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“Haven’t you heard?” he says, a stupid grin on his face. “I’m retiring at the end of the season. Shorty’s taking over as Head Coach.”
“No shit?” I ask, pride surging through me as I glance at the little dipshit who’s currently trying to peel my wife off him.
“Mmhmm,” Coach confirms. “I’m too old to be running around after dickheads like you for much longer, and Shorty’s a great fit. The boys love him.”
Well, of course the boys love him. Shorty is just that kind of guy.
Knowing Coach Harris needs to wrap things up with his players, I say my goodbyes and make my way over to Shorty just as Jaxon appears in the doorway. “You fuckers hanging around here all night or are we going out to party?” he questions.
“Fuck yeah,” Shorty grins as Sophie looks at me with a beaming smile.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, taking my wife by the hand and leading her out the door behind Jaxon and Shorty, more than ready for the trip down memory lane for the second time tonight.
Stepping off the plane the following afternoon, Sophie and I head around to luggage claim and grab Sophie’s suitcase before making our way out to the parking lot.
“You know, as much as I love visiting the family, it’s good to be home,” I tell her with a gentle squeeze of her hand.
“I know,” she sighs. “I’ll miss them though, especially Zac. He’s so different now that he’s older. I feel like I need to get to know him all over again.”
“Really?” I tease. “I don’t think you’re missing much.”
Soph rolls her eyes as I see my truck coming into view, and I lead her toward it, but she tugs on my hand. “What are you doing?” I question.
“My car is over there,” she says with a flick of her head.
“So? Mine’s over here,” I tell her.
“So?” she repeats in disbelief as she comes to a standstill in the middle of the walkway with her hands on her slim hips, making the people behind us have to detour around. “I’m not leaving my car here.”
“Well, I’m not about to let you out of my sight, especially not at an airport,” I scoff as I reach out for her hand. “I’ll organize for it to be brought home.”
She gapes at me. “You can do that?” she questions with wide eyes as she happily takes my hand and allows me to lead her to my truck.
I grin wide, making Sophie roll her eyes before I’ve even said a word. “Of course, I can. I’m Tank fucking Meyers. Captain of the LA Storm. I’m a fucking celebrity, babe. Gotta reap the fucking benefits while I still can.”
We get to my truck, and I help her up into it before jumping into the driver’s seat. “How are you feeling? The plane didn’t mess with your ribs?” I question as we pull out of the parking lot.
“A little,” she admits with a small cringe, “but it’ll be fine. We’ll be home soon, and I can dig my pain meds out of my suitcase.”
“Okay,” I murmur, satisfied with her answer, though my foot twitches to hit the brake and search through her bag now.
“It’s probably time I set up my new phone and other devices,” she comments, knowing damn well she should have done it ages ago. That distance from the online world was probably good for her, though. Hell, I don’t wanna know just how fucked up it would have been had she been receiving the same condolence texts from random assholes from her past the same way I was. Like, how the fuck did these assholes even find out about it? It’s not like I was splashing my wife’s attack all over the news.
“Ya think?” I grunt with sarcasm heavy in my voice. “Do you know how annoying it was waiting at the airport knowing I couldn’t just call you?”
“I know,” she sighs. “I’m sorry. But on the bright side, I won’t be taking off on you like that again.”
“You better not be, or I’m going to have to chain your ass to the couch,” I tell her.
She grins at me with mischief in her eyes. “Not the bed?”
I glance across at her and wink. “It’ll be a long chain. After all, I like taking you all over the house.”
She lets out a laugh, and it’s music to my ears. A sound that I will never take for granted again, especially after not hearing it for so long. I’ve made myself a promise to make her laugh as much as I possibly can. Every fucking minute of every fucking day.
“Babe . . .” I start, waiting for her to look over at me.
“Yeah?” she questions in a small voice.
“Speaking of things you need to do when you get home . . .”
