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“Sage,” he interrupted quietly, “I can tell you’re really passionate about this. But I think maybe this is a conversation for a different time. Maybe when you’re a bit more prepared, or I could talk to your parents about it.”
“Okay,” she said, totally dejected.
I was rusty. Hadn’t punched anyone in years. All I could do was pray that it was like riding a bike because I was about to get in a fight with an elementary school coach. I was about fifty percent sure my brother would bail me out if I got arrested, but ninety percent sure Harlow would.
I strode forward, filling the doorway.
Sage’s face melted with relief, and she edged over to stand in front of me.
The guy sat up in his chair, face instantly suspicious. “Can I help you?”
I jerked my chin toward Sage. “Here with her,” I bit out. “I’m not sure she was done talking yet.”
He stood, and holy shit, did we measure each other up in similar ways. I was taller by a few inches and had a slight edge in weight too. But he looked strong and had to be within a couple of years of my age.
“I kinda was done talking,” Sage whispered. “I was so nervous, I messed up my notes and couldn’t even read them.”
I gave her an encouraging smile. “You did great, kid. It’s okay to be nervous.”
She smiled.
“This your dad, Sage?” the coach asked.
“I don’t have a dad,” she said. The coach’s face bent in a grimace, clearly unsure of what to say. But Sage spoke again. “He’s my mom’s best friend.” Then she snuck a look at me. “And my friend too.”
Well, shit. If this kid made me cry in front of the asshole coach, I’d never forgive her.
The guy nodded, then sized me up again. He must have seen something on my face that knew we’d need a little privacy. Probably because I looked like I wanted to rip his ball sack off.
“Why don’t you go wait in your classroom, Miss Keaton?”
But instead of listening, she looked to me for direction. If that wasn’t the most terrifying sort of responsibility, I didn’t know what was. “You can stay with me. In here, in the hallway, or you can go to your class, whatever you want,” I told her.
The coach sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck.
Sage glanced back and forth between us, then gave me a tiny smile. “I’ll go to my classroom. Thanks, Ian.”
I handed her the backpack from my shoulder, and she scooted past. The coach took a step forward, only hesitating briefly before he held his hand out. “Scott Collins,” he said.
Did I grip his hand as tightly as humanly possible? I sure fucking did. He conceded the handshake with a slight grimace, and I fought the urge to smirk.
“Ian Wilder,” I replied.
Recognition lit his eyes. “Wilder Homes,” he said.
“That’s the one.”
“Sorry to hear about your dad. He was a great guy.”
“Thank you.”
Coach Scott Collins with the wimpy handshake gestured to a chair. “Have a seat.”
Yeah right. He’d be towering over me the way he was leaning against the desk.
“I’m good,” I told him. “And I’m not trying to overstep, but like she said, Sage and her mom are my friends. I want her to have a chance at something she’s good at.”
“The rules are the rules. I can’t just switch the school team to co-ed because she wants to play.”
