ADAM
Faith was right to take a step back. I needed to take a step back too.
Between Christmas trees and inviting her over, she consumed my thoughts all weekend. I kept thinking of wanting to hold her hand, the way her freckles stood out when she blushed, and how she smelled like flowers. I didn’t think about her mouth and how she bit her bottom lip when she tried not to watch me take my shirt off at the doctor’s.
I hadn’t felt that pull of wanting physical touch from a woman for a long time; it seemed to come back stronger than I remembered. I should’ve been grateful she declined Danny’s offer to come to our house and decorate our tree. I wasn’t, but I should’ve been.
The ref blew the whistle loudly, pulling my thoughts back into the game. Focus. Foul. Number 44.
Great, that’s three for Connor. I hollered down the line for Jackson to sub in for him. I waved Connor off the court, over to me.
“I’m sorry, Coach, I thought my feet were planted.” I handed him a water bottle and nodded.
I also thought he was too, but admittedly, I was a littledistracted. “That’s okay. Take a second to rest. You’ll go back in after the half.”
“Come on!! What kinda call was that!? He was planted,” Connor’s dad Tony shouted from the stands. “BOOOO!!”
I faced the stands and saw a bag of popcorn flying toward the court. I was going to have to ask him to leave again. I turned my attention back to the game. We were behind 28 to 33, and it was two minutes until half. Connor shook his head. “Sorry, Coach, I can’t control my dad, I?—”
“You’re right, your father’s actions are not in your control.” I patted him on the back. “Just focus on the game.” Connor sat on the folded metal chair. I needed to take my own advice.
I thought through plays and what I knew of their team. Their boys were getting tired. They weren’t used to the fast game we played and should take a hit in the second half. Part of winning this game seemed to be outrunning the other team.
The boys hated all the sprints we did, but I could tell it was paying off.
“Come on, Coach! Put forty-four back in!” Now Tony was yelling at me. I ignored him. There was no use in me embarrassing Connor for the behavior of others.
The Panthers scored again. Dang.
The halftime buzzer sounded, and the team stood from the bench and clumped together as they went toward the visitor locker room. We were down, but not by so much that morale was down.
“If you don’t want to lose, you better put 44 back in,” Tony hollered.
I turned and took the stairs two at a time up to Connor’s dad, who was fifteen or so years older than me, had weasel-stringy hair, and smelled of alcohol. I towered over him.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Tony, but you will leave the second half if you can’t be respectful.”
He scoffed and shifted his gaze to the peoplearound us watching the exchange. I hated making a scene, but I wouldn’t let him continue to be disrespectful.
“Yeah? Who’s gonna make me?” He smirked.
“I don’t think he needs any help,” someone hollered nearby, but I kept my focus on Tony.
I used my six-foot-five stature to my advantage. “I’m the coach. I say who plays and when.” I stepped closer, so he had to crane his neck to see my face. “If I can expect a team of teenagers to be respectful, I can certainly expect it from a grown man.” I glared at him.
He scoffed and huffed, but he wouldn’t bite now, not with so many witnesses to watch him lose.
“This is your last warning. One more negative comment about the refs, or throwing food, and you will be leaving.” I crossed my arms over my chest, fully aware of how it pressed my biceps forward. “Understood?”
“Whatever.” Tony stood up on wobbly legs. “It’s not like I wanted to stay and watch you lose, anyway.” He pointed at my chest, and I held my ground. “You are the worst coach we have had.”
I shrugged but refused to move.
He stepped gingerly around me and muttered something about suing.
“Get in line.”
He stumbled down the stairs toward the exit.
