Page 37 of The Coach

The next morning, after the gift unwrapping and breakfast, I went to meet Adam at a downtown coffee shop. The place was packed despite it being Christmas day, the air thick with the smell of espresso and hot chocolate. Adam was already at a table, sitting near the window, his gray hair poking out from beneath a Red Sox cap.

“Blake,” he said, standing to shake my hand. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” I said, sliding into the chair across from him.

We made small talk for a while—how I was handling the coaching gig, how his kids were doing in school. Adam had been my AA sponsor for the past year, ever since I finally admitted that I couldn’t outrun my demons alone. He was steady, unflappable, the kind of man who could see through bullshit without calling it out. At last, I made myself say what I dreaded to say the whole time.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” I forced the words out before I could second-guess myself.

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

I nodded, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my thumb. “It’s… new. But it feels good. Like I can actually be myself around them.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with the calm, measured gaze that had always unnerved me. If he noticed my careful use of neutral pronouns, he didn’t show it. “You know the rule, right? No dating for the first year of recovery. It’s not about punishment; it’s about focus. Staying grounded.”

“I know,” I said, my chest tightening. “But I thought… Actually, I didn’t think. It just… sort of happened.”

Adam shrugged. “Every situation is different. I’m not saying you can’t handle it. Just make sure you’re being honest—with yourself and with them. Relationships can be a lot, especially when you’re still figuring out how to stay on solid ground.”

We didn’t discuss the matter any further, and soon we shook hands and bid each other goodbye.

The snow crunched under my boots as I walked back to my car, each step echoing louder than the last in my mind. The air was crisp and biting, numbing my face, but it was nothing compared to the nagging doubt creeping into my chest. Adam’s words rang in my ears, circling like a hawk that had found prey. No dating for the first year of recovery. It wasn’t a command, but it might as well have been.

Tyler’s face flashed in my mind—his smile, the mischievous glint in his eyes when he teased me, the way his body had fit against mine as if it were molded there by some cosmic force. I couldn’t deny my desire for him. But the thing was, it wasn’t just desire, though that burned brightly enough to leave me sleepless most nights. It was more than that, deeper, scarier. He made me feel like the man I’d forgotten how to be. Like someone worth trusting.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Tyler trusted me. He’d given himself to me in ways I hadn’t dared to hope for, and I had taken it—greedily, selfishly, knowing full well I couldn’t keep it. I couldn’t keep him.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, my breath misting in the cold air. A part of me wanted to turn around, to march back to the coffee shop and demand Adam take it all back. Tell me I was different. Tell me I was strong enough for this, for him.

But I knew better.

Being with Tyler wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was what it might costhim.

He had his whole life ahead of him—school, wrestling, a future so bright it hurt to think about. And here I was, a widower carrying the weight of too many mistakes, too much baggage. How long would it be before he started resenting me for it? Before he realized I was just an anchor dragging him down? What happens in afew years when he gets bored of me or meets someone else and wants to move on?

The thought gutted me.

I forced myself to move again, each step heavier than the last. My hands were shoved deep in my pockets, but I couldn’t stop them from clenching into fists. The rational part of me knew what I had to do. Adam was right—relationships could be a storm in the calmest of seas, and my waters were anything but calm. They were treacherous, riddled with jagged rocks just waiting to tear us apart. I couldn’t put Tyler through that. I couldn’t risk pulling him into my chaos.

And yet, the thought of letting him go felt like ripping out a part of myself and leaving it behind in the snow.

I imagined his reaction—those bright brown eyes dimming, the corners of his mouth falling into that rare, heartbreaking frown. Tyler didn’t do sadness often, but when he did, it was like watching the sun vanish behind a total eclipse.

I reached my car and started the engine, but instead of driving I just sat there, lost in thought, until another car honked, looking to park at my space. The ride to my parents’ house felt longer than ever before and yet somehow too short. And all too soon I was facing the front door, staring at the worn wreath my mother hung every year. In another life, I’d be inside that house right now, surrounded by my family, old and new, happy and pure.A husband and a father, undamaged by years of loneliness and heartbreak. But this wasn’t that life.

This was a life of restraint, of rules, of putting the pieces back together carefully, deliberately, one at a time. Tyler wasn’t a piece of my recovery; he was something far more precious. He was the light at the end of a tunnel I wasn’t sure I’d earned the right to walk.

He deserved more than I could give him.

I tightened my grip on the doorknob, swallowing the lump in my throat. And as I stepped into the warmth of my childhood home, I knew the hardest part was yet to come.

23. Tyler

The spring semester began in much the same way as the fall one did: Finn and I going for a coffee. I missed my best friend and I had much to tell him. Our dorm was as chaotic as ever, students chattering and drifting from room to room every second. Hoping for any semblance of privacy there would be pointless. But now I knew better than to take Finn somewhere with lots of people around. So I chose Café 7, a cozy place at the edge of town, and we sat at the farthest booth, away from the other guests. As expected, Finn wasn’t subtle when I finally came clean.

“You and Hulk?” he said, still too loud for comfort, his face a mask of skepticism. “Right. And I’m screwing Sydney Sweeney. Give me a break, man.”

Scooting closer, I pulled my phone from my pocket, opened my chat with Blake, and shoved the screen under Finn’s nose. I scrolled through the texts, too fast for him to read anything, but slow enough so he could see the extent of our message thread. When we reached the nudes Blake and I sent to each other, Finn tried to pry the phone out of my hand but I was quicker, yanking it out of his reach. “Now do you believe me?”

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