HARRISON
Only during a cold day in hell would I voluntarily watch my younger brother be interviewed about his team playing in a bowl championship on TV. There wasn’t enough beer in the world to numb the rampant feelings of jealousy, anger, and injured pride coursing through me. The jealousy wasn’t about his coaching ability—I’m good at what I do—it was the envy of having professional athletes who took their careers seriously.
Winter workouts were not going well, and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it. College players were getting drunk and high, and throwing away their future for a good time. Team and responsibility meant nothing to them.All a coach can do in the off-season is pray.
My strength-and-conditioning staff gave me weekly reports on the guys, and they weren’t incredible. They also weren’t garbage. Our team defined the word average. I pinched the bridge of my nose and cracked open my second beer. Yeah, it was only midday, but since we didn’t make it to any championships, it was my first holiday break in three years.
Probably my last break, since I’ll get fired next year if we don’t start winning.
The amber liquid loosened the tightness in the back of my throat. Thinking about getting fired had the potential to ruin any day at any given time. It didn’t help that my folks constantly pointed out the differences between my younger brother and me, like they had to convince me he was talented.
Oh, Hank is just made to coach. He’s a natural.
Hank will have offers with the NFL, I know it.
Hank played football one year of his life and had a string of luck to get him where he was. I could only blame myself, since I got him his first coaching job. Funny how life works.
My phone went off, the dull buzz drawing my glance to a text from my mom.
Mom:Since Hank is in the Bowl, we are flying out to see him play in California for the holidays! This is huge! Aren’t you so proud of him? You’re more than welcome to come, as we’ll do Christmas there this year to support him.
Of course, they would fly out there even though the game wasn’t until a week after the holiday. I didn’t get a chance to respond before my sister—my favorite family member—texted me.
Blair:We’re not flying out to see His Holiness. Come stay with us. The kids miss you. I miss you. Ben will have beer.
Harrison:Thank God we’re the normal ones. I’ll be there.
Blair:He is the classic youngest child, isn’t he? Always the favorite, never to blame. We’ll always have each other, Harrison. Don’t let them get in your head.
I didn’t respond and hated how some family members could make me feel insignificant even as a thirty-four-year-old man. My career was filled with accomplishments and awards. I was proud of myself. I didn’t lack confidence or patience or even self-awareness about my strengths and weaknesses. It was the constant embellishing of Hank’s average, yet lucky, career that drove me mad.
Hank could be average at anything and get praised for it, while I had to work three times as hard to get any acknowledgment. I’d coached in two bowl championships, and no one except Blair and her family came to watch. My parents canceled last minute both times. Hank had tofocus on his own careerand couldn’t take off work to watch. Yet our mom wanted us to fly out there? I groaned and ran a hand over my face.
When I first started, Blair told me that I needed to stop caring what they think. That was easier said than done.
Damn, why am I thinking about my parent issues when I could be three beers in?
I finished my second brew and shuffled into the kitchen for another. Downtime for me consisted of napping, watching football, drinking beer, or heading to the gym. I had already completed an aggressive workout that morning, so I could do whatever the hell I wanted the rest of the day. And what I wanted? Napping and beer.
The fridge sat next to a window, and I glanced out into my yard, hating how dark and drab the landscape was. I needed to make my property a priority in the spring, because if I had another losing season, I’d get fired and be forced to sell it. Then what would I do?
Stop.I couldn’t worry about that now. Not without the facts. My ex-wife always told me my outlook was too negative, and look at me now, refusing to think about getting fired until it happened. I was growing as a person after all. I snorted and cracked open a third beer just as the wind howled and the screen rattled against the glass. I paused at the sound.
Becca.
She’d mentioned a broken window at the house. My lips twisted. The bright pink pajamas, the wild honey-colored hair, the wide eyes and full lips. That woman was too fucking happy and full of energy and trouble. I knew how those lips felt against mine, and if I thought about it too long, I’d forget why it would be a terrible idea to kiss her again. Even though her face and body were gorgeous.
Becca could talk for minutes without stopping, created ridiculous stories when she was nervous, and always had a smile on her cute face. Hell, the woman played the ukulele and sang during our one dinner together. If anyone could be described as my complete opposite, it was her. She was petite and fragile, she loved everyone, and everyone loved her.
And she shouldn’t be trying to repair a window on the third floor of an old house.
“Son of a bitch.” I wiped my hand over my jaw. My chest tightened, and I swallowed. Becca needed help, and I couldn’t sit here when she might hurt herself. I threw on a down coat I used when I camped, found my warmest boots, grabbed my toolbox, and headed next door to the large house.
I had no idea how Becca could live with fifty college girls. The thought made my body cringe with horror, but she clearly liked it. She’d been there as long as I had: four years.
Neighbors for four years, one date, one insane kiss, and maybe ten conversations since that kiss. Great track record on my part. I marched through the backyard and frowned when I spotted a tiny woman struggling to open the shed. “Need help?”
“Hi Coach Cooper. Yeah, Becs needs a tarp out of here.” She blew out a breath and put her hands on her hips. “This is stuck.”
