Written in the Scars(41)

“Yeah,” I shrug, looking at him pointedly. “It lets your team down and I let a lot of people down on the notion that I was doing them a favor. Guys,” I say, looking across the line of them, “I let you down. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

“Of course,” Jason says immediately.

Looking down the row of teenaged faces, they all nod their heads.

“Teams only work when we respect each other, when we are open with each other when we struggle. This team doesn’t stop being a team when the whistle blows. I forgot that. Let’s all learn from my mistake.”

I glance at Dustin out of the corner of my eye. He toes the black line on the floor with his sneaker before looking up at Reynolds. “Hey, man. I’m sorry.”

Reynolds grabs his shoulder and shakes it. “It’s okay. It’s been a rough week around here.”

“Are you back, Coach?” Jason asks.

Looking at Reynolds, he waits for me to respond. I shrug and he laughs.

“Let’s hope he’s back,” Reynolds sighs, sticking his whistle in his mouth. “I’m too old for this shit. You boys are killing me.”

A series of laughs fills the gym and I sigh in relief. This. This is what I do, who I am and it feels f*cking amazing to be back and remembering it.

“Looks like you have been turned over to me. Get a drink and let’s see what kind of shape you’re in,” I tell them.

They all take off to the coolers, except Dustin. His brows pulled together, he takes the ball from my hands.

“You good, Coach?”

“Getting there,” I wink. “Feels better being back here though, I’ll tell ya that.”

He nods and chews his bottom lip. “I saw Mrs. Whitt today.”

“Did you?” I ask, trying not to let the fact that the mention of her threw me a little.

“She said she hoped you’d be here tonight.”

“Yeah, well, here I am.”

The ball goes between his hands, his nervous tell that something’s the matter.

“What’s wrong, Dustin?”

“I . . . um . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I got into some trouble last week, Coach.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, really. I mean, I didn’t do anything. I was accused of sending a few emails to a teacher that I didn’t send. I wouldn’t do that,” he says, shaking his head. “The principal wouldn’t even look into it, even when I told him that teacher has it in for me. Just suspended me for three days.”

“What?” I say, my jaw tensing. “Are you still suspended? When was this?”

I curse myself for not being there for him. Dustin wouldn’t do that; it’s not the kind of kid he is. And if he gets suspended, it will ruin his scholarship chances, which means his entire future will be gone. He’ll end up . . . like me.

“It was last week. But relax,” he says, smiling at the look of panic on my face. “Mrs. Whitt saw me in the parking lot. She was coming to the high school for an IT class or something and asked why I wasn’t in class. I told her I was leaving because of what happened, and she took my elbow and marched me back into the office.”

My chest swells at the thought that my wife did this for Dustin. This is my forever, the woman I love. The little pit bull shoved into this angelic body that fights for what she wants. She’s ready to throw the towel in on us. What’s that say about me?

My shoulders slump and he notices.

“Don’t worry,” he says, misreading my reaction. “Mrs. Whitt got them to look at the server and realize it wasn’t me. I’m still on the team, Coach.”

“Good. That’s good, buddy.”

“Yeah, so . . .” He takes a step back to give me some room. “I’ll just go get warmed back up. Okay?”

I nod encouragingly, but my head isn’t there. Neither is my heart. Both are back on County Road 211 in a little white house with black shutters.





ELIN


My bag hits the table with a smack.

I wince, shaking my hand to give it back some life. My tote is overflowing with papers to grade and art pieces to put stickers on, and I’m dead tired. That’s probably because I didn’t sleep last night and the ten cups of coffee I guzzled today are wearing off, leaving me with a late afternoon slump.

Damn Ty.

All day, my mind wandered like the wind. It flowed from the past, to memories of Ty, to the future and what it would be like without him. The latter rolls my stomach. It creates an inherent need to crouch in a corner and close my eyes and play dead. Because that’s what I feel when I think of life without him: dead.

Everything is just so muddled.

Every part of my life is touched by Ty, wrapped around him, incorporated in him in some way—all the way back to junior high. Every memory I have, he’s in it. It’s his face I see when I’m scared, it’s his voice I hear when I need comfort, it’s his touch I crave when I feel lonely.

“You realize you’re doing to Ty the very same thing you’re pissed at him for, right?”

Cord’s insinuation rang through my head all day, poking me when I least expected it. Is that what I’m doing? Yes, I’m withholding information, but it’s something he would’ve known if he hadn’t left. That’s different.