I sink into the chair, letting my head drop to my hands, my mind warring with itself. Doubts and self-sabotage are not new to me, but serving up my children’s feelings as collateral damage is a first. A brand new low. Hearing Abby’s voice break is the reminder I’ve already stolen precious time from her and Tyler with my lollygagging, doubts, and indecision. I’ve snatched Jay’s role model from his life, leaving both of my children as unhappy as I am.
The adult thing to do would be to talk to him, explain my feelings. But sometimes I’m not even sure how to describe my clusterfuck of emotions. When I get like this, I can picture, clear as day, the little red guy fromInside Out, complete with a flaming head. I am him right now, paired with a dash of the purple fear guy and the cute little green girl full of disgust. Fear, distrust, anger, self-loathing, they’re all threads of thesame rope I’ve clung to for entirely too long, and I’m so very tired.
At work I use art as a mental health tool with my students, yet here I am unable to regulate my own emotions. So tonight I take a page from my own book and do the thing I coach my students to do. I march to my art room to try and quiet the chaos in my mind.
Unboxing the beautiful supplies from Tyler for the first time, I paint brushstroke after brushstroke until my lids feel heavy. I’m not even sure what I’m painting, letting my hands lead the way with muscle memory. When the piece is complete, I step back, one hand going to my mouth on a quiet sob.
I’ve painted a family portrait in watercolor. But not any family. On my canvas, I’ve painted Abby, Jay, and myself, but right there along with us is Tyler, one hand on Abby’s shoulder and an arm slung around my waist.
Utterly defeated, I drag myself to my bed and collapse into it, the adrenaline of the day leaving my body, replaced by the weight of melancholy. Finally, I allow the dam to break and my tears fall freely. All week, I’ve held them in. Blinked them back. But not tonight. Tonight I cry until my pillow is soaked, my throat burns, and my body feels spent and empty.
I wasn’t prepared for how hard it would be to stay away from Tyler. My heart yearns to be with him again. Icravehis nearness. And I miss him desperately.
Today is the big day. The team is excited, and frankly, I’m nervous. These guys have worked hard at practice, and all Austin and I want is for them to walk away with a win. I’m pacing the sidelines, though not just for the game, when Austin elbows me in the ribs.
“You know they’re only ten, right?”
I pause and shoot him a look. He knows damn well why I’m pacing. The squeak of sneakers across the court is what I should be focusing on, instead I’ve kept my eyes and ears peeled for Jo. I’ve tried to focus during warm-ups, but all I can think about is her.
Jo. I’ll see her today, and I have no clue where we stand.
I’ve spent all week wondering how to give her space when all I want to do is hold her together. Should I have been direct with Jo about my plans next week? Probably. Yes. But I had no idea how she’d react. I knew if she tried to talk me out of it and I refused, that would only lead to a fight. But here we are anyway, fighting.
The second she walks into the gym, box of popcorn in hand, I feel her presence and my pulse kicks up. Even cold and distant she’s still the most beautiful person in the room. She’s wearingan oversized rust colored sweater with little western patterned boots that come mid-calf. But when I see her hair, my face snaps into a considerate frown.
Today her hair lies straight under a knit beanie—and seeing that punches the air from my lungs. She’s worn curls every day since I said I liked them. Every single day. There’s no way that wasn’t intentional, and that small act of defiance cuts me to the bone. More than every avoidance tactic she’s employed this week.
She climbs the bleachers, stopping to speak to a few moms along the way, and sits next to Penny and Abby. I study them, how off Jo is. Penny tries to engage her in conversation, but Jo mostly nods, her face impassive. I wish I could see into her thoughts, figure out how to fix this.
A voice chirps up beside me, yanking me from my thoughts.
“Hey there, Coach Kent.”
I turn to find an attractive woman with shiny lip gloss and perfume that smells expensive, and all wrong.
“Hey,” I reply, polite but clipped.
She sidles closer, toying with the zipper on her jacket, the sound grating, like nails on a chalkboard. That too strong perfume has me holding my breath.
“You sure are good with kids. Patient but stern when you need to be.”
Austin walks by with a smirk, clearly finding enjoyment in my discomfort.
“I know there’s not much to do in Singing River. If you ever get bored, maybe we could get together.”
I take a deliberate step back, enough to put space between us. “Thank you, but I’m not available.” I keep my tone neutral but firm.
The woman is still talking when I catch the flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. Lifting my eyes, I see that Jo is shooting daggers at us from her spot on the bleachers, slicing through me with precision. Then her expression slowly rollsfrom daggers to pain, and I hold her gaze for so long that the flirty mom looks over her shoulder to see who I’m staring at. Without a word she backs away and disappears.
Jo is the first to break eye contact.
So she does still care. Not that I doubted it. Not really. But her behavior this week has been unsettling and hurtful, to say the least.
Austin steps over and claps me on the shoulder. “Saw that.”
I jerk my chin in a nod.
“You gonna talk to her after the game?
