“A video went viral of Coach Masters having a heated argument with a couple of assistant coaches. Coach Smith was trying to stand up for us, but he got so angry he threw a folding chair across the room.”
“How did a clip of that even exist?”
“One of the team members recorded it, but no one is coming out to say who. If that wasn’t bad enough, more clips of him berating Owen started to trend as well. That, combined with his terrible record, got him fired. So now we're coachless, and trying to stop a losing streak so we don’t embarrass ourselves further. We’re 2-12 now, Honeycomb. Two and twelve!”
“I’m sorry.”
“I made peace with the fact that we’re not getting into the playoffs a long time ago, but I at least want to win our final home game of the fucking season.”
“You will. You’ve worked hard to be where you are, and I know you’ll push through and make this a reality.”
“Thanks,” he says quietly. “Oh, hey, you know what would help?”
“Don't.”
He laughs. “I didn't even—”
“You were about to say something about me being there, weren't you?”
“No. I was going to say that a decent half-time adjustment would help, but now that you mention it...”
I look at my screen and the A+ glaring back at me, then at the little blue box again.
I already know what I’m going to do. The certainty sits inside me the same way it did on the cliff, before my body had even reacted to it. At this point, it’s less of a decision and more of an inevitability I haven’t spoken into existence yet.
“I'll be watching you, Zach,” I say.
There’s a beat of silence before he sighs dramatically into the phone. “Honeycomb, don’t mess with a broken man like that.”
The teasing tone doesn’t hide the truth underneath it, because this man has been waiting so long for me to come back to him, and I can’t keep hurting him anymore.
“I don't intend to. Goodnight, Zach.”
“Goodnight, Honeycomb.”
I hang up the phone and put it on the nightstand.
Tomorrow changes everything.
Tonight, I just sit here in the room I made mine, surrounded by the life I built with my own two hands, and let myself breathe for a second.
Because the uncertainty that’s followed me around for months is finally gone.
I know where I want to be now.
“Uncle Zach, your locker is small.”
“It's regulation size, Ellie-Bear,” I say as she steps into said locker, not caring that she's squishing my bag and everything in it.
“But where do your legs go?”
“Ella, get out of Uncle Zach's locker.” Tiff reaches over and pulls her out before looking at me. “I'm sorry, Z. I hope there was nothing important in there.”
I wave her off. “Nothing more important than my favorite niece.”
She laughs softly, smoothing Ella’s hair back as she shiftsher weight on her hip. The moment she winces, Jamie steps in without hesitation, taking Ella from her arms and seating her next to Reese.
“You’ve got to be careful, babe,” Jamie says, rubbing Tiff’s back. “The pelvic floor pain isn’t going to get better when you keep lifting Ella.”
