Trey pipes up from the back. I should’ve known. “She’s pretty, ain’t she, Coach? That’s what’s got you all worked up?”
A ripple of laughter rolls through the locker room.
“That ain’t the point.”
“C’mon, Coach, you crushin’ on the art teacher?”
“Y’all need to worry less about my personal life and more about pass coverage,” I mutter, but I can’t help the way my jaw clenches.
“Aww, Coach got acruuush,” Cam says, making the team start up again.
And okay. That’s enough.
“You boys got time to joke, you got time for extra drills,” I threaten, a collective groan following.
I let it linger a second, then add, “If I hear anything else about disrespecting Ms. Patel, people are gonna start gettin’ benched, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Coach,” They respond, properly scolded.
I scan the room and notice Jason isn’t even watching me. He’s got his head turned toward the back of the room. “I’m over here, Barnett.”
He snaps back to attention, lookingcaught.
“Yes, sir, sorry,” He mumbles.
“Alright then.” I clap my hands. “You’re dismissed. Hit the showers. And don’t embarrass me in front of the pretty teacher again,” I offer, throwing them a bone after chewing them out.
They perk up, shouting over each other. “I knew it, Coach!”
“Oooh, Coach got agirlfriend!”
I head to my office and grab my stuff, expecting to see Alex waiting when I come back out.
He’s not.
Must’ve found something better to do.
The living room is dim except for the flicker of the TV and the light from the kitchen. I’m parked on the couch, half-watching the end of the game, a cold beer sweating on the coffee table.
It’s late, well past nine, and Alex still isn’t home.
That’s not so late, but it’s not Alex. A good night for him is playing video games in his bedroom or messing with his guitar.
Maybe I should be glad he’s out having fun.
I check my phone for the fifth time.
Nothing.
The screen lights up right as I set it down, and I quickly pick it up, expecting to see Alex’s name pop up on the screen, but instead, it’s Liz.
I try not to be disappointed.
“Hey, sis,” I answer, hoping the nerves aren’t audible. “How’s my favorite niece doing?”
“I’m telling Sammy and Margot you said that.”
“Hey, now. They’re all my favorite nieces.”
