Page 10 of Hard Count
She bristles and rolls her lips. I wince regretting how that came out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…he…” I trip over my words. “We don’t talk about family.”
“It’s fine. He only has one when it’s convenient,” she snarks. “We should eat,” she announces, getting her dad’s attention, while I’m left slack-jawed. That doesn’t sound like the man I know. He’s a family man. That’s how he treats every player on the team.
“Yes. Nash, help yourself.” He hands me a plate. Drew drops her head and fiddles with her hands. What happened to the wildcat I met at the bar? The fierce girl who wouldn’t back down is shrinking before my eyes.
“Ladies first,” I say, passing the plate to her. Hesitantly, she removes it from my hand and spares her dad a glance. He gives the briefest nod. If you weren’t paying attentionyou would miss their small interaction. I have to remind myself she isn’t my concern.
Whatever is happening in their relationship is not for me to fix or figure out. I’ve tried that once before and it backfired in my face. I invaded my sister’s relationship with my best friend and ended up making everything worse. When I tried to help them put their relationship back together, it was almost too late.
Silently, we grab buns, burgers, and add condiments. The air in the room is taut as they maneuver around each other like strangers at a salad bar. Polite enough but irritated when they have to wait for the other to finish with the ketchup. This is a family dynamic I’m not used to.
I grin as she piles pickles on top of her burger and a backup pile on the side. “Are you settling in at your new place?” I ask, as I load my plate with steak fries. The knife in her hand stills momentarily before she finishes cutting her burger in half.
“Yes. I still need a few more things but it’s livable now that I have the necessities,” she answers with pink cheeks. Her eyes meet mine over the island briefly as she reaches for her dipping sauce of choice. She nibbles at her lip while staying hyper focused on the ranch dressing she’s squirting on her plate for her fries.
“If you stayed with me, you would have everything you need,” Coach interjects, giving her a pointed look. “You have a room here for free,” he adds as he makes his way to the back door.
“Nothing is free. There’s always a price to pay,” she mumbles to herself. With a heavy sigh she backs away from the counter and strides over to a cabinet full of cups and mugs. “Sweet tea or water?” she asks, pulling down several mason jar glasses.
“Water’s fine. Is everything okay?” I stop her with a hand on her forearm as she fills one of the glasses with ice. She shifts her eyes to my hand. It seems she’s as affected by my touch as I am hers.
“Of course.” Her forced smile says otherwise. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks, lost in a trance watching the water slowly fill my cup.
“I don’t know. It got a little awkward for a moment.”
She laughs humorlessly. “Really? It felt normal to me.” She hands me my water then pours two glasses of tea for her and her dad. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.” Balancing two glasses in the palm of one hand she glides past me, grabbing her plate with her free hand on the way.
I nod in agreement but it doesn’t ease any of the unrest I'm feeling.Not your problem, I remind myself. I have my own issues to bring up with Coach. I don’t need to pile Drew’s on top of them. Even though it’s unusual to me, it doesn’t mean there is something wrong with their relationship.
The heat of a long summer day hits me as soon as I step outside. I’m regretting wearing pants and a polo shirt. I should have opted for something more casual like Drew. At least there’s an umbrella blocking out what’s left of the late evening sun and casting a blue hue over the table.
Sitting between them doesn’t seem ideal with the tension building but it’s the only option as they’ve both picked seats at opposite ends of the square glass table.
Drew eats silently, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Coach isn’t much better. His eyes—etched with concern and maybe a little stress—occasionally drift to his daughter. I’ve never seen him like this before. Even in the middle of a tense game winning play he’s confident and composed.
Clearing my throat, I end the silent dinner. “What year are you?” I ask. I assumed she was a senior since she’s roommates with Eli’s theater friend but she was drinking a Shirley Temple at the bar. Maybe she’s a freshman. That would make more sense. And maybe make it a little easier for me to ignore the growing attraction I have toward her.
She freezes. “Senior,” she replies with a bite of her hamburger lodged in her right cheek.
Coach sighs. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”
Properly reprimanded, she stiffens, swallows her food, and then smiles sweetly at me. “I’ll be a senior at Newhouse this year. Better?” she asks her dad.
“What made you transfer?” I ask before Coach can respond.
“Well,” she drawls. “It wasn’t exactly by choice.”
“Newhouse has an excellent psychology department. You should be grateful you got accepted,” her dad interrupts.
“Weird. I don’t remember applying,” she snarks.
“Drew,” he scolds. “A letter of recommendation from Dr. Reeves will go a long way when you start applying for jobs.”
“No one in the sports industry even knows who Dr. Reeves is so I highly doubt it.”
“You’re a psych major?” I ask.
She nods. “With a minor in statistics.” She winks and I get a glimpse of the girl I remember from the bar. She’s not completely lost in there.
