breath so deep that it felt more like a sob, and he gave me another tender nod, permission to continue. “And maybe it’s wrong,” I said. “Because of Mrs. Carr … Or because you’re too old—”
“Hey, now,” he said, cracking a small smile.
“Too old for me. Not too old,” I qualified. “Although what’s a couple of decades in the scheme of life? Not much … But the age difference aside, maybe I shouldn’t feel this way because you’re my best friend’s father. Because let’s face it—Lucy would freak if she heard this conversation.”
Coach murmured his agreement.
“But I have never been more sure of my feelings. More sure of anything. And I had to tell you …”
It was the bravest thing I had ever said to anyone, and possibly the dumbest, too, especially given what we’d both just been through, but I felt enormous relief getting it all out. A burden lifted.
“So that’s it,” I finished. “That’s all I wanted to say.”
Coach looked rattled but not unhappy.
“Coach? Say something.”
He shook his head, as if at a complete loss, but shifted toward me, closing the gap between us completely, then putting his hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you should start calling me Clive,” he whispered.
Then he pulled me toward him, wrapping both arms around me.
His breath in my ear made me shiver, and he held me closer.
“Okay. Clive,” I said, breathing him in.
“This is crazy,” he said.
“As crazy as you coming over and roughing up your only Heisman Trophy winner?” I murmured.
“Maybe not that crazy,” he said. “But still crazy.”
“I don’t care,” I said.
“Neither do I.”
“I want you to kiss me.”
“I want to kiss you,” he said. “I will kiss you. But not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because enough has happened tonight.”
I pulled back a few inches. If he wasn’t going to kiss me, I wanted to see his eyes. “You mean beating Texas or Ryan?”
He smiled, then cupped my face in his hands. “Both,” he whispered, a current flowing between us, more intense than any kiss I’d ever known. “But for now, just know that … your feelings aren’t one-sided.”
“They aren’t?” I said.
He shook his head.
“When did you know?” I said. “When did you feel it?”
“There you go. Miss Reporter.”
I smiled. “Tell me.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I felt something during that Trivial Pursuit game at the lake. Then that first time you asked me a question at a press conference. That one about Reggie’s fumble … You were so cute and nervous.”
“You hated that question.”
“I pretended to … And then the night we went running over at the track?”
I nodded, waiting.
“I had a hunch then, too. And the night you brought over Taco Bell.” He whistled and shook his head. “I was definitely attracted to you all those times. I felt something … But as far as knowing for sure?” he said. “Not until tonight.”
“When tonight?” I said, thinking that it made a difference. Was it when he came in to rescue me? Or was it only right now, in this quiet aftermath?
“After the game,” he said. “After the press conference. After all the commotion and noise, when I was finally alone, at home. I sat down in my chair, picked up my phone, and saw all the texts and missed calls. Dozens and dozens of ’em … But I realized that there was only one person I wanted to call. Only one person I wanted to see.”
I smiled, feeling shy and unsteady, wondering if this was actually happening. It was surreal—and as sweet as a hundred undefeated regular seasons.
Coach smiled back at me and said, “God, you’re beautiful, Shea.”
I remembered to breathe, then told myself yes, this was finally, really happening.
Thirty-five
By noon the next day, I was still in bed, and Ryan had already called me five times. His tone was erratic, sometimes even in the course of a single voice mail. First he was sad and sorry, then angry and accusatory, then calm and rational, then self-pitying, then so very sorry again. The only constant from message to message was the cold feeling that overcame me every time I heard his voice, even when he was telling me how much he cared for me. He sounded so convincing, so earnest, so sorry, but I had the chilling sense that he would say or do anything to get what he wanted.
From my hiding place under the covers, I deleted every message, every pleading text, every saccharine lie. It felt like a solid start, but after going to the bathroom and inspecting his purple