Page 35 of The Coach

Danny groaned, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Please don’t.”

The conversation shifted after that, the initial shock giving way to acceptance. With the weight lifted off his shoulders, Danny left for his house, while Matt and I kept teasing our dad with every sugar-daddy joke wecould think of. By the time breakfast was over, it felt almost normal—like Danny had always been part of the family, just in a slightly different role.

Later, as I sat by the tree and watched the lights twinkle against the ornaments, I thought about the mysterious ways love works. The fifteen-year age gap between me and Blake didn’t seem so huge anymore. When I thought about the way he looked at me, the way he held me, I was sure what I felt was real. Blake was the one for me. I’d spent so long pushing down my feelings, telling myself that it was just a crush, something that would pass. It may have started like that, me lusting over him, but it had become so much more. It was something deeper, something that had been blooming, quietly, in the spaces between us. Something I couldn’t deny even if I wanted to. And now, at last, the distance had given me the courage to admit it: I loved him. I was madly, stupidly in love with him.

I had to tell him. But I didn’t want to do it over the phone. I wanted to look him in the eye the first time I said those words. And I couldn’t wait to see him again and do it.

If Dad could take a chance on love, then so could I.

22. Blake

The streets of Boston were wrapped in a chill that bit through my coat as I stepped out of the car. Snowflakes swirled from a flat gray sky, sticking to the wool of my scarf and the top of my beanie. It felt strange to be back here, on the street where I grew up, the Christmas lights strung across the eaves of the houses like glowing constellations. The world moved slower here, or so it always seemed.

My mother opened the door before I could knock, her face lighting up with a smile that softened the hard edges of the day. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said, pulling me into a hug that smelled of cinnamon and the lavender lotion she always wore.

“Hi, Mom.” I hugged her back, the warmth of her arms almost enough to take the cold away.

“Come in, come in,” she chirped as I stepped into the golden comfort of the house. “Everyone’s here already.”

Everybody meant my sister Ellie, her husband Tim, their two little rascals, Noah and Mia, and, of course, my dad. I went through the mandatory hugs with each of them, before trying to sneak the presents I brought for the kids under the tree.

“You’re looking good, Blakie,” Ellie said, studying me head to toe. “Doesn’t he look good, dad?”

“Yes,” Dad confirmed in his typical laconic manner. “Williams must be agreeing with you.”

“It does,” I replied, lowering myself on the sofa. “The team’s solid this year. They’re a good group of guys.”

He nodded, but there was a gleam in his eye that made my stomach tighten. It was the same look he gave me when I was fifteen and slacking off in history class, or twenty-two and taking too long to find a ‘real job.’ “That’s good. But, you know, work isn’t everything. You’re almost thirty-seven, son. It’s time to start thinking about the future.”

My jaw clenched, but I forced a smile, sipping my soda with deliberate care. “I’m focused on the team right now. They keep me busy.”

My mother sighed and shot my father a look that could’ve frozen a lesser man. “Leave him alone, Frank. He’ll meet someone when the time is right. Now, everyone, dinner is ready!”

“It’s not about timing,” my father replied, undeterred. “It’s about priorities. Life isn’t just about work.”

A pulse of irritation flared in my gut, but I didn’t argue as we moved from the living room to the big table stacked with food. What could I say? That I had met someone, but he wasn’t the person my father envisioned? That I spent most nights fighting the urge to tell Tyler everything I couldn’t say out loud? No, there would be no point in spoiling a nice family dinner. I wasn’t ready to come clean yet, and my dad sure as hell wasn’t ready to hear it.

* * *

The dining room was chaos in the best way, the kind of noise only a close-knit family could create. Ellie’s kids were a constant flurry of activity—Noah banging his spoon on the table like a miniature drummer while Mia hummed a Christmas carol, half-eaten green beans dangling from her fork. My mother hovered nearby, gently scolding them but clearly charmed, while Dad poured the wine for everyone but me, his hand shaking slightly from the weight of the bottle.

Dinner was a predictable spread—roast beef, potatoes, Brussels sprouts charred just enough to give them an edge of bitterness. My parents liked their traditions; they clung to them like lifelines. My father carved the meat at the head of the table, his glasses sliding downhis nose as he studied the roast with surgeon-like precision.

Ellie sat across from me, Tim to her right, grinning as she piled mashed potatoes onto Mia’s plate. “No, you can’t just have cookies for dinner,” she said firmly. “Eat something green, or Santa’s not bringing you anything.”

Mia pouted but stabbed a green bean. “Do you think Santa likes cookies too?”

“Of course,” Ellie said, winking at me. “Santa loves cookies. And grown-ups love kids who eat their vegetables.”

“I don’t know,” Tim added, smirking. “Santa’s looking a lot healthier this year. Might be on a diet.”

“Ha, ha,” I deadpanned, catching the look he shot at my plate, which was a little sparse.

“Blake always was the pickiest eater,” Ellie said, laughing. “Do you remember that time Mom made that weird meatloaf with raisins?”

I groaned. “Why do you bring this up every year?”

“Because it’s hilarious!” Ellie said. “You were what, thirteen? And you pitched a full-on protest at the dinner table. I think you even said, ‘This is an abomination against beef.’”

---