My fingers are moving to my keypad when something flies by my head and hits my door hard before the sound of glass shattering reverberates in my ears and my neck is hit with the shrapnel. Ow, fuck, that hurt.
I turn around just in time to see a fist flying at my facebefore it lands on the corner of my eye. I go down like a sack of potatoes on my front stoop.
I blink a few times as the pain rattles around in my head and my vision runs blurry.
As things begin to refocus, I see Coach standing over me with glassy eyes, reeking of alcohol, still in the same clothes he was wearing when we flew home last night. His fists are in the air, primed for a fight.
“Get the fuck up, Humblecut,” he barks out. “I’m going to beat you senseless.”
I hold up my hand in surrender as I try to stand, but then he punches me in the stomach, which sends me back down to my ass. God damn, the fucker is strong.
Holding up my hand again, I wheeze, “Stop, Coach. Please.”
He remains in a fighting stance while his jaw tics. “I loved you like a son. How could you do this to me?” His voice cracks while he says that last bit as though he’s on the verge of crying.
“What? What did I do?” I ask, completely out of breath with blood trickling down my face and my eye starting to swell a bit, but my cheekbone took the brunt of the punch.
“Kennedy,” he grits out. “How dare you touch my daughter! Have you no honor? And…and…” his voice cracks again, “she’s pregnant?”
He drops his hands and begins sobbing. His pained eyes meet mine. “Why? Why would you treat her like one of your whores?” He punches his own chest. “Mydaughter. Why? Tell me. I need to know.”
My eyebrows crease. That’s what he thinks? That she’s just some random woman to me?
I stumble to my feet, maintaining a safe distance from him. Shaking my head, I quietly say, “You’ve got it wrong, Coach. It’s not like that at all. I lov?—”
As the words are about to trickle out of my mouth, we bothturn to the intruding sounds of a car screeching into my driveway. It’s Kennedy.
The car comes to an abrupt halt, and she runs out of it, staring wide-eyed at the situation. She takes in my bloody face and immediately moves to stand in front of me, yelling at her father, “What did you do to him?”
His finger trembles as he points at us. “He touched you. M…my daughter.”
“So what?” she screams. “That makes it okay to hit him? I’m an adult who can make her own decisions. Your solution is to attack him? Are you crazy?”
He looks down at her stomach and practically weeps, “You’re pregnant withhischild?”
She nods as she leans her back against my front, reaches for my hand, and places it around her waist and over her stomach. “I am, and I love him.”
His face contorts in disgust. “Love him? This guy? The guy who has no respect for women? How could you be so stupid?”
My chest puffs at his word choice, and I spit out, “Don’t you dare call my wife stupid.”
His eyes widen, and he sucks in a breath. “Wife?”
Whoops. Guess he didn’t know that part.
Kennedy nods. “Yes, Dad. I’m his wife. We’re married. I love him, and he loves me. We’re having a baby, and I’m about five minutes away from moving in here with him.”
I perk up at that bit of information, the heaviness of this situation momentarily forgotten. “You are?” I ask excitedly.
She nods.
“Who invited you?” I joke. “I didn’t invite you to move into this house.”
She turns her head, and I see a small smile form on her lips. “BJ invited me.”
“In those exact words?” I inquire cheekily.
Her smile grows. “Yes,” she answers without hesitation, “in those exact words.”
