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“This,” he said softly. “This right here is why I do it. The look on your face. I love pushing people past what they think they can handle, past what they think they’re capable of. As your boyfriend, I think you’re getting good at it, and I’m proud of you. But as your coach, I can’t wait to see where you go with it next.”
“You really love it, don’t you? Being a coach.”
“Yeah. I do. It’s everything to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I ventured out into something different with the stores. Coaching part-time at a private school doesn’t pay much, but coaching has always been my dream.”
“Not to play professionally?”
“No. I mean, I guess it could have been, but it was training that appealed to me more. I like the tactics of it. And I got lucky with a lot of my coaches. I had one in high school, Coach Bryant. He was a mentor. I had so much respect for him and for the way he spoke to people. He would lose his shit, like any other man passionate about the game, but he always had this dignity about him. An air about him that seemed unfit for modern society. You didn’t fuck with him, no one really did. He was damn good at his job. I kind of aspired to be just like him.”
“What makes you think you aren’t?”
Cameron shook his head. “I could never be him.”
“How do you know?”
“Life told me so.” His face darkened briefly and then it was gone. I should have pressed him for more at that moment. I could have told him he exuded all of those qualities in droves. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him so, but instead, I showed him by letting him grab my gloved hand and lead me through the trees.
“Shit!” Cameron exclaimed from the porch just as I emerged from the bedroom, freshly showered. I slid open the glass door and saw the grill was covered in flames.
“Oh shit!” I said as he tried to slap them out with his iron spatula. “What do you need?”
“A do-over,” he said with a laugh as he shut the lid to suffocate the fire then turned the gas off. When he opened it back up, the chicken was black. He stabbed the burned meat with a large fork and held it toward me. “Dinner is ready,” he announced.
I wrinkled my nose. “I think I’ll pass. I saw some things in the cabinet. I’ve got dinner covered.”
“You deem this unfit for consumption, woman?!”
I kissed his cheek. “You don’t have to do all the cooking. I can earn my keep. Give me half an hour.”
“Okay, but you’re missing out.”
My mother was an amazing cook. She could take anything in the cabinets and turn it into a king’s feast in a matter of minutes. My skills were subpar at best. I never really took the time to watch and learn from her. But I was sure I could muster up something more edible than charred chicken. After five minutes of studying the cabinets, I decided to send out an SOS and call my mom while Cameron sat in the living room watching soccer.
“Mom, I need your help,” I said in a whisper once she answered.
“What’s wrong, honey? You didn’t answer last night when I called.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m with someone.”
“Oh?” she asked.
“Long story short, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now. He’s amazing, and I’ll tell you all about him soon, but I need some cooking advice.”
“Okay, step back and walk away.”
“Not funny,” I said with a hand on my hip she couldn’t see.
“I think it is,” she said with a light laugh. “Take your hand off your hip, brat. I’ll help you.”
“We aren’t in the position to get to the store, and this place is stocked with everything, but I can’t think of a single thing to make.”
“Okay, give me the run down.”
I listed off everything in the cabinets, fridge, and freezer.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because I don’t want him to think I can’t cook.”
