Page 92 of Shattered Dreams

His voice cracks when the last bit comes out, and it makes me sick to my stomach.

“It’s not like that,” I say gently.

He moves even closer, pressing his chest against mine. He’s so close I smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Fuck. You.”

We stand there for a tense moment, holding each other’s gaze. I see the anger there. But most of all, I see the hurt. The pain. I expect a hit to come. I’d deserve it, I think.

Maybe I’m making a mistake. Maybe I shouldn’t do this. Maybe it’s all wrong and I should suck it up and keep coaching at the school for this. For him.

I love Paul. I love being near my parents. I love that Rylee has all these people around here.

Am I making a mistake?

“Paul, I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says as he steps back. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve made up your mind. You made your decision. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I always am.”

He slams the bottle down so hard on the end table that it echoes through the house. I don’t know how it didn’t shatter. He leaves through the front door, slamming that just as hard. I pull it open and hurry down the steps after him.

“Paul, wait! Wait!”

He moves faster, going right for his car. He gets the door open, but I slam it shut.

“I don’t give a fuck how mad you are, there is no way in hell you are getting behind a fucking steering wheel. Think of your fucking kid.”

He shoves me so hard that I stumble a few steps back and almost fall. When I’m stable on my feet again, I can’t see him. I look all around and have no idea where he went. I run to the end of the driveway, and he’s already down the road. I don’t know what to do, but going after him feels like the wrong thing. He’s angry, and seeing me is only going to make him angrier. We don’t need to fight this out on the street, in public, and have someone call the cops. He’d get arrested. There’s no doubt. Though, he may end up that way anyway…

I need to give him space.

He wanted a fight tonight, that much is clear. He said what he had to say. He got it out.

Now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Why did I think coming home and giving everyone this news was going to be fine? Why did I think it was going to be okay?

I get into my car and drive to see the only person who can fix everything.

My mother pours tea into the teacup. The rest of the house is quiet. Rylee and my father are already asleep, and I’m doing my best to stay calm and not be so loud that I wake either of them up.

Rylee hasn’t thrown up once since getting here, so that’s a good sign. Maybe it was just something bad she ate and not a full on stomach bug. Sleep is what she needs to feel better.

“Tell me what happened,” my mother says as she sits across from me and reaches for the sugar. One spoonful. That’s all it ever is and all it’s ever been.

My mother wasn’t aware of my interview, so on top of telling her all about the fight with Paul, I had to admit it to her too. I can see in her eyes she’s trying not to be upset about the whole thing—or offended. I spill it all, talking it all out like I always do. She has always been the one to help me with my problems… with everything.

“Well, honey, it’s normal to want to do what you love. That was your career, and you didn’t leave because you wanted to. Life happened, and you did what was best for your family. But if it’s not what’s best anymore…”

“That’s the thing,” I say. “I don’t know what the best thing is. I don’t know the answers. There are pros and cons to both sides, and I don’t know how to tell if I’m being selfish right now.”

“Understandable,” she says, lifting her cup and blowing on the hot liquid before taking a sip. I add two sugars to mine and a splash of milk. “Being a parent is never easy, because I know that if you didn’t have Rylee, you would still be coaching, even if you’d lost Victoria.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

“You came back here because you needed help with her, but also to get her support because she needed to be around family to help her heal. Now that things are good, it seems easy to make a change. But honey, sometimes we mistake getting better for being better. There’s a reason they tell you not to stop taking medicine even after you feel better. Sometimes feeling good is only proof that what you’re doing is working, but that doesn’t mean you should stop doing it.”

“So you think being here is what’s helped her? What’s helped both of us?”

She nods. “Yes. And I’m not saying you couldn’t be happy somewhere else. That’s not what I’m saying at all. If you need to do this; you do this. It’s your life. Your choice. But you have other options. Did you try to look at the colleges around here?”