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Three
Emery
“What do you mean you can’t make it?” If I could reach through the phone and strangle Henry, it’d have happened a year ago. I was in the parking lot beside the track. Parents and kids were exiting vehicles around me. The little boys were already in their gear like Landon had been. I’d watched him run to the track, promising I’d be in the stands before the game started. Then I called Henry.
Because the first thing Landon had noticed when we pulled up for his first game was that his dad’s Suburban wasn’t in the parking lot.
“I’m on call, Emery. You know how that is.”
“You mean like I know that in order to take vacation to St. Martin you had to trade the only days on which your son asked you to give a damn?” I’d emailed the schedule when I signed Landon up two months ago. The trip to St. Martin was sudden. Henry wouldn’t admit it, though. “It’s his first game.”
“You’re not being fair.”
“If you cared about fairness—” I bit my lip. Arguing with Henry and throwing his behavior back at him wouldn’t make him more engaged in his kids’ lives. “Can you at least call and apologize to him after the game?”
“If I’m not in surgery.”
His conciliatory tone meant that whether he was in surgery or not, he wasn’t answering his damn phone. Because he didn’t like being expected to do things, especially by me.
“Fine.” I hung up without a goodbye. It was hard to be civil with so much anger coursing through my mind and body. It’d be easier if I could understand how a guy who wanted a big family was suddenly willing to sever all ties with that family. But then, he’d never had any of the responsibility. I’d done all the heavy lifting.
Henry had better not ruin football for Landon.
Landon talked nonstop about football and his coaches—Coach Barron and Coach B. Cousins, he’d said. Coach Barron was the head coach, and Coach B was the assistant. I hadn’t met them. Landon was done with practice and had walked home before my shift was over.
Avery was in the bleachers with the two other girls, waiting for me. Mom had to cover at the seed co-op for a few hours, and I hadn’t wanted them around when I called their father.
I pushed my phone into my hoodie. The morning was cool, but with the sun arching overhead, the temperature was going to climb. It’d be a beautiful early September day. I had a T-shirt on beneath my hoodie, and my black yoga pants had become a second uniform outside of scrubs.
“Number eight,” I muttered to myself as I pivoted to look at the bleachers. I’d look for Landon after I sat.
Avery had taken Afton and Riley to the far edge of the bleachers. Smart girl. Learning too fast as she’d taken over more minor babysitting duties. The spot would cage in Riley, but we weren’t too far away from the bathrooms. I could watch Afton run to the potty, or Avery or I could take her.
“Landon’s over there.” Avery pointed to the gaggle of kids. The group all wore blue jerseys and black football pants and had their helmets on. They surrounded the coaches, who were both squatting, their backs to the crowd. I’d have to find Landon when I could see his number.
When I’d told one of my new coworkers at the clinic that Landon was in football, she brightened. “Oh, Stetson coaches that. He’ll take care of your boy. Don’t worry.”
Lyric’s words had comforted me more than she could know. I didn’t need another man in Landon’s life letting him down.
I dug out snacks for Riley. She crawled onto my lap and daintily ate her Goldfish crackers one by one.
“It’s starting,” Afton said, her voice filled with excitement. I found myself smiling despite the constant stream ofshit I had to do todayrunning through my head.
But unpacking and sorting and hauling trash to the dump could all wait. We were doing something fun. Together. We hadn’t done much of that since Riley had been born.
The boys lined up. I glanced at the coaches. Both big men, one a little taller and broader with inky black hair. He was the one facing the stands as he talked to the boys. A navy-blue Coal Haven Drillers ball cap was tucked low on his head. I couldn’t hear his exact words, but he was direct without yelling. He interspersed his directions with encouragement that contrasted his hard appearance.
Lyric was correct. He seemed like a good coach. She was not correct in joking that I might want Stetson to do more than coach me. She’d labeled him the county’s most eligible bachelor. I wasn’t sure why she wasn’t dating him, but I wasn’t interested.
My eye kept getting drawn to the other coach. He kneeled in the line of kids, his back to the stands. He also wore a cap, but his hair seemed a few shades lighter than Coach Barron’s. He wore a blue T-shirt with Coach written on the back. He was hunched like he was curled around a clipboard or something, but the pose plastered his shirt to the muscles of his back.
I ripped my gaze off him. I didn’t need to be noticing a man right now. That was what the other night had been for. And look how it haunted my dreams. Some nights I woke up after dreaming I had given in and tucked myself against Holden’s side as if the message about vomiting didn’t happen.
But when I woke, I reminded myself that a hot cowboy wasn’t going to be interested in a woman with relationship baggage and four kids.
The game started. Riley squirmed on my lap. Afton had to run to the bathroom before the second down.
I juggled snacks and drinks, trying to keep the kids from irritating the parents around us. When the stands erupted in cheers, Riley hugged me tightly, burying her face in my chest.
