Page 13

“Coach,” he croaks, and I realize then that he’s definitely on some pain meds.

Good ones. He smiles broadly, and I look to his hand, interlaced with Clara June’s.

She’s sitting at his bedside, looking over at me, her eyes so much happier than they were a few minutes ago. I swallow against a lump in my throat.

“Glad you’re okay, Tanner. Real glad about it.”

His grin broadens, somehow. “You’re a good coach,” he tells me, and I find myself shifting weight in my boots. Fuck. Is this kid gonna have a heartfelt ramble? Because I don’t think I can take it right now.

I laugh to break the tension mounting inside of me. “Well, I should hope so. But I don’t claim this,” I say, motioning to the bed. “This was all you.”

He laughs, and so does Clara June.

Clara June has a beautiful laugh. Light and pretty, something I wanna hear close to my ear, when the lights are off, and legs are intertwined.

“I know, I know. Just a few steps off plan and here I am.” He looks at his mom. “And there you are.” His eyes snap to mine, suddenly and out of nowhere, rimmed with panic. “My jersey! Where is my jersey?”

“Tanner, the doctors cut it off you when they brought you in because they didn’t want to jostle your collarbone,” she explains softly, though he doesn’t seem to compute her response.

“I’ll get you a new one,” I promise him, and this promise, or the passage of a few seconds—who knows—has Tanner’s eyes relaxing and his demeanor shifting. He looks at his mom and beams. “I’m gonna be okay, mom, did you hear?”

“Oh yes, I heard,” she says, laughing again, and my knees threaten to go weak on me from that sound.

I clear my throat to regain composure of the chaos in my chest. “Tanner, the Doctor has nothing but good news,” I say, looking at Clara June.

She nods, confirming they’ve discussed. I like being able to talk to someone this way.

Private nods, alluding to prior conversations, having common ground and mutual, vested interest.

“I heard. That’s good. Six weeks isn’t bad,” Tanner says, clicking the button for more pain medicine. Clara June gets to her feet, running her handing over his arm, resting a palm on his forehead.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” she asks, and my spine straights, aligning itself with the concern in her tone.

“I just like how it feels,” Tanner says, laughing, then laughing too hard and looking nauseous for a moment. The nurse comes in, checking things, lingering in the corner as she disconnects tubes on some device, purple gloves on her hands.

“She cut you off,” Clara June whispers to him teasingly as Tanner clicks his button again.

He grins at me. “Hey Coach, have you met my mom?”

The nurse turns. “That’s the pain meds, not the concussion. Don’t worry, mom,” she says, smiling at Clara June, who nods in return.

“Okay, thank you,” she sighs, grateful for the nurse. See, she didn’t need to hear Denton’s speech on CTE. I feel validated, even if only privately.

“You should meet her. She’s really nice. She’s going to be really mad when she finds out Rawley ditched the tutor again, but other than that, she’s super nice.” He shrugs. “I mean, I love her.”

Clara June sighs, resting a hand on her son’s arm. “Tanner, Coach Dean and I have already met. Remember?”

Tanner looks between us, then nods. And then, he’s asleep.

“He just kind of…” I step nearer and narrow my eyes at him. “Fell asleep.”

Clara June nods. “Honestly, that’s not out of character for Tanner. He’s tired and then he’s asleep. Add those pain meds and that seems about right.”

The nurse is done wrapping cords around devices now. “Yeah, that’s normal. I’ve been on for ten hours and he’s done that to me a few times.”

I shake my head. “That’s wild.”

Clara June looks up at me, and her eyes sparkle, a glint of mischief appears for a split second. “Can’t handle it, Coach?” she says, her voice a little thin, or maybe I’m imagining it. Hoping for it. I don’t know. But my groin tingles, and I exercise great restraint. And flexing down there.

“I just… I’ve never seen someone fall asleep so fast.”

She smiles. “Yeah, my little one just goes out like that, too.”

“Archie,” I say, remembering all the times I’ve seen him run by with a score at the farmer’s market. “He’s a wild one too. I like him.”

Her smile now feels affectionate, and her eyes fall to my lips for a moment, brief but definite. “You remember him?”

I shrug. “I can remember a lot of faces. I think that’s a built-in requirement for teachers.” I smile. “And I’ve seen him at the farmer’s market lots of times.” I clear my throat, and try to control the smirk twitching my lips. “Usually runnin’ past me with food he took. ”

She sighs, but a smile lifts the corner of her lips.

Only slightly, but enough to make my heart beat faster.

“Yeah, I get how you can remember that.” She shrugs.

“I feed him. I swear I do. But that kid, I think he thinks stolen food tastes better! He’s always stealing my neighbor's peaches and she’s always yellin’ at me about it.

” She shakes her head, but eventually smiles at me.

The waitress outfit is faded, and there’s food on it.

But she looks so fucking good in it anyway.

“Growing kid,” I say. “I was a beast at his age. Unstoppable at the plate.”

Her brows knit. “The… baseball plate?”

“The dinner plate,” I laugh, and she laughs too, shaking her head as she palms her forehead.

“Duh. We were talking about food. Obviously,” she says. The end of her braid somehow ends up over her shoulder, resting on her breast. My pulse skips as I glance at it, imagining it wrapped around my fist.

“Wasn’t a good joke if you didn’t get it,” I offer, smiling.

“No, I think that was a me thing.” She smiles. “Anyway, yeah. Well. Thank you for waiting with me.” She looks at me for a minute, just staring into my eyes as she sits still. When she gets to her feet, I lick my lips and take a step nearer.

“No problem,” I tell her, putting my hat back in place on my head. She glances up at it, then meets my eyes.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for Tanner. Not just tonight.” The balls of her cheeks are bubble gum pink, and her smile alone makes me feel like I’ve done something good.

“No problem.” I glance at Tanner, but he’s out cold. “Tell him I’ll be by tomorrow?” I look at the nurse and then to Clara June. “Did they tell you when he’s getting discharged?”

“They want him completely immobilized for the next four days, and as long as things are looking good, they’ll send him home in a sling then.” She glances at her son, now snoring lightly. “Could be a day earlier, depending on progress.”

I can’t imagine her having to take care of the other two boys, go to work, and try to be here as much as possible.

“Well, I’ll be here tomorrow.” I suddenly have an idea, and fish my wallet from my back pocket.

A couple years ago, West got me business cards.

It was kind of a joke—if I had a card with my cell number and email on it, he’d hoped that I’d field some unhappy parent calls about old equipment and dying grass, not him.

It didn’t work—he still takes the complaints, and I still take the compliments. After all, he gets paid the big bucks for that as a director, not me. Regardless, I have a box of 500 business cards that read Dean McAllister, Bluebell Bruisers Varsity Football Coach, along with my number and email.

I pass her one of the cards, almost embarrassed that I have it. Most teachers don’t have business cards. It’s… weird. “Here. If you need anything, or, if Tanner does.” I tap my number.

She smiles, and stows the card away in the front pocket of her smock. “Thanks, Coach.”

With a tip of my hat, I say another goodbye, and I find myself treading down the hall, toward the exit doors, a little aroused by the sound of Clara June calling me coach.