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Slowly, I nod. Because I believe him. And my tentative heart heals, just a little bit.
“The last time I was with her was the week before I met you,” he says.
My chest tightens, thinking about us having been with him in such rapid succession.
“I’m sure it’s not nice to hear that. But once I met you, I didn’t even consider it. It felt wrong.”
He lays his palm over mine, and I still beneath it.
“Thank you for telling me all of that,” I say, unlinking my arm with his. “I’m sorry about Deanna. About your babies.” His shoulders tense, and then fall. He nods as if there’s nothing else to do.
“You quit your job?” I ask, remembering the article.
He stiffens. “I did.” He looks worried. “I have other things lined up. You don’t have to worry about whether or not I can support—”
“You’re the whistleblower, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t say anything.
I wait. He stays quiet, and I consider this.
“I suppose a whistleblower would have signed an NDA to keep quiet,” he finally says.
“You did that to protect your staff and colleagues? And your players?”
He doesn’t respond. But when he finally meets my gaze, I can see the longing in his eyes. How much he wants to tell me this. And maybe how much he wants to tell me other things too. But he’s keeping his word. It’s admirable.
I nod. “That was a brave thing to do.”
“Maybe,” he says, sighing. “Those NDAs usually mean the whistleblower can’t coach in college sports ever again.”
I’m quiet. Mostly because I’m trying to stifle a gasp and process this. He loves coaching. It’s his passion. And he sacrificed it to do the right thing.
I push myself up, and without asking, he reaches for me, supporting my back and helping me up. His touch, even just that little brush, sends an electric pulse through me and it takes everything in me not to lean into him. Once I’m steady on my feet, he steps backward, down a step, giving me space.
“I’m going to be patient,” he says as if apologizing for touching me. “You asked for space, and I’m going to respect that. But…” He sucks on his teeth and runs his fingers through his hair again. “Can I see you again? Soon?”
I take a deep breath. The wind blows more leaves down the street as the sun starts to dip behind the hills on the west side of the river. But it’s not just the weather that’s sent a chill through me. It’s the absence of him next to me. And that understanding is exactly why I say, “I need groceries.”
He nods, his breath comes quickly.
“I mean, I need to go to the grocery store.”
“What time?” he asks. “I’ll pick you up.”
“The bus comes at nine-eighteen,” I say.
His eyes widen with panic. But if we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do this my way. But then he gives me a firm, unshakable nod.
“I’ll be here at nine.”
I nod, and then slowly back toward the door to my new office space.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I say as he backs down the steps, not taking his eyes off me.
“See you tomorrow morning,” he says.
I let myself into my new space and climb the steps. I go straight to my desk, looking out my window at the sidewalk, where Derek is still backing away slowly. He looks up at my window, and I’m not sure if he can see me, but he smiles.
