Page 102
“Morning, Coach.”
“Duvall. You got a minute before you head in?”
His voice sounds normal enough that I should feel ridiculous for the way my heart is still pounding. “Yeah, Coach. What do you need?”
“I’ve been taking another look at the Houston tapes and noticed there are a couple of pressure looks I want your read on before we meet with the offense.”
Once I understand he’s calling about football, I can finally follow him without waiting to hear Calliope’s name. Her knee presses more firmly against mine when I tell Coach I watched some of the tape yesterday, and I listen while he talks through the plays he wants me to pull up.
Coach asks for my read on the safety rotation and pushes back when my answer doesn’t match his, making me walk him through what tipped me off before telling me we’ll look at the clips together when I get there. With Calliope’s fingers still threaded through mine, his trust feels a hell of a lot more complicated than it did yesterday.
Before I can get too far into that, Coach shifts from the film to me. “What’d the trainers say about the ribs?”
“Treatment this morning, then I’m cleared for meetings unless they find something they don’t like.”
“Then let them decide that instead of deciding for them. We’ve got too much season left for you to turn something manageable into something that costs you snaps later.”
Any other morning, I’d argue that I know my body, but it’s harder to give him shit for worrying about me while I’m holding his daughter’s hand and hoping he doesn’t find out. I settle for, “I’ll listen to the trainers.”
“Good. Drive safe, Duvall.”
Coach still trusts me enough to ask what I see, and in a few minutes, I’m going to walk into the facility and accept all of it while he has no idea his daughter woke up in my bed. Calliope’s hand closes around mine before I can follow that any further, and when I look at her, she’s already watching me.
“You thought he knew.”
“Yeah.” I turn my hand beneath hers until our palms meet. “For a second.”
“So did I, and I hated it.” Her fingers curl around mine, the fear on her face when Coach’s name appeared on my screen still lingering just beneath the surface. “I need to tell him.”
“We can do it together, Pea.”
Calliope shakes her head. “He’s my dad. I need to be the one who tells him.”
Every part of me pushes back against the idea of Calliope sitting across from her dad without me. I can already picture myself waiting for her to call, and I hate it before it can even happen. Whatever Coach feels when he finds out, I want to be there beside her because this stopped being something either of us could take responsibility for alone the second we decided we were doing this together.
“You didn’t get into this relationship by yourself. I’m not sending you to deal with the fallout of our choice by yourself either.”
“You’re not sending me anywhere.” Her mouth curves even as she shifts closer, her knee pressing into mine. “Besides, someone needs to be concerned about preserving your pretty face when he punches you.”
I laugh, but her smile barely survives it, and my free hand settles over the one she has wrapped around mine. “You really want to do this alone?”
“I want to talk to my dad alone.” She waits until I’m looking at her before she continues. “Then you can talk to him, and if you want me there for that part, I’ll be there. But I need the first conversation to be mine.”
I’m already building another argument when what she’s asking finally gets through to me. Even if I sit beside her and keep my mouth shut, her dad still has to look at me while she’s trying to have a conversation with him as his daughter. I drag my thumb along the side of her hand, hating that understanding her doesn’t make me like it any more. “When are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know.”
My eyes go to the phone on the table before I can stop them. Coach’s name could light up the screen again at any moment, and I’ll have no idea whether I’m answering my coach or the father of the woman I’m falling in love with after he’s learned exactly how long we’ve kept this from him. The possibility crawls under my skin now that I know what those few seconds of not knowing feel like, and there’s nothing I can do to keep it from happening again except ask Calliope for an answer she just told me she doesn’t have.
“I won’t wait forever. I’m not scared to tell him about you, but I need to catch him when we can sit down and talk instead of dropping this on him between meetings.”
“And until then?”
“You go to work.”
“I’m about to go sit across from him and argue over film like I do every week, and neither one of us will act any differently because he has no fucking idea. Then I get to do it again tomorrow and wonder every time he calls my name if this is the moment you told him and I just don’t know it yet.”
“It’s going to suck,” she says finally, her fingers tightening around mine. “And I’m sorry I’m asking you to sit with that while I figure this out.”
