Page 28 of Away Game

“Jackson,” he stopped me as I walked by, “you will be clocking their speeds and writing them down.”

“Yes, Coach,” I answered as I took the stopwatch and clipboard from one of the assistant coaches. With each passing step, my teammates glared and swore at me under their breath—all except the four that helped me on Friday night. Fin was his usual moody ass self with me, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with their penance for Friday night. Ever since he left my room Saturday, Fin had been extra frosty toward me, but yesterday I caught him looking at me when he thought no one was looking with an unnamed emotion reflected in his black eyes.

Fin passed by, tying the long strands of his hair on the top of his head with a deep frown, ruining his usually striking face. I didn’t bother to acknowledge it since I knew I’d likely only get something vile spat at me.

Practice was slow for me as I wrote down everyone’s times but grueling for everyone else out on the field. There were a few guys off in the grass throwing up and many lying in various places with their arms over their faces and their chests heaving with exhaustion. If I wasn’t already beaten up, I was sure they would have all kicked my ass after how tough it was.

“Jackson,” Coached barked out. When I got closer, he softened his tone to the point where only I could hear him. He handed me a slip of paper. “Tonight, I want you to come to my house for dinner.”

Tilting my head to the side, I eyed him. Not that I thought he was lying, but because I was so surprised by his request. “Really?”

“Yes, I want to discuss things that are best suited away from the team. I expect you there promptly at seven.”

“Yes, Coach,” I replied as I slowly walked away. Why the hell did he want me to come to see him at his home?

* * *

Two hours later,I’d showered and picked apart my wardrobe, trying to decide on the perfect outfit, only to end up wearing my best pair of jeans and a light blue t-shirt. The entire drive over, my fingers tapped the steering wheel of my truck nervously. On Saturday, when Coach showed up to the clinic and then went with me and the guys to the Dean’s office, he was understandably mad but not at me. Now though, I wasn’t so sure. Was he going to kick me off the team now that he knew I was gay? Did he think I was going to be nothing but trouble and didn’t want to waste his time with me?

My jaw hung open as I pulled up to the house the GPS on my phone led me to. It wasn’t the house I expected. This home was owned by someone who had millions to spend. I should have known going by all the other houses I passed as I drove, but nothing prepared me for this. It wasn’t your typical house in this area that was stucco or Mediterranean style. There were windows along all the walls, and it was nestled back off the road with trees all around it.

As I walked down the stone pathway and caught sight of the light green water of a pool, I heard children laughing and yelling in excitement, making me miss Easton. I needed to call him on my way home or when I got back to the house and see how school was going for him. It wasn’t easy being half-black in our small, privileged town full of racist bigots.

I knocked lightly on the door as I looked down at the piece of paper in my hands, making sure I got the correct house number. Maybe I’d put in the wrong address by mistake because surely Coach couldn’t afford a house this nice on a college coaching salary unless his wife was mega-rich.

A tall, bald black man answered the door, and when he saw me, a blinding white smile spread across his handsome face. “You must be West. I’m Archer. Please come in.” He held out his hand to shake. I shook it, confused about who the man was. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Was he the butler or chef?

“Dada,” a baby dressed in striped pajamas that made him look like a little sailor called, waddling up to the man in front of me and held his arms out to be picked up.

The Archer fellow picked up the little boy and hugged him to him as I eyed the door, sure I was in the wrong house. “This is Diesel, and he was just about ready to go to bed. Go ahead and head to the kitchen while I go lay him down. Keaton is in there with the other kids, finishing up dinner.”

Other kids?

Archer walked away, and I took a step toward the door, ready to hightail it out of there and try to find the right house when Coach came around the corner.

“I thought it was you. Come, follow me; I’ve got to get dinner out of the oven before it burns.” Coach motioned for me to follow him.

I did as I was told, wondering if this was a dream. Had I wrecked on the way over, and now I was in a coma?

By the time I caught up to him, Coach was heading outside with a large dish in his hands. When I looked through the sliding glass door, there were two blond kids of different ages sitting around a table that had food all around it and candles lit in the center.

“Hey,” Coach walked up to me slowly with a tentative smile on his face and put his hand on my bicep. “Are you okay? You look a little lost.”

“I thought I was, or maybe I still am. I don’t know. Where am I?” I rushed out. Maybe this was his friend’s house he invited me to. Whatever this was, I had no idea why I’d been invited here tonight.

Coach laughed, and the cute little blonde girl followed. “You’re at my house. I invited you to dinner, remember?” His brows pulled together in worry as he looked over at me. “Are you feeling alright? The doctor didn’t mention you have a concussion.”

“No.” I shook my head as if it would clear it, and everything would suddenly make sense. “I feel fine, but I’m…” I wasn’t sure how to express my confusion.

“Daddy, can we eat? I’m starved.” The little girl asked, her big blue eyes looking up at him pleadingly. With those eyes, she would never be told no. Or at least I’d never be able to.

“As soon as West gets situated, we’ll eat, baby girl,” Archer answered as he came outside with a plate full of garlic bread.

Coach patted me on the shoulder. “Come sit down, and I’ll enlighten you on why you’re here. How does that sound?” An easy smile was on his face as he watched me take my place at the table. This was a side of him the team never got to see. Even when Coach Kyle wasn’t pissed off at us, he was stern. Direct and to the point.

“I hope you like lasagna,” Archer said as he started to scoop out pieces onto each plate. The little girl got up and added a piece of bread to each plate with the sweetest smile on her face. She was an absolute angel.

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