Page 36 of The Coach

Tim gave a polite chuckle, like he hadn’t already heard that story a thousand times before. “Did he really say that?”

“Oh, yes,” Mom chimed in, carrying a plate of rolls to the table. “And then he declared he was never eatingmeatloaf again. I think he kept that vow for at least two months.”

“I was a kid,” I muttered, though I couldn’t keep the corner of my mouth from twitching.

Dad smirked as he set the roast on the table. “You’ve always had strong opinions.”

“Yeah, I wonder where I got it from.”

Noah took that as his cue to bang his spoon again. “Uncle Blake doesn’t like meatloaf!” he crowed, as if it were breaking news.

Mia giggled, joining in, and for a moment, the room felt light and easy, the kind of warmth that made you forget the biting chill outside.

“Well, he loved it when Jennifer made it,” Ellie said and instantly regretted it, her face changing from flushed to pale in seconds. The shift was immediate, like a string pulled taut in the air. Mom froze mid-step, her expression carefully neutral. Tim reached for his glass of wine, his gaze darting to me. Jesus, like I could somehow forget she ever existed if only they never mentioned her again.

I managed a small smile. “I did. She used to make it better than Mom’s.” I looked at Mia, put a hand next to my mouth, and whispered, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Mia giggled, and Mom let out a soft sigh, though her eyes shimmered. “I already knew.”

Ellie reached across the table, her hand brushing mine briefly. It was a simple gesture, but it carried the weight of everything we didn’t say.

Then, mercifully, Mia chimed in, oblivious to the tension. “Uncle Blake, do you have a girlfriend?”

Tim choked on his wine, sputtering into his napkin, while Ellie gave Mia a look that was both amused and mortified. “Mia, honey, that’s not a polite question.”

“What?” Mia said, confused. “Grandpa said he should find a new wife!”

Dad coughed into his fist, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I may have mentioned it earlier. Once.”

My shoulders went rigid as I clenched the fork, anger surging like a storm on the horizon. “Oh, just once?”

“What’s the big deal?” Dad said, now getting defensive. “You know I’m right. It’s time you moved on and found—”

“Why don’t you butt out and let me live my life?” My voice was low, threatening. I managed to keep myself from shouting only because of my niece and my nephew, but I felt heat creeping up my neck, my molars grinding.

Once again, Mom jumped in to smooth things over before the situation escalated. “Blake doesn’t need to rush into anything,” she said firmly. “He’s got a lot on his plate with work right now.”

Dad opened his mouth to say something but winced, like someone had just dug their nails into his arm. He made the smart choice and shut up.

“That’s true,” Tim added, eager to shift the conversation. He had always been uncomfortable with confrontation. “I heard you’re doing great with the team. Didn’t you say one of your guys made it to regionals?”

“Yeah,” I said, grateful for the way out. “We’ve got a strong line-up this year.”

“What’s it like coaching?” Ellie asked. “Do the kids listen, or are they little terrors like you were?”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re not kids, El. They’re college athletes. And they listen—mostly. It’s actually more fun than I thought it would be. It’s different, though. Rewarding, but not easy.”

The conversation turned to lighter topics after that—Noah’s school play, Mia’s new obsession with dinosaurs, Tim’s disastrous attempt to hang Christmas lights last weekend. The awkwardness soon faded, replaced by laughter and the clinking of silverware.

But as I sat there, watching my family’s faces lit by the warm glow of the chandelier, my mind wandered. To a different table, in a smaller, quieter house. To a grin that made my chest feel tight and a laugh that echoed in my head long after it was gone.

After dinner, I helped my mother wash the dishes while the rest of the family retired to the living room. She chatted about neighborhood gossip, her voice liltingwith warmth, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Tyler—the taste of his lips, the way he leaned into me like he trusted me to hold him steady.

I missed him. More than I wanted to admit.

And that realization hit me harder than I expected.

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