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He quirks a brow in question. “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right. You go to the cemetery and the back field by the shed, where I hear your father had to carry your passed-out ass from.”
Well, that explains how I got from there to here. If I were him, I wouldn’t have wasted the strength and just left my ass out there for the wolves.
Austin clears his throat. “Look, I’m not here to tell you what to do, but I told your mama I would try to talk some sense into you, so that’s what I’m here for.”
Clearly, Mama has had enough of my shit without telling me she’s had enough of my shit. I guess I can’t blame her. After my first visit to the cemetery, I came home and put myself to work. All of those feelings of guilt hit me like a freight train, and I couldn’t even go into town to order a new bed, so I’ve been sleeping on this piece of shit for a week.
I can’t believe Mama turned on me, especially after all the help I’ve done around here.
“Alright, almighty one, and what is it exactly that you suggest I do?”
“Well, I teach at the high school.”
“Okay,” I drawl out, unsure where exactly he’s going with this.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this or not, but Coach Benson—”
My breath halts at the mention of my high school baseball coach.Coach Benson what?I wait with bated breath for him to finish that statement.
Austin pauses and looks down at his feet for a moment as if he’s gathering his thoughts. After a quick clearing of his throat, he looks back up. “Coach Benson was diagnosed with stage three pancreatic cancer.”
I’m thankful to have been sitting down, otherwise, I would have fallen over as the world feels like it’s being ripped out from under me.
“No, I, umm—wasn’t aware.” In all the conversations I’ve had with my parents over the last few days, how the fuck did monumental news like that slip from their minds?
“He’s decided not to hold the fall baseball conditioning clinic with his condition, and I know how important it is to the players who signed up.”
“And what? You want me to run it?” I joke, but from the serious expression on his face, I don’t think I was that far from the truth.
“Yeah, actually. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
I laugh. “What the fuck do I know about coaching?”
“Umm, a hell of a lot more than anyone I know. What better person to work with the boys than someone who wasn’t only trained by Coach Benson and attended this clinic for four years but a professional player?”
“I’m not a—”
Once again, he cuts me off. His pinched expression is a clear sign that his patience is running thin with my excuses. “It doesn’t fucking matter if you’re an active player or not.” When did Austin become so outspoken? He was so quiet as a kid, but damn, things certainly have changed. “These kidsneedyou. Theyneedsomeone to look up to. They need someone to guide them. Just think about it, Coop.”
He quirks a brow, waiting for an answer. Stubbornness is clearly a strong trait in the Hayes genes.
I grumble. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”
He nods in acceptance. “Well, I better go. Mom might have forgiven me for skipping out on church, but she’ll have my ass if I’m not at her house for that post-church meal.” He rises to his feet and tucks the chair back to where it originally was. I stand and stretch side to side and follow him out of the room.
“So then, I take it you’re not living at home anymore?”
He nods. “I moved out a few years back. Have a little cottage over on Westerly. Who wants to be living at home with their parents in their twenties, anyway?” He chuckles, and I roll my eyes at the obvious dig.
“Real nice, fucking asshole,” I mutter. Ending up back here in my childhood bedroom was never part of the plan. But maybe it happened for a reason. A reason I’m still figuring out. Maybe it’s a chance for a fresh start for me to figure my shit out.
“Dang, little Hayes, you move out and teaching? You’re fucking all grown-up. Maybe I can swing by your place one day soon, and we can actually catch up instead of you being Ma’s errand boy and I can learn what else is new with you.”
Austin opens his mouth to say something but then shuts it. His features harden.Was it something I said?
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, sounds good.” The words might show an interest in that, however, there’s lingering doubt swirling in his eyes. “Good to have you home, man.” He slaps my shoulder. “I’ll see ya round.”
Before I can even say goodbye, he’s out the door.
