Page 49 of The Penalty

“Hey, Ky. Hey, McKenzie.”

“Coach” is all McKenzie gives me in return. I wish she’d call me Tyler again. I never thought I’d miss hearing someone say my name, but here we are.

Kylie tells me about her day while I start to make enchiladas. I love hearing about her day and how her classes are going. From what I can tell, she’s having a good first semester, which is exactly what I hoped for. I want her to stick around because she wants to, not just because she needs a break from her mom or her life back in Georgia.

“And how was your day, McKenzie?” I ask, hoping she’ll give me something even though I know I don’t deserve it.

“Pretty good.” Her voice sounds light and airy, almost fake, and I know it’s for Kylie’s sake.

“McKenzie, you should show Dad the pictures for your photojournalism class. He’ll love them,” Kylie suggests.

McKenzie finally looks over at the kitchen, where I’m rolling tortillas, and Kylie is eating chips straight from the bag.

“I’m sure he has better things to do,” McKenzie says.

“No, I’d love to see them.”

McKenzie finally makes eye contact with me, and it sends a shiver down my spine. It’s as if she’s trying to decipher if I actually want to see her pictures or if I’m just trying to appease Kylie. Little did she know, I’d proofread a fifty-page history paper right now if it got me a little closer to her. And I’ve seen her taking pictures on the field, so I’m sure whatever pictures she’s taken are fantastic.

“Let me get these in the oven, and then I’ll look at them,” I tell her.

McKenzie stands and brings her laptop to the kitchen. Kylie hands her a few chips while I finish up. When the food is in the oven, I give my full attention to McKenzie. I lean in to look at her laptop. I’m too close to her—I know it—yet I still don’t back away. Her lavender scent fills my senses, and I’m reminded of the time I stroked her hair while she lay on my lap when we fell asleep on the couch. It was completely inappropriate, but I loved every sinful second of it.

“These are ones I’ve been taking of the team since the semester started.”

She scrolls through, and I see tons of pictures of my players on the field and off. She’s got them practicing, working out, at games, and just hanging out with each other. The pictures are all fantastic, too. The guys are going to love these when they see them.

Then I scroll and get to the pictures of the coaches, and I’m met with my own face. She has shots of me laughing at something one of the guys said. There’s a shot of me from a game day yelling on the field. There’s another of me celebrating a win with my team.

My picture is always being taken during the season. I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean I ever look at them. I actively avoid all pictures and articles about me if I can help it. But these. . . these are really fucking good.

I come to a picture where I’m looking directly at her, and I’m smiling. A true smile. I remember when she took this picture. She was kneeling on the sidelines, and I heard her yell, “Coach!” Just hearing her voice had made me smile. I turned and found her eyes right before she snapped the picture.

I swallow hard.

“I’m trying to show all the different emotions that pop up in sports even when people don’t realize it,” she says quietly.

“These are fantastic, Kenz,” I say just loud enough for her to hear. “I hope you share these with the team.”

She looks at me, our faces just inches away. The urge to kiss her is overwhelming. I could do it. Just lean in a few inches, and she’d be mine.

But the crunch of a tortilla chip brings me back to reality, and I quickly take a step back. Kylie comes up behind me and points to the screen. “That’s such a good picture of you, Dad. You never smile like that.”

“I think this was right after a touchdown,” McKenzie lies. “It put the team in the lead.”

“Ah, yep. That’ll do it,” Kylie says and crunches on another chip.

“These are good, McKenzie,” I say, clearing my throat and searching for my water. “If you decide not to do sports journalism, you should consider photography.”

McKenzie closes her computer, and the corner of her mouth tips up like she’s trying not to smile. I only notice because I can’t keep my eyes off her mouth.

“Thanks, Coach.”

Hearing her call me Coach shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but it’s a swift slap in the face to get me to stop acting like a love-sick puppy. I’m the one who said we needed distance and space, and now I’m staring at her lips like I can’t control myself.

When the oven timer finally beeps, I grab the enchiladas and put them on the table with the rice, queso, and remaining chips that Kylie hasn’t already eaten, and for the first time in a while, the three of us sit down together at the table.

“Kylie, you know your grandma used to make these enchiladas for me like once a week when I was a kid?”