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The hectic dayhad gotten away from me. There was really no other way to describe it. I took calls, reviewed game footage, started on practice drill outlines, and spoke with Kevin’s academic counselor about his requirements to be eligible to play in the fall.
I also had to prep for an upcoming press conference.
My plan to head back to Outtatowner by midafternoon was shot to hell after the portly athletic director shouldered his way into my office and filled the chair across from me. By the time the afternoon hours melted into early evening, I had to call it. My last meeting of the day could be taken from my car as I drove back home.
When I pulled across the gravel driveway, the farmhouse was lit up. Soft music wafted out of the open windows. The front door was open, and I could see movement just inside.
Trying to leave the stress of work behind me, I checked my calendar app one last time. I looked at it, closed the app, and opened it again. Curiously, it was now color coded.
Huh. Hadn’t thought of that.
There were clear distinctions—virtual meetings, in-person meetings, press conferences, practices, and team meetings—all neatly arranged, time stamped, and simple to find. Noting there was nothing pressing for the next day or so, I let a tiny bit of stress melt away.
I climbed the stairs, ready to see what new disasters awaited me at home. I figured we could grab a pizza or something in town because there was no way in hell I had the mental energy to cook something after today. When I pushed through the door, my players looked as if they were getting ready to leave.
“Hey, Coach,” Michael called.
“Guys.” I dropped my keys by the table at the entrance. “What’s up?”
“We’re headed out. There’s a thing down by the beach.”
The boys filed out of the house, and I watched them bound down the porch stairs.
“See ya later, Lark!” Joey called out before he let the screen door slam behind him.
I looked at Lark and popped a thumb over my shoulder. “The beach?”
Lark stood in the kitchen by the stove, stirring something that made my stomach growl. She shrugged. “While we were at the library, I saw on the bulletin board that there’s a hangout at the beach where people pick trash and then have free pizza in the pavilion afterward. The librarian there said it’s a lot of kids the boys’ age. Michael needs service hoursandthey were getting stir-crazy so...” She shrugged. “Win-win.”
Well I’ll be damned.
“Hey, Dad!” Penny skipped down the hallway from her room.
I ran a hand down the twin braids at the back of her head. “You’re looking cute.”
She beamed up at me. “Lark can dodutchbraids!” Penny spun in a circle. “They’re not even all wonky.” She left off thelike yours always are, and I smiled in appreciation. “Can I watch a show?”
“Sure thing, Pickle.” I turned toward Lark, whose attention was back on the stove. “Busy day?”
Lark smiled, but I saw the fatigue in her eyes. “A good day. When you texted that you’d be a little late, I threw this together.” She smiled. “It’s edible.”
We stood silently assessing each other as the bouncy music from Penny’s show chirped in the background.
Subtle tension grew thick around us. I felt a pull toward Lark, like it would be the most natural thing in the world to draw her in close and hold her against my chest.
Eventually Lark cleared her throat. “Okay, well, I’m going to go. Same time tomorrow?”
I frowned. Part of me hoped she’d sit and eat whatever delicious-smelling dinner she’d made for us. It looked like spaghetti, and my stomach turned on itself again as I realized I hadn’t eaten much all day.
It felt easy. Comfortable. Coming home after a long day to Penny’s smiling face, a warm meal, and Lark in my home? It felttoo easy.
Instead of doing what I wanted to—asking her to stay and have dinner with us, I only nodded. “Same time works.”
A pinch twisted under my ribs when her eyes lowered and she moved toward the door.
I fucked that up.
