Page 53 of The Coach

“Hm, strangers meeting in the night,” Mom says, tapping her finger on the coffee table. “This is good. What else?”

“Uh, not much else,” she says, her cheeks turning a cute shade of pink.

Mom points a finger at Mick. “Ah, I know that look. You did much more than bond over hockey.”

“Deb, seriously,” Dad grumbles, standing to take his plate to the kitchen. I’m torn between getting away from this conversation and staying to save my girlfriend from my prying mother.

“No, you’re right. We did.” Mick shyly sets her plate on the coffee table and takes a breath, then she looks over to me and some emotion I can’t name has my eyes locking with hers. “Tanner was charming,” she smiles, reaching over and lacing our fingers together. “He made me laugh when I was having a hard time. I don’t even think he knew I was there to cry over a failed paper.”

I frown because I didn’t know that. I squeeze her small hand in mine.

“Somehow,” she starts, and I watch as my mom sits, her entire focus on Mick’s words, and her posture softening. “Tanner was able to get my mind off of that with just a few words, just a few stories. I have never laughed like that in my life. Something told me he was different, that he was special. I knew that walking away from him that night was going to be impossible.” She clears her throat, obviously realizing that she’s bared a bit of her soul in front of everyone. I notice my dad standing at the edge of the room, listening for himself. “Anyway, we reconnected a few days later, and a piece of me just kind of… clicked, I guess.”

I pull her hand into my lap, and when she looks at me, I can’t help but lean forward and press my lips to her own, letting myself enjoy the moment.

“Well.” We pull away at Mom’s voice, and I glance to find her looking at my dad. He nods his head. “This is a great day.”

“Very good day,” he agrees before clearing his throat, red tingeing his cheeks. “Anyway, Mick, you want to hear about the time when Tanner’s pants fell down in the final seconds of a playoff game?”

“Dad, no,” I groan, and Mick laughs beside me.

“Do I ever.”

After more embarrassing stories than I know what to do with, my folks bid us goodnight. My mother makes an inappropriate comment about handcuffs before I can get her all the way out the door.

When I turn around, Mick is lounging on the couch, a content smile on her face. I fucking love how comfortable she feels here, how well she fits into my life.

I wish I could be a little more absorbed in hers. Right now, no one in her life knows I exist to her, and it was irritating.

“Your parents are great,” she says, lifting her feet out of the way and making room for me to sit.

I collapse on the couch with a huffed laugh and shake my head. “They are, for parents who embarrass the shit out of me on the regular.”

“Does it bother you?” she asks, tucking her feet under my thigh. I smile at the move.

“No,” I reply honestly. “I’m lucky to have parents like them. They make it easy to tell them shit. I don’t feel like I have to hide.”

I turn to her and realize what my words may have implied. “Do you feel like I’m doing that? Like I’m hiding you?”

Sighing, I grab her calf and give it a rub. “No, it’s a unique situation. If you weren’t my player’s sister, it may have been easier to tell them.” I give her a serious look. “What we’re doing isn’t wrong, you know.”

“I know, I just…” Her mouth quirks to the side, her wheels turning. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I don’t either, which is why we’re waiting.” I squeeze her calf again. “We’ll be through the season before Lincoln finds out, and you’ll be through with school, then we can tell your family. It’s a good plan.”

For a moment, we’re both quiet. The fireplace gives off a gentle glow, casting the room in orange light and peace settles over me.

A few more months, and we’ll be free.

A few more months, and Mick will be all mine for the world to see.

twenty-two

MICK

This week was officially insane. Between the return to school and the work at the clinic I was doing, it was rigorous and exhausting.

I woke up and hit my eight a.m. class on Monday, then I headed to the clinic for three hours and found food on my way back to campus before my two p.m. class. After that class, I assisted another therapist in the field going to certain locations to help clients. By the time that was done, it was after seven, and I had to find food and start studying, knowing after years of going to college, our professors were about to drop the hammer on us.

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