Page 121
The signs. The ridiculous grins. Half of them should’ve been sitting in class instead of standing in a hospital parking lot on a school morning. They’d shown up anyway. For me. My heart seemed to forget its rhythm.
Beside me, Cali smiled like she’d been waiting for this.
“You knew about this?”
Her smile widened. “I might’ve received several texts.”
The accusation moved to Jace. He betrayed her without hesitation.
“It was Doc’s idea to tell them you were getting released.”
“What the heck,” Cali huffed.
She reached over to swat his shoulder, but he ducked away with an entirely too-proud grin.
The boys drifted toward us. Some tried to play it cool. Others looked exhausted, like sleep hadn’t happened. One or two shoved their hands into their pockets, suddenly unsure what to do now that I was standing in front of them. Kids who drove each other crazy, forgot homework, and made spectacularly terrible decisions.
My kids.
“Coach.” Adam stepped forward first. His voice cracked, just slightly. “You scared us.”
The parking lot fell quiet. Somehow those three words shook me harder than all of the noise had.
“I’m sorry.”
Adam nodded, holding the moment just long enough before ruining it.
“You still have to watch game film next week.”
The entire team burst out laughing.
“Just making sure you don’t get soft,” Adam added.
“It’s just a concussion. I'll be back before you know it.”
A cheer rose from the crowd, and several boys broke into applause.
My hand dragged down my face. Cali laughed. The traitor.
The sound pulled my attention toward her. Morning sunlight caught in her hair, setting the loose strands aglow. She smiled—healthy, happy, safe—and gratitude crashed over me so hard it nearly stole the breath from my lungs.
Less than twenty-four hours earlier, blood had soaked my father’s porch.
Now dozens of teenage boys had skipped school to stand in a hospital parking lot because they wanted to make sure their coach came home.
The juxtaposition of both moments was impossible to put into words.
One of the younger players stepped forward, clutching a handmade poster. The letters leaned in every direction, black marker bleeding through the paper.
GET BETTER COACH. WE LOVE YOU.
The parking lot quieted again. My gaze lingered on the sign before lifting to the kid holding it, then drifting across the rest of the team.
Something clenched painfully in my chest. For years, I’d searched for something I’d never found in the place I’d wanted it most, and suddenly, I understood what it was: belonging. Family. And I had one. Not the kind you were born into, but the kind you built and the kind that chose you.
A throat cleared. Mine.
“You guys are idiots.”
