Page 31 of Coach’s Son (Twin Cities #2)

Austin

The screech of seagulls from Lake Minnetonka in tandem with the late September sunrise peeking through my window shatter my personal goal of sleeping in until noon.

Fricking figures with my luck of late. At least we’ve got a break day after snatching that win in Kansas City.

I’ve retreated to my dad’s place—my so-called refuge.

A hideout where I can get some rest without Charlie or Drew whiffing up my ass.

And God, do I need it. The Evans brothers are tearing me further apart every day. One wants to drag me to hell with him and the other wants to suck me in with guilt. I’m stuck in the center, just praying they won’t snap me at the waist.

But it wouldn’t surprise me if they did. They are both insufferable at compromise. They won’t even consider having an actual conversation with one another without it ending in piss off or fuck you, you wanker.

Yeah I know, it’s awful what happened to them when they were young, but that was decades ago for Christ’s sakes. You’d think they would get over it sometime over the course of twenty plus years. They are too dead set on sparring with words, using me as their fricking Switzerland.

If only I’d never crossed paths with Drew. If only I hadn’t let his eyes pin me down that night at the gala, like I was another prize for his book of conquests. I should’ve blocked his number the moment he snatched my phone from my grasp.

“Austin! Breakfast is ready,” my father shouts from downstairs.

“Okay, coming!” Maybe some time with my family is exactly what I need to rid myself of these brothers. A reminder that they don’t own me.

I guess except for the fact that I have one of their signatures engraved into my back…

I lumber up from the mattress, my muscles aching from the tension and the game.

I roll my shoulders to hear a few pops and cracks.

As I make my way down the staircase, my nostrils catch the whiff of some rich French press coffee and greasy bacon, causing my stomach to rumble at the thought of eating some fatty meat.

Circling the stairwell, everyone is sitting at the table. Alicia and Kay are sipping their orange juice chattering something giggly only their ears can interpret. Jackson is blowing over his coffee cup and my dad is mid-way through a slice of pork.

The table spread resembles a breakfast buffet for a church fundraiser: blood oranges, powdered French toast, scrambled eggs with sweet bell peppers, and of course that toothsome bacon still sizzling, its maple aroma flooding the dining room—practically begging me to snatch a piece.

A part of me does feel bad for the pig that had to suffer for this, but I don't have the bandwidth to dive into that right now. What I do need is some black liquid fuel, maybe it'll bump up my battery a couple points this morning.

As I’m grabbing a mug for a cup of my Arabica lifeblood, my father glances up from his plate. His eyes holding a rare appearance of contentment, one that I hardly ever see. “It’s nice to have you here Austin. You know, you are welcome to stay here as long as you want to.”

I manage a small smile, pouring the coffee. “Thanks dad. I might take you up on that offer.”

His face brightens in an instant, a grin flashing from corner to corner. “Oh great! We could actually use your help with the wedding happening next Saturday.”

Of course—the wedding. They conveniently planned on it on the Lumberjacks' Bye weekend. I swallow a sip of the steaming coffee, humbly accepting my fate. No chance to escape their day of holy matrimony. Personally, I’d prefer if they would elope to Vegas, sign their names in front of someone vested with power, dressed as Elvis, and call it a day.

But I’d much rather be here cringing internally, than be ripped in half by two feuding maniacs. So, I suppose this is a win.

Do I invite either of them? Do I pretend everything’s fine and let them both show up and slit each other’s throats in front of the frosted white wedding cake? That would definitely be top tier entertainment for the guests. A bloody red wedding never to be forgotten.

I feed a piece of bacon through my lips, enjoying the grease clogging my arteries. For a brief second it’s blissfully easy to imagine walking away from both of them: leave the pro’s, new city, fresh start. No jockeying between identical twins. Maybe switch my legal name.

Do I look like a Connor? Or could I pass as a Brett? Or I could choose something pretentious like Stamford… Stamford Rivers. I could land a job in finance underwriting portfolios, getting railed in the exec office, and shorting hedge funds.

I snort at the thought and the girls throw me some side-eye. That wouldn’t work. Drew would follow me, no matter how hard I try to cover my tracks. He would follow my trail like a bloodhound, swim across oceans, sprint across state lines, nothing would stop his psycho drive.

That’s a part of his charm. His determination to do anything for me, without wasting a moment to think about it. He saved me. But he demands every part of me in return. Every ounce of my flesh, every wandering thought is Drew's. There’s no room for negotiation.

Loving Drew is like signing a blood contract. You get his divine protection, but you give him the deed to your soul. The right to shape you how he wants you, whether it’s with his teeth or his rumbling growls.

Would a restraining order work?

I picture the judge reading the decree—By the order of this court, you sir, Drew Evans are prohibited from any contact from Austin Schmidt. You are prohibited from loitering within five-hundred feet of him at any given time.

Yeah right… the judge would probably snicker in front of the court the moment he brings up the tattoo and sentence me to an eternity with him.

So what’s left? Direct confrontation—sit him down, have a dreadful adult conversation where you set boundaries and then attempt to enforce them? That’s not really my cup of tea…

My father snaps me out of my head. “Hey Austin, Jackson and I are going to go pick out the flowers for next weekend. Can you let the wedding planner in when she gets here?”

“Uhhh yeah, I can do that.”

“Thanks son. I really appreciate it. And I really appreciate you.”

His words leave me speechless. Definitely off-script for Brad Schmidt.

Did his fiancé force him to say that? Has he been going to therapy?

Because that sounded like some fluffball shit he would never say.

His head is always too focused on getting the next recruit or memorizing next week’s defense—preparing for the blitz, not stunning his son with newly found emotional intelligence.

Maybe Jackson isn’t so terrible for my dad. Maybe he’s coaching the coach from behind the scenes. Teaching him the fundamentals of human emotions.

I nod, trying to embrace his warm words, even though they feel like a foreign language to my ears. “Yeah. Appreciate you too Dad.”

They head out the door, bickering about which color of roses to line the aisle with, while the girls spread themselves out on the couch, yelling at their switches when my phone buzzes.

King: Hey Lover Boy… can’t stop thinking about you. You better be on your best behavior. I’ll know if you aren’t…

My stomach curls as the grease and heartburn of the bacon starts to set in. Drew of course. Can’t leave me in peace for one damn day. And what does he think I’m doing at my father’s? Throwing down with the daddies of Lake Minnetonka?

Ughhh I shouldn’t respond. I should delete his number, block him, and pray he doesn’t show up here. But my thumb hovers over the keyboard. I have to respond… otherwise he’ll freak out. I can imagine him throwing Molotov cocktails through the windows just to get my attention.

Me: Don’t worry, I am lol. Just having a chill day with the fam.

Within seconds, the typing bubbles flicker, then vanish, then—

King: Chill day, huh? Sounds boring. You missing me yet?

King: I can’t stop thinking about you…

I can’t stop thinking about him either, but for all the opposite reasons. I need an ounce of space. The slightest buffer to give me the room to breathe. A sliver of distance from the Evans bloodline. What did I do to deserve this obsession?

I stare at the messages, feeling trapped and wanting to flee at the same time. Getting devoured by a pack of wolves doesn’t sound too awful right now. But if I run, he’ll find me. Somehow, somewhere.

Okay… let’s give him a morsel to be satisfied.

Me: Of course I miss you King. But today is family day. See you tomorrow, maybe?

The dots flash rapidly, my phone chirps.

King: Don’t worry, I’ll be there soon… be ready for me.

Fuck me… so much for a chill day with the fam. Why won’t this man take no for an answer? Charlie was right, his brother is a certified menace. All fun and games until you want to be out of his sight and he wants to yank the leash tight.

The house begins to feel small. Windows closing in on the periphery of my vision. Shadows appearing in the corners.

Then the doorbell rings.

The echoing chime makes me flinch. The girls don’t look up from their devices, their eyes are glued to the screens, fingers frantically clicking the little buttons. My sisters lost in their adolescent innocence.

My heart races, drops of sweat dripping down my torso as my feet drag closer to the door. How is this going to go…

When I pull the door open, it’s a middle-aged woman that greets me with a polished bleach smile and faded blonde hair tucked back in a ponytail.

“Hello! I’m Martha. You must be Austin! Your father has told me so much about you. He’s really proud of you, you know."

For a second I’m lost in shock. My father talks about me? Proudly?

“Uh… nice to meet you too,” I stammer, letting out a heavy exhale, my chest relieved by her presence.