Page 26 of Behind the Bench

Hunter notices the shift in my mood and does his best to change the subject. “Speaking of Ellie, are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two when you were kids? Because from where I’m standing, she’s not only a badass coach, but she’s a pretty awesome person too.”

I’m not sure what’s gotten into me. Maybe it’s this second glass of whiskey the bartender sat down in front of me, or maybe I need a friend to hash this out more than I thought. But for whatever reason, I tell Hunter everything.

And I mean everything. The childhood rivalry. The hatred toward Ellie that my father planted like a seed in my brain. I even tell him about the abuse. Not all of it, because I’m not looking to go that deep. But after I spill everything, I feel lighter.

Hunter looks at me thoughtfully. He doesn’t react in some over dramatic fashion, which I appreciate. “Damn, Lincoln. That’s a lot to unload. You been holdin’ onto all that for the past fifteen years?”

I chuckle. “Well, sort of. I have a therapist so it’s not like I’ve been keeping it to myself. But Ellie doesn’t know a thing about my dad. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

The rational part of my brain tells me that Ellie deserves to know why I’ve treated her like shit our entire lives. When we’re not bickering or chirping each other, we make one hellof a team. But the irrational, scared part of my brain tells me that if I tell her, it will ruin everything. She’ll see me as some weak man who took my shit out on her instead of who really deserved it.

“I get it, man, but as someone who has come to know Ellie pretty well, and who considers her one of my best friends here, she deserves to know.”

The bartender comes over just as I’m about to argue with Hunter. I order another round and Hunter orders an appetizer, but before I can give my side of the argument, Hunter continues.

“I’m not going to lie to you. Ellie isn’t your biggest fan. From the little things she’s let slip about your interactions since she’s gotten here, I don’t blame her. She hasn’t told me much but it seems to me that she thinks she’s still the enemy, even though she’s trying to prove to you she’s not. And after everything you just told me tonight, it feels like one huge miscommunication trope. No one likes the miscommunication trope man.”

“I don’t know what the fuck that means,” I say as I finish my whiskey. The bartender sets my third and final glass down in front of me.

Hunter gets this weird ass smile on his face as he talks about the miscommunication trope in romance novels. I think we’ve finally changed the subject but once he finishes his spiel about miscommunication, he brings Ellie and I up again.

“All I’m saying is, your trauma is real, but if you two just sat down and had a real conversation, you might surprise yourselves. Hell, it’s been over a decade. You both deserve to move on.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. Why am I so scared to have this conversation with her?

He seems to be able to read my mind because he answers my question for me. “You’re scared you might actually like this person you’ve created to be a villain in your mind. Your dadpainted her that way, Lincoln. Don’t hate yourself for something your father did. Be better. Do better.”

I decide I don’t need that third glass of whiskey after all. Hunter’s advice and this conversation has sobered me up and I’d rather not have a hangover tomorrow. Hangovers in your thirties just hit different.

“Thanks, man. You’re right. I’ll have a talk with her soon. Now, can we drop all this heavy bullshit? Tell me what’s been going on with you.”

Hunter goes on to tell me about all the horrors of online dating he’s experienced since moving to Green Bay. I’m only half paying attention to what he’s saying because I can’t get my mind off what Hunter said about Ellie.

Am I afraid I’m going to realize I don’t hate Ellie and that I actuallylikeher?

The thing is, I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to that question.

Hunter is right on both counts. Idolike her. And it scares the shit out of me.

I’m sitting on the chaise portion of my brand new, extremely comfortable cream sectional, waiting for Sadie to come back from cleaning up what’s left of our Chinese food. The cushions are made of memory foam and it literally feels like it’s hugging me every time I sit or lay down on it.

Sadie slides across the gray-tiled kitchen floor in her socks, and I can’t help but giggle at the move. I’m about half a bottle of wine deep, Kate Hudson is singing “You’re So Vain" on the TV that hangs above my rustic entertainment console, and Sadie just plopped back down onto the couch next to me. Life has never been better.

She puts her arm across the back cushions. “Okay, spill it, sister. What the heck is going on with you and that handsome head coach of yours?”

I toss her half of the navy fleece blanket that’s covering me and we snuggle in closer to each other. “Ugh, heishandsome, isn’t he? Why are the assholes also the best looking? It’s not fair,” I pout and puff my bottom lip out at her. The wine has made my very small filter nonexistent at this point.

Sadie laughs and pulls me into a hug. “Girl, I could feelthe sexual frustration through the phone. It’s no secret you want to bang your boss.”

I pull back and gasp. “How dare you accuse me of such things! I hate that man with a burning passion. Just because he looks good while being an asshole doesn’t mean I want to bang him.”

Sadie gives me a look like she’s not convinced.

“I’m serious, Sadie. He’s been nothing but rude and awful to me since we were little. I was hoping he grew out of it, but it would appear he hasn’t. Except…”

She leans in closer waiting for me to go on.

“I think we had a moment today before practice. And I think I may have actually flirted with him a little bit.” I take a long sip of my wine, preparing for her to lose her mind.

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