Page 9
CHAPTER 8
DON’T FORGET THE GREEN STUFF
DAVID
David hit the spacebar on his laptop, freezing the tape from their intersquad scrimmage that he had up on the TV in his home office. The folding table in the middle of the room was strewn with bits of scrap paper, three different play boards, and two partially drunk cups of coffee.
He needed a shower, and based on how Daisy was looking at him, he needed to take her outside for a walk.
Standing up with a groan, he ran a hand through his dirty hair before scooping Daisy up, shoving a hat onto his head, and then stepping outside. He squinted against the bright sun, his eyes straining to adjust after hours spent inside in the blacked-out room.
He hadn’t bothered with a leash, trusting that Daisy would stay close as he walked toward the dog park. His legs felt heavy, his body lethargic, and although he tried to find some enjoyment in the day around him, his mind was elsewhere.
The team was a mess. A real goddamn mess, and he had no idea what to do about it.
Well, he knew what to do about it, but the guys were slow on the uptake. On some level, he could understand: he was a new coach bringing in a new style and new systems, and it was bound to take a while for them to get on board.
But damn , he’d thought things would be better by now.
So he was pushing them harder, increasing their practice time from two hours to three, and, on his own, spending every waking hour watching game tape from the previous year, film from practices, and researching their opponents. He had three different offensive sets that he wanted to introduce in addition to the pages of set plays he’d drawn up to combat specific scenarios. He’d started keeping a legal pad on his bedside table so that when he woke up in the middle of the night with an idea for a new strategy he could write it down.
He’d largely given up on cooking, instead heating up frozen dinners that boasted low calories and reduced sodium. Apparently, they were healthy. They tasted like garbage, but they were doing the job of keeping his stomach full.
His apartment was also starting to descend into a level of disarray that wasn’t like him. He usually took pride in keeping his space neat and tidy, even doing the little things like dusting the shelves and picture frames. But the countdown to their first game weighed on him in a way that left him feeling uncharacteristically exhausted at the end of every day.
This was his chance to be the kind of head coach he’d always dreamed of being. He wouldn’t —no, couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. “Hello?” He answered without looking at the screen.
“Dude,” Chuck’s voice was almost painfully loud in his ear. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Busy,” David replied, trying to ignore the sharp pang of regret in his chest. He’d been so focused on the team recently that he hadn’t been keeping up with the guys like he typically did. David was usually the one who organized pick up games, dinners out, or Sundays at one of their places to watch football. As one of the only single guys still in an apartment, he almost never hosted, but he always showed up early and helped with the planning.
It was just what he always did.
Chuck snorted. “When was the last time you left your place?”
“I’m outside right now,” David replied, squinting up at the sun, noticing that it was already late afternoon.
“Walking Daisy doesn’t count.”
David sighed. “Fine. I’ve been pretty holed up between the office and home.”
“When’s the first game?”
“Five days.” David may have completely lost his sense of the passage of hours during the day, but he couldn’t escape the looming, invisible clock counting down the hours until his first game as a head coach.
“Come over for dinner later, okay?” Chuck’s tone made it very clear that it wasn’t actually a question.
David considered saying no. There were hours of practice footage left to watch, but he couldn’t say no to a friend. Especially not to Chuck. “Need me to bring anything?” He finally asked.
“Nah,” Chuck replied. “I’ve got stuff for burgers ready to go.”
Now David definitely couldn’t say no. “Alright. Gotta run to the store, but I’ll be over there after.”
They hung up, and David scooped up Daisy and carried her back to his apartment. Once he made sure that her bowl was full of water, he grabbed his keys and a water bottle from the fridge. He paused at the mirror that hung by his front door, trying for a second to fix his hair where it stuck out around his ears and down his neck. He needed a haircut, but every time he went they made him either look like a child with a bowl cut or a teenager trying too hard with some sort of fashionable fade.
How hard could it be to cut a man’s hair?
The grocery store was right across the street from his apartment, and because he was only grabbing a few things, he decided to walk. Once he was in the store, he immediately went for the basics that were sustaining him: bananas, protein bars, and frozen dinners.
He turned down the condiments aisle to grab some peanut butter when he noticed a pair of very bare, very golden, very beautiful long legs at the other end. The woman’s back was to him, but the short jean shorts she wore left her tan and muscular thighs exposed and goddamnit was his mouth actually watering?
She was blonde, with a braid that ran down the middle of her back, and as he approached her he realized that she happened to be standing in front of the peanut butter.
He’d been considering dating recently. After the hiccup at the bar with another blonde, he’d been too busy and preoccupied to think about it. Maybe this was the universe telling him to live a little.
Hell, he knew how to flirt.
The wheels of his cart squeaked as he slowed down, and the woman turned to look at him.
Goddamn it .
Why did every beautiful woman in Charleston have to turn into Sage Fogerty? Obviously, the universe was fucking with him.
“Coach?”
He plastered a smile on his face and took another step toward Sage, who looked surprised to see him.
“Fancy seeing you here, neighbor,” was what came out of his mouth. He immediately winced.
Sage, to her credit, laughed, her mouth tilting up in that crooked smile as she leaned on her own shopping cart. David glanced down, noticing how many green and leafy things she had selected.
“I take it you don’t cook much?” Sage asked, and David followed her gaze to the contents of his cart, which were almost exclusively packaged in cardboard. At least there were bananas , he thought to himself.
“Yeah,” David admitted. “I can cook, but I’ve been busy.” He didn’t say that his cooking was primarily grilling chicken breasts, making instant rice, and steaming frozen broccoli. And he did make a mean fried egg, which he had almost every morning on toast. He pointed at Sage’s cart. “I honestly wouldn’t even know what to do with all of that.”
Sage looked down at her cart and shrugged. “I just like to eat good food,” she said, and once again that crooked smile tugged at her lips. “My mom’s always had a garden, so we ate a lot of veggies and made things from scratch.” She reached down, shuffling through the produce until she produced a package of bacon. “And bacon. All veggies are better with bacon.”
David couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said.
“Are you okay?”
He started, confused, only then noticing that her smile had faded and she looked at him like she was concerned. “Am I okay?” he repeated, not entirely knowing how to respond.
“Yeah,” she said. There was warmth in her voice as she continued to watch him. “I asked if you were okay.”
“Totally fine,” he replied, forcing out a laugh as he took off his hat with one hand and pushed his hair back with the other. Tugging the hat back down on his head, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “All good.”
“You getting ready for the first game?”
A nervous laugh bubbled up from his chest before he could stop it. Get it together, David . “Yeah. Totally ready.” His voice was too high, and he felt sweat gathering on his palms.
Sage moved toward him, circling her own cart to stand right beside his. She was close enough that he caught a hint of her scent — flowers, maybe?
And then she reached out and gripped his wrist, her touch somehow both gentle and firm. Her skin was surprisingly cool against his. “You’re allowed to be nervous, you know.” Her voice was quiet, her words just for him.
In that moment, David could feel just how easy it would be to tell her everything. There was something about her steadiness that made him want to confess to her just how much the upcoming season was weighing on him. He wanted to tell her that he had five different half court traps that he couldn’t choose between, and how he couldn’t figure out how to get Jordan out of his own head. How he wanted Tim’s respect more than almost anything, but all he got from his assistant coach were head shakes and frowns.
He couldn’t explain how, but in that moment he knew, in his gut, that she would get it.
But he couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t burden her with his insecurities. They were his and his alone. It was his job to get his shit together and figure out how to lead the team. Sage was only there to satisfy a graduation requirement. That was all.
David took a step back, pulling away from Sage’s touch. Her fingers brushed the inside of his wrist as he moved, and for a moment he considered chasing her hand down and asking her to do it again. To touch him like that again.
“It’s all good,” he said, breaking the quiet between them.
Sage returned to her own cart, giving him a sad smile before she started to push past him. “Well don’t forget to take your own advice,” she said, nodding toward his groceries.
“What’s that?”
Her cheeks dimpled as she grinned at him, and it was such a bright expression that he could have sworn that it warmed the air surrounding her. She walked with the certainty of someone who knew where they were going, and just before she turned away at the end of the aisle, she glanced back. “Don’t forget the green stuff,” she called out, her voice teasing.
David laughed at that, and watching the space where she’d disappeared, he felt a brief stab of discomfort in his chest, knowing that there was probably some lucky guy out there who got to eat Sage Fogerty’s cooking.
* * *
David parked at the curb in front of Chuck’s house, grabbing an excitedly wriggling Daisy from her perch in the passenger seat and tucking her under one arm, while he reached down for the bag of groceries he’d brought with the other.
Sure, Chuck had said he didn’t need to bring anything, but David knew better than that.
Chuck lived in West Ashley, in an old residential neighborhood with smaller family homes nestled under the tall, spreading oaks. While Chuck was still single, he’d made it clear that he was looking to settle down, and he’d bought the house as soon as he’d landed the head coaching job for Southeastern’s swimming team.
David jogged up the paved steps and knocked on the door.
“Hughes!” Chuck opened the door wearing an old Southeastern t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and basketball shorts. “You look like absolute death, man.”
David grunted, unamused, and pushed past his friend into the living room. He placed Daisy on the floor, watching fondly as she scampered off in search of one of Chuck’s three cats. They tended to make themselves scarce whenever David brought Daisy over, but there had definitely been a few amusing games of chase when the dachshund managed to find them.
He went straight to the kitchen, placing the bag of groceries on the clean, white island. True to his word, Chuck had burger patties already made and had even taken the time to prepare toppings: lettuce, tomato, onion, and cheese were sliced and neatly plated.
Chuck had always been more put together than the rest of them, putting more thought into his wardrobe and surroundings than the other jocks David had come up with. As his roommate, David had been more than happy to let Chuck take the lead on what should go on the walls and which shirt he should wear when they’d gone out to parties in college.
Now, Chuck’s home reflected that same attention to detail, with black and white framed photographs of Texas, his home state, artfully arranged on the dark blue walls. Even his furniture was nice, with matching pillows and throw blankets draped over the top.
He heard Chuck’s bare feet on the wood floor behind him. “You okay?” his friend asked, stepping up behind David and clasping a hand on his shoulder.
David’s palms gripped at the edge of the countertop, which was at the perfect height for him to lean his weight forward and let his head hang down. He sighed, trying to figure out exactly how to articulate what he was feeling at that moment.
Words definitely weren’t his strong suit. He was more of a doing guy. But this was Chuck, so he had to at least try.
“I’m…” David began, pausing to swallow against the dryness of his mouth. “I’m worried.”
That was a start, at least.
Chuck walked around to the other side of the island, leaning back against the stainless steel fridge. “Worried about the season?”
David nodded.
“Of course you are. It’s your first year as a head coach, and you’re back at Southeastern. It’s a lot.”
“How’d you do it?”
“Transition to being a head coach?” Chuck shifted away from the fridge, reaching in and grabbing a beer. He looked to David in a silent offering, but David shook his head.
Cracking open the can, Chuck seemed to think over the question for a minute before answering. “It was probably different for me because I stayed on after graduation, transitioning right into being a graduate assistant with the team. I learned how to coach here, got to know the staff, and so moving up to being an assistant was easier. I didn’t have to adjust to a new system or culture.”
It made sense. David could only imagine how it would have been different if he’d stayed at Southeastern to coach.
No. He couldn’t have done it. He’d needed time to repair his relationship with the sport, to learn to love it again. He’d needed the space, and he liked to think that he was better for it.
“What about becoming head coach? What changed?” David asked Chuck.
Chuck shrugged. “Honestly, by that point I’d absorbed so much as an assistant that I was ready to put my ideas to the test. Fewer ideas about actually coaching the mechanics of swimming, but more about training and motivation and how to be on a team. That was what made me so hungry to lead.”
“I get that,” David said, thinking of the legal pads full of notes he’d taken on all of the motivational speeches he’d heard coaches deliver over the years. What’d worked, what hadn’t. He finally had the chance to put it all to use. “How long did it take the new team to adapt to you and your style?”
“It was rocky at first, but by Christmas we’d found our stride,” Chuck admitted. Swimming had a similar season to basketball, starting at the beginning of the school year and going through March. “It took a while for them to trust that my ideas worked. Once they made that connection, they were bought in.”
David huffed, turning to the bag of groceries he’d brought over. He began to unload the things he’d picked up from the store that he knew Chuck used frequently. Why the man ate so many damn olives he’d never been able to understand.
Chuck looked down at the spread of food on the counter. “I really didn’t need anything, you know,” he said, but there was a fond smile on his face as he shook his head at David. “But thank you anyway.”
He felt the back of his neck heat, self conscious at being thanked. It was just something that he did whenever he came over here, not wanting to come empty handed. It also felt like a way to gradually pay his friend back for all the years of putting up with him.
“Thanks for the advice,” David said, balling up the bag and stuffing it into Chuck’s trash. “Now how about those burgers?”
“Grill is already hot,” Chuck replied, thankfully picking up on the change of topic. “Grab that spatula for me.”
They spent the rest of the evening in the comfortable lounge chairs out on Chuck’s back patio, catching up while they ate the homemade burgers with potato chips.
Chuck was busy coaching too, but his practices were typically in the early morning, leaving his afternoons free. They tried to hang out at least once a week. Their group of guy friends usually tried to go out to dinner or happy hour at The Grove one afternoon a week as well, but David could admit that he valued the time spent with Chuck differently than the hang outs with the rest of the men.
“Anything new on the dating front?”
David grimaced at the question. “Nope. You?”
“Nah. I kind of turn into a hermit during the season,” Chuck replied. “I mean…I’ll occasionally hook up, but nothing serious.” He shifted in his seat, looking over at David with narrowed eyes. “When was the last time you dated someone?”
“Uh,” he started, thinking back. It was definitely in Chicago. “I think it was Fatima, so maybe a year ago?”
“What ever happened with you two?”
David scratched at his beard, tilting his head back to look at the dark tree branches spreading overhead, the sky a dim blue behind them. “I…well she…” He sighed. “I like taking care of people. Especially whoever I’m with. She didn’t like that.”
Chuck frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could, and I think she thought it was excessive. I just…you know how I am about drinking, and she went out to bars with her friends a lot. I get that I can be too much, but I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to shut off the part of me that needs to make sure the people that I care about are okay.”
“Caring about the person you’re with isn’t a bad thing,” Chuck said, his voice kind, even patient. “But maybe give your partners some credit, Hughes. There’s a difference between being caring and controlling. Most women probably like to know that their partner is looking out for them, but maybe it felt like you didn’t trust her to take care of herself.”
David considered Chuck’s words. It made sense — he just couldn’t figure out how to let those things go.
“Just don’t give up on it all,” Chuck added. “The dating thing. It can be really good to share your life with someone else.”
David turned to stare at his friend, incredulous. “Like you’re one to talk, he who is serially single .”
He could see Chuck’s wide grin under the warm porch lights. “Hey, I’m a coach,” he said, shrugging his skinny shoulders. “I’m really good at telling other people what to do. Doesn’t mean I’ve got it all figured out for myself.”
The conversation moved on from there to the topics they typically discussed: family, how strange college kids were these days, and their plans for their annual spring trip with their close group of friends out to the lakehouse on Lake Murray.
It was late when David bundled up a snoozing Daisy and made the short drive back to his apartment. As he crawled under his simple navy blue sheets, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Chuck had said. That maybe his past girlfriends hadn’t felt like he’d believed in them.
He’d always been drawn toward women who were capable and strong. Fatima had been a goddamn lawyer. He’d known she was able to take care of herself.
He’d believed in her.
Hadn’t he?