Page 8 of Her Coach

I missed him more than words could possibly express.

But it was almost like my mother was… trapped.

“Mom,” I said flatly. “I know you don’t have anything you’re waiting on. Not today. It’s Friday at three, and the team isn’t even⁠—”

“The new coach arrives today,” she said as she flickered her gray eyes over toward me.

I paused as I leaned forward. “Wait, he took the job? Why didn’t you tell me that he accepted?”

She shrugged. “Because I still feel like it is too good to be true. I didn’t want to get you or the teams hopes up if everything fell through. I got a call from his agent this morning that he is here in Vegas, so I’m just waiting for him to show up.”

Holy fuck, we did it. We actually had a new coach for the team.

We’d been running on fumes since Coach Harry handed in his retirement papers in the spring. He was a good man, steady and patient in the way older coaches sometimes were, and he had gotten us through the first four years without completely falling apart. But steady and patient wasn’t going to take us anywhere new. Mom knew it. I knew it. Harry had probably known it before either of us did.

“What time is he expected?”

Her face fell flat as she tossed another chip into her mouth. “An hour ago.”

“Oh.”

“So, stick around and shake his hand before you head to your shift at the bar.”

I checked my watch and groaned. I was due in forty-five minutes, and my only saving grace was that The Hideout was right across the street from Caldwell Arena. The area itself was far enough from the Vegas strip that we weren’t right in the middle of all the action. It made The Hideout feel more like a dive bar than one of the overpriced lounges filled with tourists.

Mom downed the rest of her coffee. “Honey, if you can’t stay⁠—”

I waved my hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ve got another half hour before I really need to head across the street, anyway.”

A large, lumbering set of footsteps trudged down the hallway. Mom leapt out of her seat, smoothing her hands down her blouse and fixing her pencil skirt. I watched her slip back into her heels, which she must’ve kicked off underneath the desk, and as she fluffed her hair, I stood, wearing nothing but jeans and a t-shirt with the bar’s logo strewn across my chest.

A mountainous outlined shadow darkened the doorway of the office where me and Mom sat.

“Ladies,” he said in a gruff voice as he strode through the threshold.

When he stepped into the fluorescent lighting of the office, I was stunned. The man had to be at least six-foot-six. I mean, he had to duck a bit to get through the doorway in the first place. He wore a black button-front shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms were covered in black hair and little faded, nicked scars. His knuckles were thick. His chest, barreled and broad. He had these bright brown eyes with golden specks in them that twinkled in the harsh white light of the office space. On his left wrist sat a watch that probably cost more than my car. I had no idea what brand it was, but it looked like the kind of thing you didn’t buy yourself, the kind someone bought after they’d already run out of things else to spend money on.

He was a bear of a man.

And perfect for Mom.

Because have mercy, that woman needed to get back out there. She was much too stuck in the past.

“Coach Mercer,” Mom said as she held out her hand to him. “Lovely to finally meet you. I’m Victoria Caldwell, owner of the Las Vegas Vipers.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said as he shook Mom’s hand once and dropped it.

Mom laced her fingers in front of her, all prim and proper like she always did. And I stood there. Waiting. I mean, Mom looked hot. A pencil skirt and a ruffled blouse with heels? That was every man’s dream.

Yet, the coach didn’t even take a second look at her.

Especially when he turned those speckled brown eyes toward me.

“This is my daughter, Brynn,” Mom said as she introduced me. “She heads up community relations for the team. She’s the reason anyone in this city still knows our name.”

I was suddenly very aware that I was standing next to my mother in jeans, a bar shirt, and the glasses I’d been wearing all day because I forgot to put my contacts in that morning.

That stare of his raked down my body before climbing back up, and I couldn’t help but notice that he certainly didn’t look at Mom like that.