Page 78 of Rebound
Coach is taking me out for a drink.
Lavinia’s message comes almost right away.
Lavinia
*gasp* you’re cheating on me with COACH? I mean, I kinda get it. He is HOT
Roman
Do you think he’s going to ask me to go steady?
Lavinia
I hope, babe. He’s been teasing you long enough.
I’m grinning at my phone like a fool and don’t realize that coach has already stopped walking. My phone bumps into his chest and I look up, seeing his raised eyebrow. Lowering my phone, I put it away and clear my throat, taking a step back.
“You’re acting like a teenager texting his crush for the first time,” he says.
“It’s Lavinia.” I shrug off his comment.
“That answers my question.”
We’re standing in front of a brick building with a wood and glass door. Coach pulls it open and leads us in. It’s warm inside, AC/DC playing over the sound system. There are a few old timers sitting around the tables and don’t look up when we walk in. There’s a man in his fifties behind the bar and he looks up, grinning widely when he sees us.
“Silas!” He booms, reaching his hand over the bar top. Coach smiles and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him do that.
“Mr. Archer, how’re you doing?”
Coach shakes his hand enthusiastically. There’s something familiar about this man, in his blue eyes and bright smile, and when Coach says his name, I realize immediately this is Holden’s father.
He looks at me and I offer him a subtle nod, not knowing how I’ll be welcomed here. His smile never wavers.
“Having another one of your talks?” He asks Coach.
“I should have stuck with psychology,” Coach says. “Turns out I’m a therapist after all.”
Mr. Archer laughs heartily. “Have a seat. I’ll bring you a menu and something to drink.”
Coach leads us to a booth near the back, by the window. A server brings us a menu right away and Mr. Archer drops off two draft beers. I set mine aside while Coach takes a sip. Sitting back, he crosses his arms and stares me down.
“You’ve been playing well with the team, lately. Surprisingly well.”
“Is that why you brought me here? Next time, maybe say that in front of the team so they get off my back.”
Coach rubs a hand along his jaw. “We used to respect our coach when I played. There wasn’t any back talk.”
“Yeah? Did your coach also play favorites?” I mirror his image, sitting back and crossing my arms, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t play favorites,” he says. “You’re all talented athletes and I know what happens when a team isn’t working well together because certain players are favored. You’re not going to get that from me. You want to be someone’s favorite, you’re not playing on the right team.”
I shrug. “Just making sure I have a fighting chance of being equal to the others.”
His eyebrows go up. “You want a fighting chance, Maddox?”
I remind myself of the promise I made myself this past summer. If this doesn’t work out, then I’m done. No morehockey. I’m tired of moving around and for the first time in my life, I want a home. I can’t have that if I’m constantly being traded.
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
