Page 7 of Return

“When I was a player, I never imagined myself becoming a coach. Figured those guys were gluttons for punishment, taking shit from all fronts—management, the players, the fans, the media.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?”

He tapped the tip of his nose. “Yup. And while I do have to deal with all that crap, there’s so much more to love about the job.” He told her about stepping behind the bench and watching young players develop, about how satisfying it was to help someone finally understand something they’d been struggling with, whether it be their shooting, passing, or defense.

“It’s a lot different than playing because you stop measuring success by your own stats.”

“Instead, you start measuring everyone else’s and figuring out how to make that work for the team as a whole,” she added, making it clear she got what he was saying.

“Exactly.”

She smiled. “You sound really happy.”

Dean considered that for a moment, aware he didn’t usually take time to think about his feelings. But now that she pointed it out, he knew that she was right.

“I am. I miss playing sometimes, but I sure as hell don’t miss wondering if every single body check is going to be my last.” Dean had suffered a couple nasty injuries prior to the one that wound up being a career-ender. “And while I was an assistant coach for years in Vancouver, there’s something very satisfying about being the man in charge, the one making the big calls.”

“I would find that more stressful than satisfying.”

He nodded once, because she made a good point. “Mostly I think I miss being one of the guys, hanging out in the locker room, trash-talking, joking around.”

“Vic still considers you one of the guys.”

He chuckled. “He and I have a longer history and a few more years under our belts than all those wet-behind-the-ears rookies coming up through the league. There are days when my relationship with him feels more like Band of Brothers, rather than coach/player.”

“Makes sense. I suspect Vic is starting to worry about how many more years he has in him. Or at least, he used to. Now that he’s with Belle, I’m not sure he’d mind retiring like Preston did. I went to Africa for a few months, leaving behind my stoic bachelor brother, and came back to find a man who is flat-out determined that he and Belle will be married before Christmas. And if he has his way, she’ll be pregnant five minutes after saying the vows.”

Dean chuckled. “I was here, watching it happen in person, and even I felt a little bit of whiplash. So I’m sure you were shocked when you got home.”

“Don’t get me wrong. It was a good shock. I genuinely believe Belle was made for my brother.”

Dean agreed with that assessment.

The waiter stopped by to fill up their water glasses. “Would you like another round?”

Dean looked at Vivian, letting her make the call. “I will if you will,” he said.

“Yes, please. This wine is smoothing away a day’s worth of rough edges. Keep it coming,” she said to the waiter.

Dean lifted a finger, indicating he’d take another beer as well, before slicing off a big chunk of the steak and putting it on her plate. Vivian followed suit, sliding more than half of her pasta onto his. It was a simple act, but damn if the domesticity, the intimacy of it, didn’t make Dean feel warm inside in a way he’d never experienced.

They continued eating for a few moments, both trying the new addition to their plates.

“I suppose your perspective of the sport has changed since returning to Baltimore and becoming the head honcho,” Vivian said, returning them to the topic of him and his job.

“It has. And not just professionally, but personally as well.” He hesitated before continuing. “A lot of things changed last season.”

Vivian rested her chin on her hand. “The McKenna revelation?”

Dean chuckled at her dramatic wording. “Yeah. That bombshell.”

Vivian gave him her full attention without making the conversation feel like an interrogation. “I can’t believe no one knew.”

Dean wiped his mouth, slightly embarrassed at how quickly he’d inhaled that fairly large cut of meat. “Kenny asked if we could keep it on the down-low.”

Vivian grinned. “I love that you call her Kenny. It’s a cute nickname.”

“Like Pip,” he said, acknowledging that her daughter also had an adorable nickname.