parts. We would love to get your input.”

He looked down and back up, a grin still brightening his face.

Oh man, that smile.

“If you don’t mind, I’d love to start on Monday.” His eyes remained on Hailey; she felt completely unable to move. “I have a meeting with a coach and some more apologizing to do.”

Daddy.

Her legs felt weak, and she began to rub her fingers together nervously.

Stop it, Hailey. Get a hold of yourself.

“But Ms. Summers.” He was almost at the door now, his voice a little surer. “If you give me a few days, I may be able to help with some of those other male roles that you’re having trouble filling.”

What is going on ?

She felt her stomach fluttering, like butterflies had been set loose and would not go back into the cage. As he waved and left, she struggled to piece together what had just happened. That was not the Gunner Weston that she thought she knew. The boy who had just left the room was kind and caring, just like all the stories about his father. He held so much pain and sorrow in his eyes, yet there was something about them that kept pulling her in.

This is not good.

She took a deep breath, memories of her mother flashing through her brain at an alarming rate. However, something began to overtake them, something she had not considered since she arrived in this town, and it helped ease some of her angst.

Gunner had just lost his father. Somehow, she had forgotten all about that, about his personal loss. She had been so angry about moving to this place, about leaving her friends and the life that she had, that she had forgotten why they had come. His father had died unexpectedly. They must have been close; Gunner was the quarterback, and his dad was the head coach.

Do not do it.

The butterflies were overwhelming the tightness in her chest.

STOP!

She jerked her head up. Her teacher was waiting patiently, as if she had expected this to happen.

“Ms. Summers.” Hailey took a step forward. The butterflies picked her up and gave her the last push she needed. “I would like to speak with you about playing the lead.”

**********

Gunner took a deep breath, his hand shaking on the handle .

Just walk in.

He could feel the flyers starting to bend against his sweaty palm.

Do it!

His mind screamed at him. He knocked and turned the brass doorknob.

Coach Bianchi spun in his chair. “Gunner?” The screen behind him was lit up with film from the most recent game.

“Coach, sorry to interrupt, but---” He held up the flyers and put one on his desk. “I wanted to drop these off.”

Coach Bianchi picked it up and read it.

“So,” he said, lowering the flyer to his desk, “when did this change?”

Gunner peered around the room, examining the changes to his father’s office.

“Last night.” He forced his attention back to the desk. “The Boosters, well, they just felt like this is what my father would have wanted.”

Coach Bianchi nodded and stood up.

“The Boosters, huh?” He turned to the bulletin board behind him.

“Yeah.” Gunner’s voice was low as he continued to dart his eyes across the office.

This is weird.

It felt different. His father’s posters and pictures were gone, and the walls were bare. Coach Bianchi kept the office simple. The room was barely decorated, and for the first time, Gunner realized how much he had hated the clutter that had always covered his father’s desk.

“Something on your mind, son? ”

Son?

Gunner froze as Coach Bianchi turned back to him.

“I…” He struggled to explain himself. His focus shifted to the only item on the wall: a framed jersey with “Bruins” on the sleeves and “Bianchi” on the back. It was the largest item in the room. “I guess…” Gunner caught his reflection in the glass. “Coach…”

He took a seat in front of the neatly ordered desk that his father had once peered across. A bone-deep exhaustion that had been hidden by adrenaline suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Coach, I wanted to apologize for how I have been acting.”

Good start.

“I, I have no idea who that was on the sideline last week, and really, Coach…” His voice cracked. “I have no idea who I am right now.”

There it is.

The words hung in the air.

“I look in the mirror, and I just…” Gunner stood up. His mind had started to wander, and his legs began to move him about the room.

Just stop talking.

He came to apologize, but as he stood in his father’s old office, he wanted to do more. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to curl up in a ball and just go to sleep.

“I look in the mirror, and I can’t recognize the face looking back at me.”

He slid over to the jersey, staring at himself in the reflection again.

Who am I ?

“Gunner.” His coach inhaled before continuing. “You want to know why I took this job?” He stood up and stepped out from behind the desk. “People said I was crazy. Crazy that I thought I could fill the hole that your father had left.”

Gunner inhaled, feeling his chest getting tight.

“And they are right.”

What!?

“But it is not about filling the hole that your father left, Gunner. It’s not about replacing your father.” He moved back to his chair. “Because I think we both know that’s impossible.”

Finally, someone who gets it.

“You see, I took the job because of this.” He flipped on the TV and scrolled through a menu screen. The description read “State Semi-Final” before flashing to the playoff game from last year.

“We lost this game,” Gunner blurted out, taking a seat in front of the desk.

“You did.” His coach quickly jumped to the end of the game. “What do you see here?”

I don’t want to see this.

He paused on an image of Gunner’s father, hands on Gunner’s shoulders as the final whistle blew.

I don’t need this.

Gunner shot up and began to pace.

“Gunner,” his coach said in a stern but empathetic voice, “do you want to know what I see?”

His tone forced the pacing to stop. Gunner inhaled and finally turned around.

“I see a father…I see a father who is so proud of his son. A father who watched as his son played his heart out against one of the top teams in the state. He watched as his team, outmanned and outsized, fought all the way to the end.”

We sure did.

“A father who couldn’t care less about what the scoreboard reads.”

Gunner was unable to pull his eyes from the small, pixelated image on the screen, and he began to replay that exact moment in his head.

I am so proud of you, Gunner.

His father’s voice was crystal clear, and it kept repeating the words that he’d spoken to Gunner that night.

“You see,” Coach Bianchi continued, “I took this job because I knew I had this. I knew I had a Weston on the sideline.”

He moved the clip forward to a picture of Gunner. “Weston” was emblazoned on the back of his jersey.

“I had heard about how great Coach Daniel Weston was, and I knew that if a man could be this great as a coach, as a man…” He pointed directly at Gunner. “Then he must have been one hell of a father as well. He must have raised one hell of a son.”

He was a great father.

Coach Bianchi rewound to the image of Gunner’s dad.

“When I saw this picture, I knew. I knew that I was going to take this job. And you want to know what else?” He leaned forward, almost nose to nose with Gunner as he stretched over the desk. “As a father, I know what it’s like to have this moment with your child. To know, at that very moment, that they are ten times the person you are. ”

This moment.

The hair on Gunner’s arms had risen. He was looking right through his coach, still fixated on the small screen.

“Gunner, having the name Weston on the back of your jersey may feel like a curse. People in this town may expect more from you. They may ask a young man like yourself to take on things that should never be asked of someone your age.”

Every day.

“But son.” The bulky man reached even further over the desk. “Your father knew at this moment that you could handle it.”

I can handle it.

The tightness was gone from his chest, and his legs were gaining strength.

“Gunner, a man’s body, a man’s face, they change. But a man’s eyes…” He straightened and walked around the desk. “A man’s eyes never change. They are the window to who he is, and no matter what the rest of that face looks like, your eyes…” Coach Bianchi clasped his shoulder, and Gunner stood to face him. “Your eyes will tell you who you are.”

Thanks, Coach.

Gunner had wanted to hate this man, the man who had taken his dad’s job and was brought in to replace him. But, as he stared deep into his coach’s hazel eyes, he knew that was impossible. They were soft and caring but also tired and brimming with pain. He knew what put that hurt in his eyes---something no husband or father should have to experience.

He had lost his wife, the mother of his children---everyone in town knew that---but there was also something else. Something almost no one knew. His daughter had been sexually assaulted by the quarterback of his football team. Coaching that team had been his dream job. As the two stood together, Gunner finally understood. This man was just as broken as he was, if not more.

“Your father, when he looked into your eyes that night, he saw who you had become. He knew the young man that you were at that moment.”

His coach turned and stared at the picture on his desk.

Hailey.

In the picture, Coach Bianchi was smiling beside his wife and two young girls. They all looked happy.

“Now it’s time for you to see it.”

Gunner took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Because, son,” Coach Bianchi grabbed the picture of his family and brought it close to his face, “if you do, if you can find what your father saw that night…” His pain-filled eyes darted over to Gunner. “Son, you’re going to find something special.”

They did not speak for a while. The sound of Gunner rifling through the flyers filled the room.

Find something special.

Gunner took one more peek at his reflection, which was now accompanied by that of his coach.

What am I doing?

This man by his side had been through hell, and Gunner was not making it any easier. In fact, he was being selfish, acting in a way that would have disappointed his father.

“Thanks, Coach. See you…see you tomorrow.” Gunner jumped up and ran out the door .

He had no idea if his coach would let him back on the field, as he knew he had done nothing to earn it. He had been self-centered and arrogant, everything his father had taught him not to be. He had let his team down. He had let the town down, but more importantly, he knew he had let his father down. If his coach gave him a second chance, he would make sure the man did not regret it.

My father knew who I was.

Gunner could still see the picture of his father, frozen on the TV screen, in his head as he began to run down the hallway.

Now, it’s time I figured it out.