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THIRTY-SEVEN

AUGUSTE

Delilah calls as I’m getting out of the shower. Courtney’s messaging her nurse contact at the hospital to check on her mom while she and Delilah talk, and I’m regularly checking my phone for updates on Coach’s flight.

He’s fifteen minutes out, which means I have to leave now so he’s not left waiting.

It’s his pet peeve, and I need to be as much in his good graces as I can.

This isn’t how I wanted him to find out about Courtney and me.

But I standby my decision. I don’t know Martin and Catherine like he does, and if there’s one person that has a chance at getting Courtney to see her, it’s him.

Pressing a kiss to her head, I roll the cart with the teapot and cup next to the bed.

“I’ll be right back,” I mouth before I lean closer and kiss her lips. Firm and quick.

“Where are you going?” she asks, covering the microphone of her phone.

“I have an errand to run. I’ll be back in an hour or so and we can come up with a plan of action. Okay?”

Courtney nods, squeezing my hand as I amble backwards, holding on to her until I have to let go.

Once I’m out of the suite, I rush down to the valet pick-up spot. The Merc is fully charged and ready, and then there’s an envelope on the seat with my request from reception.

For the entirety of the drive I debate what to say to Coach. I know he’s not an unreasonable man, but as Dylan likes to remind us all the time, mothers, sisters, and daughters are off-limits. No-gos. So yeah, I don’t want him to think that I was using his daughter without good intentions.

By the time I find a parking bay, he’s landed and I’m running to meet him. Thankfully, the airport is a circus. Crying babies, delayed flights, and businesspeople yelling into AirPods like they’re summoning ancient demons through time.

Meanwhile, I stand in arrivals with the makeshift sign I ask the concierge to print.

COACH NILSSON , it says in a super bold, super large font that the blind could read from outer space.

When I made the request it seemed like a great idea. It’s what people do to welcome their relatives, right? Now, I feel like a clueless dumbass.

Let’s be honest, I’m a six-two, brown-skin pro athlete in a sea of middle-aged white men that have importance stamped into their stares. Everyone is looking at me… and my sign. A few are obviously debating approaching me. But it’s always the shy kid that braves it.

“Hi,” she waves at me.

“Hi,” I say back.

“I know who you are.”

“Annabelle, don’t be so brash,” her mom chastises, giving me an apologetic look.

“But it’s true. He plays for that team that lost against?—”

“Annabelle!”

Ouch! The little shit’s brutal. But… “We did lose to The Wolves last season. Do you like hockey?”

“No,” she replies with a eww scrunch of her face. “My daddy watches it. I don’t know why, cause it’s boring.”

“I’m so sorry, we’re working on filters.”

“That’s okay,” I’m laughing at her sass while in my head, I’m forming this similar picture of a mini Courtney with her dark curls and bright baby blues, telling it how it is.

“How old are you, Annabelle?”

“Seven right now, but I’m turning eight at eleven-fifty-two, so I get to stay up late and have cake before bed.”

“Oh wow, happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” she sings with a hitch of her shoulders. “Why is your sign so big… and boring?”

“Oh my God,” her mom grimaces.

“It’s for my coach. ”

“I know, I can read. Coach Nilsson.”

“Smart.”

“And too outspoken.” Her mom playfully tugs at a bright auburn lock. As Annabelle’s about to sass back, her mom points ahead, “Look who’s home, sweetie.”

I glance up in the direction Annabelle is running towards a suited man with the same shade of hair as hers. She’s so happy to see him, and I can’t stop the thought of how it will feel one day when I get home from a run on the road and my kid greets me like that.

Just like that I’m picturing a mini Courtney with dark curls, except they’re tighter and coarser, and her skin is darker… and…

Shit.

I freeze as I look up and find Coach striding my way. He stops short, staring at my sign. Then at me.

“Cute sign,” he mutters with a hitch of his brow.

“Thank you,” I say, swallowing hard.

Thank you. Thank you?

To my shock, he claps a hand on my shoulder in that assuring way of his before he plucks the paper out of my hand, folds it, and shoves it in his pocket.

We don’t speak for a while. Just get in the car and ride in silence with the radio rambling in the background. All the while, my insides are chewing themselves out.

We’re almost to the hotel, stuck in traffic, when Coach finally speaks. “Courtney okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s holding it together.”

He exhales. “She’s stubborn and resilient.”

I glance out the window. “Yeah, she is.”

Another silence. This one is different, heavier. I can hear his brain accelerate, and I know what’s coming when I look over and he’s got his hands laced together on his lap.

“So, this is your family emergency?”

I swallow. “Yes, sir.”

“Whatever is going on between you and Coutney?—”

“I’m in love with her,” I say before he can finish. “And I know that’s not convenient for anyone. I know it complicates a million things.”

His jaw tics.

“But I’d give up everything before I give her up.”

He shifts, still keeping his gaze out of the windshield. “What does everything mean to you, Broussard? ”

“It means everything that is not your daughter. I will give it up to keep her.”

“And what about her plans, Bruce. What about her ambitions? Courtney’s bright and in the moment she may think she’ll be happy stepping away from the path she’s carved out for herself. But down the road when the novelty has worn off and?—”

“With all due respect, sir,” I chime in.

“Courtney is smart and I know that there is a part of me and her that wants us to give up everything we’ve worked for to be together in the here and now, but we know better.

We’re building the foundations for our future right now and it’s not about the here and now, it’s about the big picture. The long term.”

Coach looks at me, blue eyes narrowed on mine as I stop at another light and turn to face him.

“I already mapped out the season schedule. Found all the overlaps with The Crescents. I can fly to her. She can come to me. We’ll make it work. No matter how messy it is. No matter how tired I get. Courtney’s worth it.”

Coach studies me like he’s trying to read through every layer of my skin and bones to the core of me and my intentions.

“It’s not going to be easy, son.”

“I don’t want easy,” I say, holding his stare. “I want her.”

He sighs, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Then, finally he simply nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t fuck it up.”

“I won’t,” I promise, because I’d burn down the whole damn world before I let anyone take Courtney from me. Even myself.