If I Could - B. Celeste Page 0,59
know what’s going on between us, it might not turn out to be anything, but I like him. Way more than I should, pops. He makes me happy.”
More silence.
Sucking in a breath, I nod once. “That’s all I have to say. Maybe one day, you’d like to meet the person I wind up with.” I tell myself not to picture Reece in that roll, shaking my father’s hand or pecking my mother’s cheek like he does with Claire, but it’s hard not to. My throat bobs thinking of him not in my life, and that’s when I realize how fucking far gone I am for him already, and I won’t pretend that doesn’t scare me shitless.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I clear my throat and open the driver door. “Dad, I got to go. I’ll…talk to you later though.”
It takes him a short moment, but eventually he says, “Love you, son,” and a little piece of my doubt crumbles over the soft-spoken words from a man I’ve only known to have hard edges.
Before I can climb in my Jeep to leave, I see two kids in the distance throwing a football and playing one on one. It’s well past the time for late bus according to the clock on my phone, so I deposit it in my pocket and head closer to their game. When I see Tommy, the sub for Beckett, playing with a guy not on the team, I can’t help but watch how he dodges Tommy’s moves effortlessly, running faster than half the boys I’ve been coaching until he makes it to what I assume is their invisible end zone.
“Bradley,” I yell, grabbing the attention of Tommy as his friend jogs back over. My offensive linemen is red-faced and out of breath, so I imagine they’ve been at this for a while.
“Hey, Coach,” he greets, walking over with a sheepish look on his face.
“What’s going on? It’s late.”
His friend butts in, walking over to us with a hard look on his face. “It’s not even five-thirty.”
My brows go up. As someone who never liked being at school longer than I had to, I can confirm that’s late. “Well past school hours,” I tell him. “Mister…”
It’s Tommy who introduces us. “Coach, this is my friend Red Bowen. He’s been helping me get some extra practice in.”
Admittingly, Tommy has gotten better over the past few weeks. It’s how we scraped by our last win, but barely. I assess his friend, Red, whose name sounds familiar. It can’t be a coincidence that this kid shares the same name as Reece’s heckler. He stands tall, rigid, as if he’s on guard. I hold out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Red.”
He stares at my hand for a few seconds before shaking it, grip firm and cautious before he takes his arm back and crosses both of them over his chest. “You’ve been helping Tommy?’
I get a single head nod.
Tommy shifts on his feet. “I know we’re not allowed to share the playbook, but I’ve only asked if he could help me get better at reading the opponents moves.”
That catches my attention. To his friend, I inquire, “You play before?” He’s taller than Tommy, but not as tall as me. I’d peg him at six foot, six-one, with solid muscle that he’s definitely worked toward. If he doesn’t play football, he’s played something.
“At my old school,” he confirms, not offering me more than that. Reece is right, the kid is as much of steel trap as he is.
“You’re fast,” I note, tipping my head at what I just saw him do. “And you know how to block. What position did you play?”
“Fullback, sir.” I’m tempted to snort at his ‘sir’, something I haven’t been called before. I made sure the boys on the team called me coach.
I mimic his stance, crossing my arms, not threatened by the way he eyes me. “You think about trying out for Exeter’s team?”
Tommy perks up, beaming between me and his friend. Out of everyone, he’s probably the nicest. It’s not always the best thing because I can tell his team’s jeers get to him too quickly. “He’d be able to do that?”
“It’s mid-season, so it wouldn’t be customary unless there was a reason to add a new member.” The handbook doesn’t say we can’t, though. If this kid knows his plays and listens, we wouldn’t be forced to forfeit if he subbed or even started by switching the players. Honestly, our last loss had to