Page 44

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

DEAN

I’m vibrating, reeling, my hands practically shaking as I clap my palm into the other coach’s hand.

“Good looking team you got this season, McAllister,” Coach Mayoral says, squinting against the glare of bright stadium lights. “When your guy went down a few months back, I wasn’t sure y’all would recover but your shoo-in rocked it. He’s back, seemingly stronger than ever.”

I don’t gloat, but it’s hard not to beam pridefully. When Tanner was out, Damon stepped up, and we didn’t lose. He did great, and while he wasn’t as tight with his footwork, and he wasn’t ready to make a lot of tough calls on his own, he stepped up and showed his team what he could do.

Damon went back to the bench tonight, as Tanner walked onto the field, and supported our team from there. A truly good all around team player. Tanner, the leader that he is, thanked him for stepping up.

Then… we eviscerated the other team. Three touchdowns in the first quarter.

Tanner had my stomach in goddamn knots. If his collarbone or shoulder ever got sore, if his head felt funny or if he ever got nervous, he hid it well.

Hell, I asked him if he was okay no less than ten times in that game.

Every time I asked him he’d say, “All good, Coach, seriously. I’m all good. ”

After the game, before the local reporters and cable access cameraman can get down on the field, I pull a panting and sweaty Tanner aside, and talk to him.

Since that article came out today, everyone’s been talking about him and his future, celebrating everything that is possible with a golden arm like he has.

That’s a lot of pressure, and where some kids may let that article get them beer, get them laid, make them feel like a local celebrity…

Tanner isn’t that type of kid. He’s popular and athletic, and strikes all the chords of the stereotypical jock kid, but he’s more thoughtful.

More sincere. He cares about a lot of things the way he cares about football, and so I want to make sure he’s okay.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” I tell him, clapping my hand between his shoulder pads .

He squirts water into his mouth from a green plastic bottle, still slightly winded. “Thanks, Coach.”

“You did great out there,” I confirm, then look around a moment before asking, “How you doing with that article today? Whole town is talking about you. Just making sure all that is sitting okay with you.”

His eyes catch on mine, a glint of something serious flashes through them before someone calls to him, and I lose his attention.

“Tan Man!”

He glances at the kid calling him, then back at me, but still, he doesn’t answer my question. And I don’t like that, because Tanner is direct, honest, and him avoiding that question is the answer.

“Tanner, that article was a little overwhelming. It doesn’t change your course at all, okay? We keep you studying, keep your grades high, keep you working hard. That’s all you need to focus on.”

“I know, Coach. It’s not that,” he says, his eyes darting around the field as parents and teens slowly fill in the empty spaces around us. The crowd is beginning.

“But it’s something?” I question, my pulse skipping with irrational nerves for a minute.

He finally looks up at me, shaking the sweat from his hair. “No, it’s nothing, it’s all good.” He gives me a partial smile. “It’s all good. The article was cool. I may do one of those box frame things with it, like I did with that jersey of mine you repaired.”

I nod my head. “Good, good.”

He slaps his hand into mine. “Gonna go see the boys,” he says in reference to his friends, coming at him like a train from the opposite side of the field .

I nod. “I’m proud of you, Tanner. You did great out there. You always do.”

He pauses a second, looking down at the chunks of grass caking his left cleat. His eyes are a touch glassy when they come to me again. “Thanks, Coach.” Then he’s off, chest bumping and hand clapping with a group of boys he’s been hanging out with since last year.

A few parents approach me, shaking my hand, thanking me for guiding the team to a victory, for getting us one step closer to championships.

After taking a photo with one of the players, which will likely be used for the homecoming game senior poster, I turn to find Clara June, a brunette woman, and Archie, standing off to the side, waiting for me.

At the sight of Clara June, my veins buzz and my groin tightens, and there’s a knot behind my ribs that throbs and burns, leaving my brain a little weightless.

My instinct is to pull her into me, press my lips to hers and get that “goddamn it I’ve been waiting to see you all day” kiss out of the way.

But Archie beams up at me, and the woman next to Clara June is a stranger, and we haven’t really had any discussions that lead me to believe that I’m allowed to greet Clara June that way.

I’ve been focused on football leading up to the game.

It’s only now, as she stands before me, I remember the fact that Clara June told me she wanted to talk afterwards.

I pluck my hat from my head, not caring that my hair is probably a humid mess of sweat and frizz. Placing my hat atop Archie’s head, I reach out and shake his little hand.

“How you doing, partner?”

Both of his hands come down on the top of my hat as he gives me the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.

And even with concern lingering in the back of my mind where Clara June and her talk is concerned, I can’t help but match his grin.

My chest burns as he slams into my leg, knocking my hat off his head as he hugs me.

I crouch down and put it back on, and he places his hands on my face, something no child has ever done to me before.

His fingers are rubbery, and his hands are cold, and maybe a little wet, but when his thumbs trace my mustache, and his eyes glitter against the sky, I have never felt so important.

Not as a coach, or a teacher, or a son. “Thanks for letting me wear your hat.” He smiles. “Can I go show Tyson?”

I look up at Clara June, who is watching us with only a trace of a smile on her lips, her eyes not lifted at all. In fact, she looks melancholy, and with the talk on the horizon, a slither of insecurity and fear wiggles up my spine. If she calls off this thing between us already, I’ll be okay.

I’ll get over it.

Hell, we’ve barely been seeing each other.

Archie asks Clara June if he can find Tyson, and she agrees, and when she turns to her friend, introducing her to me, it hits me.

I won’t get over it. I don’t care how long we’ve been seeing one another, I don’t care about any of that. If she puts the brakes on this thing tonight, I’ll be goddamn gutted.

“Coach Dean McAllister, this is Jackie Von. She’s a programmer here in Bluebell, and my best friend.” Clara June looks between us as we shake hands, and I slowly try to see if I recognize Jackie. I tip my head to the side.

“Have I seen you at Lassoed and Loaded before?” It’s a bar the guys and I frequent for the occasional post-teaching adolescent assholes beer.

She nods. “I go there for the jukebox.”

Clara June purses her lips and Jackie rolls her eyes. “Okay, the jukebox and cowboys. I like cowboys. Sue me.”

I smile watching the two women laugh together, but when Jackie begs off, promising to call Clara June in the morning but telling her she’s too cold to stay a moment longer, Clara June’s face returns.

The face that says I wanna talk and it’s not gonna be fun.

I slip my hand into hers, weaving our fingers together, not caring who could see.

Leah Mitchell is around here someplace, and I haven’t quite told her that I’ve been seeing a student’s mom.

Still, if she finds out this way, so be it.

With Clara June’s face like that, I need to touch her.

I’d press my lips to her throat and coax it out of her right now if I could.

“You look beautiful tonight,” I let the words fall directly into her ear after pushing her hair back. My free hand goes to her waist as I briefly press my forehead to hers, then kiss the tip of her nose before stepping back. “Tanner had a great game. Absolutely great.”

She nods. “Thank you and yeah, he did. Really great game,” she says, her words trailing off, her eyes distant.

I close the space between us, throwing discretion to the wind as I take her face in my hand. “Clara June, what’s wrong? You’re not yourself.” I pause, studying the way her eyes flit between mine, the way her pupils flare.

“Let’s talk at my house.” She looks around and it makes me beyond nervous. “Not here.”

I nod just as Archie runs up, my hat wobbly as ever on his head. “Mama, Rawley said to tell you he’s going to Jo Jo’s for the night and to call Miss Riley if you need to.”

She swipes her fingers through his soft chestnut hair. “Okay, baby. You ready to head home?”

Archie looks up at me. “You’re comin’ with us, right Coach?”

I fidget with my hat on his head. “Following you there in my truck, yes sir. ”

He looks back up to Clara June. “Can I ride with Coach? Please, mama?”

She looks at me, asking me without words if I’m okay with that. I’m not a parent, but I speak wordless parent from my years of teaching. I give her a nod and a smile.

“Sure, Archie.” She kisses his head. “I’m gonna say goodbye to Tanner one last time, then I’ll meet you guys there.”

When she walks away, I try not to worry that she’s gonna call this thing off. Then I take Archie’s hand and lead him through the field, to the parking lot, and into the passenger seat of my truck.

“Think we can have ice cream?” Archie asks as we pull out of the parking lot, gravel pinging and popping against the side of my truck. I flick on my headlights.