CHAPTER 10

THERE WASN’T TIME

DAVID

David tugged his hat down over his hair, which was absolutely nuts that morning. He’d resorted to using some sort of pomade product that Chuck had lent him, but even that couldn’t keep it pushed back.

He and Tim walked down the hall from their offices to the athletic director’s office; Connie Brown, Southeastern’s AD, had requested the conversation after their fifth loss of the season.

David could already feel himself sweating through his team branded polo, palms itching as he tried to keep himself from fidgeting. The four cups of coffee he’d powered through that morning probably weren’t helping, but there was no undoing that now.

The door to Connie’s office was propped open, and Tim stepped aside to let David walk in first. He shared a look with his assistant coach, wishing yet again that Tim would give him something other than distance and vague disapproval.

He could really use a sidekick right about now.

David rapped his knuckles on the door frame. “Good morning, Connie,” he said, relieved that his voice was steady.

Connie Brown looked up from where she sat at her desk. She was a formidable woman, maybe in her mid-fifties, brown skin weathered from years spent coaching track, with short hair, wire framed glasses, and an old, green Southeastern windbreaker that she wore regardless of the weather.

She smiled at them, gesturing for them to sit in the two chairs in front of her desk. “Mornin’, gentlemen,” she said, her strong Southern accent shaping her words. “Come on in and have a seat.”

Connie Brown scared the shit out of David. While she was undeniably nice, she was unrelenting in her desire to build a winning sports program, and from his first conversation with her it had been made abundantly clear that, if he wanted a lasting career at Southeastern, he needed to produce wins.

Once he and Tim sat down, Connie folded her hands under her chin and looked between the two of them. “It’s not lookin’ good,” she stated.

David looked over at Tim, only to find him watching David with slightly raised brows. Wonderful. He’d be no damn help. Turning back to Connie, David straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I know. We are doing what we can to turn it around — pushing the guys harder, adding practice time, working to find the plays that work within their skillset.”

Connie’s expression remained impassive. “David, we hired you because every single one of your references mentioned how good you were with player development. Not just skill development, but building trust and relationships with these kids.” She grabbed a stack of papers from her desk, shaking them in their direction. “These stats? They’re the result of a fractured team. Everyone can see it.” Tossing the papers to the side, she looked David dead in the eye. “Do what you were hired to do. Build up these boys and you will build up your team.”

He started to open his mouth to respond, but thought better of it.

Standing up, he extended a hand out to Connie. Her handshake was strong. As she shook Tim’s hand, she added, “I’m rootin’ for you both. Don’t disappoint me.”

The two men were quiet as they walked back to David’s office. Tim followed him in, shutting the door behind them. David groaned as he collapsed into his chair, rubbing at his face with his hands before reaching for the cold cup of coffee on the corner of his desk.

“You don’t need that, Coach,” Tim commented.

David scowled at the older man, but took his advice and reached for the half-empty water bottle instead. He drained it all, and then tossed it at the trash can that stood by the door.

Of course he missed.

He got up, picked up the bottle and threw it into the trash with a bit more force than was necessary.

When he sat back down, Tim was looking at him, his expression more thoughtful than usual.

“What,” David asked, uncaring in that moment if he came off as sharp. It was all feeling like a bit too much at the moment, and his give-a-shits had all abandoned him.

Tim shrugged, crossing his arms. “I’m just wondering what the plan is.”

“The plan?” David barked out a pained laugh. “I don’t know. I’m executing my plan, trying to get the guys to listen to me, but it’s like they don’t buy in. They don’t trust me.”

“Maybe they don’t trust you because they don’t know you,” Tim offered.

“What do you mean they don’t know me? I’m there with them. I talk. They get to see my ugly mug almost every day.”

Tim shook his head. “But they don’t know you.” He went quiet for a moment, as though considering what to say next. David waited for him to continue, drumming his fingers against the desk. “You know, as an assistant, we spend a lot of time getting to know the guys. It’s almost like it’s in our job description. Be approachable, be the good guy who they can talk to. But they’ve got to have that with you, too. Of course it’s your job to do all of the X’s and O’s, but they’ve got to respect you, and ultimately, that has to be earned.”

David had never heard Tim talk so much in all the months they’d been working together. He couldn’t quite figure out how to feel about the sudden onslaught of opinion from his otherwise tight-lipped assistant.

“So how am I supposed to earn their respect?” David asked, resigned to the fact that if he survived this day, he would probably come out of it without an ounce of his pride or dignity intact.

“I can’t tell you that,” Tim said. “But like Connie said, if it was what you were good at before, then figure it out. The guys need it. Hell, we need it.”

And David didn’t know what to say to that. He was the head coach. It was his job to make it happen: the wins, the player development, the team chemistry. It was on him, on his shoulders, and Tim couldn’t possibly understand what that pressure was like. He was trying so goddamn hard to do it all, and it wasn’t working.

If what they needed was more — more time, more energy, more attention, he would give it.

He’d find a way.

* * *

That evening’s practice was a shit-show.

They were scrimmaging, with the current starters in white and the second five against them in black.

David was running them through a half court trap that focused on picking off the cross-court reversal pass, but Chris Terrence, who was playing the middle spot, wasn’t fast enough to hover in the middle and then make it to steal the pass.

“It’s not working, Coach.” Jordan Peak, one of their captains, turned to David and Tim after yet another successful play from the offense broke through their trap.

Rather than responding to Jordan, David turned to Chris Terrence. “Terrence, you’ve got to stay on your toes there in the middle. You’re letting the offense trick you with the pass fake, but you’ve got to stay steady in your position.”

The tall forward heaved a sigh, obviously frustrated, but muttered a reluctant “Yes, Coach,” before walking away.

At David’s whistle, they ran through it again. This time, it was Monty who got pulled too far up the wing and left a man wide open in the corner.

“Damnit!” David slammed his board against his thigh, turning away from the guys as he tried to rein in his frustration. There was no reason why they shouldn’t be able to execute this defense. He knew they were fast enough. He knew they were smart enough. But no matter how he drilled it, they just didn’t click.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the court. The guys all watched him, wary expressions on their faces. A few of the freshmen even looked afraid. They were drenched in sweat, faces red with exertion as those on the court struggled to catch their breath.

The silence stretched out, the team obviously waiting for him to say something. But he wasn’t sure where to start.

What could he say?

It was Jenks, their other captain, who spoke up. He was on the black squad, playing against the starters. “Want us to run it again, Coach?”

David shook his head. “Finish up with free throws, and then let’s call it early.”

A few of the guys looked surprised, but they all split into small groups at each of the baskets. The gym got quiet as they settled into shooting free throws.

Sighing, David took off his hat and raked his hand through his hair.

“You alright there, Coach?”

He glanced over at Tim, who watched him with a small frown.

“Fine,” David responded.

He wasn’t fine, but there wasn’t time for him to take away from the work they were doing to figure out whatever he was going through. He’d get over it. The team needed him to be fine.

When Tim didn’t respond, David felt some of the tightness in his shoulders loosen.

Practice wrapped up quietly. They huddled, as was customary, but it was obvious that they were floundering, both as individuals and as a group. David said something about bringing their best tomorrow, but the words obviously fell flat as the guys slouched off to the locker room.

David retreated to his office. He planned on watching tape for a few hours before going home, but after ten minutes of watching the same play over and over again and seeing nothing new, he decided to call it.

He drove home through the darkness, the familiar strains of Stadium Arcadium filling his car. He rolled the windows down, needing the wind on his face to clear his head. He hummed along as he drove across one of the many bridges in Charleston.

It was a takeout kind of night. He ran through the local restaurants in his head, deciding that a big caesar salad with chicken was probably his best bet after all of the crap he’d been eating.

He was slowing down at a red light when he saw a silver sedan pulled over on the side of the road. Smoke billowed out from under the popped hood, and he could see a figure bent over the engine. David immediately clicked on his turn signal, and as soon as the light changed he pulled over behind the car.

Climbing out of his Bronco, David walked over to the vehicle. “Hey,” he called out, wanting to alert the driver to his presence before he snuck up on them in the dark. “You need some help?”

“Totally good!” A woman’s voice called out, immediately followed by a muttered curse and a thud that didn’t sound good at all.

“You sure?” David moved a bit closer, standing beside the driver’s door. The car was a Corolla that had definitely seen better days.

“Yeah, totally good over here. I’ve got it handled, but thanks!” There was another thud and a snapping noise. “Fucking fuck!”

David rounded the car. “Ma’am, please let me —”

Sage Fogerty stared at him, her blonde hair wild around her face. There was a grease smudge streaking from the tip of her nose across her cheek, and David had to clench his hand into a fist to stop himself from reaching out to wipe it off of her skin.

She blinked, barely illuminated by the headlights. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”