Page 55 of I Knew You
“Thanks, Coach,” I replied. “That helps to hear.” I stuck my hand out, and he shook it.
“I’m not pressuring you, but think about the head coach position. There is no one I would trust more than you to take over the program. Those boys could use you.” A small smile appeared on his lips. “Stop by the field one day and watch them in action. It’s always open to you. And take care of Whit’s sister, son. And maybe let her take care of you. You deserve that.”
I drove around a little longer,thinking and reflecting on the few things Coach Mayfield said and my relationship with the sport that had defined my life. What would it feel like if I had made it to the pros like Whit? How would that havechanged me? Would I be less bitter? Or would I be much less humble?
No matter what, one thing remained true: I would still think about the woman waiting for me.
I was used to dealing with everything on my own, but I should have trusted her and shared my thoughts with her. I wanted to talk everything over with her. My father’s deceit, my mother’s alcoholism, Melanie’s presence in my life. What football meant to me, how I felt when it was ripped away. How I let that passion die.
Yet I couldn’t dump my worries on her. She didn’t deserve my problems. She needed to worry about herself, and I would do everything to ensure she was taken care of. She was already doing me a huge favor with the fake marriage. For both our sakes, I would stay as emotionally distant as possible. I couldn’t afford to hurt her again.
With that in mind, I turned the truck toward the house with a new resolve in my heart to keep my distance. I was sure I could switch off the longing and the anxiety I had with every moment in her presence.
Think of Whit. Think of Whit…
I walked in the back door to an eager Lakey, her tail swinging and tongue wagging. “Hey, my girl,” I said, petting her. I set my things on her kennel, just as I did daily, and pulled out a bone I’d bought for her. She took it with a whine and scampered off, making me smile.
Something delicious had been cooked by the smell of it. Maybe soup? My stomach growled. I’d only eaten half my meal at the bar. I turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped in my tracks.
The breakfast table had been set for two. A tall taper candle had burned halfway down, but the flame was extinguished. Where had she even found a candle? A glance at the kitchencounter revealed a cast-iron skillet covered with a cloth, and beside it, a frosted cake with vanilla icing.
She’d wanted to do something special, and I had taken the opportunity from her.
“Julianna?” I called from the middle of the kitchen, hands at my sides.
She entered in a few moments.
“Hey,” she said, leaning slightly against the wide wooden doorframe. There was no smile on her face, but she wasn’t scowling either. Neutral. Unaffected.
But I knew her better than that. Julianna could do many things, but neutral emotions weren’t one of them.
“You did all this?” I asked, not clarifying or indicating whatitwas. We both knew.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Julianna…”
“It’s okay.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “I wanted to do something to thank you for letting me stay here. I didn’t realize you had plans already. But the chili is in the pot in the oven, if you still want some.”
“Grams’ chili?” I asked, knowing the answer was yes. That’s why the aroma felt like a warm hug.
She nodded affirmatively, looking me in the eye without flinching.
“That is…that’s so thoughtful of you,” I stuttered. “I’d love some. Have you eaten?”
“I ate a bit ago in the living room.” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder toward said room. “It’s early, but I think I’m going upstairs to shower and sleep. It’s been a long day.”
“Of course,” I said, though my heart dropped into my stomach.
She nodded, as if reaffirming her choice to herself, and turned to leave. Every fiber of me yearned to run after her. Ifshe’d let me touch her, I could try to fix this. But all the reminders of who I was, how I told Whit I’d behave, and what I needed to avoid stopped me.
I took a bowl of chili to the living room. It transported me back to Grams’ small kitchen table. A younger Julianna sat across from me, reading her book until Grams made her put it down and finish her food. I remember baiting her by hitting her leg with my foot. Her head would shoot up, and she’d glare daggers at me. Then I’d wink, and she’d smile and blush. Whit would not notice, and Grams pretended not to. The memory ached in my bones.
The shower was running upstairs, and when it stopped and the door creaked open, I jumped to my feet. I ran to the edge of the stairs, heart racing.
“Julianna,” I called. I couldn’t see her in the hall, but I heard her footsteps stop.
“Yes?” Her voice was small.
