by L A Cotton
“You’ve got to prove it to me, Marc. I don’t know you and have no idea what skills you do or don’t have. I always start with the basics. Prove to me you got those down and we’ll move on.”
He nodded, and the snickers stopped.
“Right, equipment goes in that pile over there. Next week I want everyone arriving after they’ve been to sixth period. Got it? Have a good week.”
“You’re good with them, you know.” Sharn stepped beside me, handing me a stray base.
“I learned from the best.”
“Coach Jefferson?
“Yeah, he’s been my mentor. He’s a good man, and I’ve learned a lot from him.”
“Nev said as much,” she muttered under her breath, as if talking to herself.
“What was that?”
Realizing I’d caught her, she grew flustered. It was so fucking cute to see her like that. Sharn Macer at a loss for words—because of me. There had been a time when that would have been impossible.
“Hmm, sorry, bad habit of mine. I talk to myself sometimes.” She looked up at me through her thick lashes and my pulse stepped up a gear. It was a foreign feeling. I didn't usually get nervous around chicks—didn't usually pay enough attention—but something about Sharn had my attention all right.
“You really are something else, Miss M,” I mocked as she walked with me to the truck, helping to load in the last of the equipment. I said goodbye and climbed in. Only this time, as I pulled away, I couldn't take my eyes off the mirror, watching her until I rounded the corner and she disappeared out of sight.
~
I pulled into Dad’s driveway and cut the engine, just as my phone vibrated in my pocket. “Dude. What’s up?”
Zac’s deep voice said, “Just seeing where you’re at? I’m at Durty’s with Jase and the others if you wanna head down?”
“Dude, is that Aubrey I hear in the background? What happened to just fucking her?”
“It might be. Look, they just turned up, Keef. You know I wouldn’t invite them on purpose.” He laughed. “Not on a Tuesday, anyway.”
My eyes rolled north. Just fucking her. I didn’t know who Zac was trying to convince more—me or himself. “I’m just at Dad’s, checking in on him. Then I’ll swing by. Lose the girls. I’m not in the mood.”
“Dude, lighten up. It’d do you good to get laid. You know Simmy is dying to get a piece of you.”
“Which is exactly why I want them gone when I get there. Promise me, Zac.” The inflection in my voice warned him.
“Fine, fine. I’ll get Jase to work his magic and send them all running.”
We both laughed. That would work—it always did.
“Okay, catch you in a bit.” I hung up and made my way into Dad’s; the sound of ESPN was blaring from the TV in the front room. The door was ajar and I stepped inside to find Dad sitting on the couch in just his wife-beater and shorts, beer in hand. At least he was up.
“Oh hey, son. How you doing?”
“I’m okay, Dad. You?”
“Oh, you know me, son. Same shit, different day.” I grimaced at the saying I’d grown up hearing. “Listen, I’m sorry about the other night. It was a bad day. Thanks for cleaning up.”
“Well, someone had to do it. Perhaps you should go back to the clinic, Dad, and get some help?”
The color drained from his face, and his head dropped. “I know, I know, son.”
Dad refocused on the television, and I knew the conversation was over. My chest started to tighten and tense, so I told Dad I’d go make him dinner and tidy up.
We sat in silence as he wolfed down the turkey sub. It was a miracle I’d found anything edible in the refrigerator, but I guessed Mrs. Elms—his neighbor—had been to the store for him. She’d always looked out for us, ever since Mom passed.
I gathered up the plate and empty glass and headed to the kitchen. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m heading out. I’ll drop by tomorrow.”
He looked up at me, the sadness in his eyes cutting right through me. “Son, I’ve told you before, you don’t need to come by every day.”
“Yeah, okay, Dad.”
I didn’t argue, and he knew I would.
~
Durty’s was busy. It drew a mixed crowd—students, working professionals, and lonely people out looking for company—but the beer was cold and the food was unbeatable.
“Yo, my man,” Jase hollered across the bar.
I approached the guys, who were standing to the side of one of the pool tables watching Morris and Brannan play, and nodded to them all.
Zac made a beeline for me. “Dude, don’t get mad, but Aubrey and Simmy are still here. I tried to get rid of them, but they insisted on staying. Simmy has it bad for you, bro.”
“Fuck. I can’t be bothered with that shit. Not tonight.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, really not wanting to deal with her.
Zac looked over my shoulders and his eyes widened. I turned to follow his line of sight and saw Aubrey and Simmy headed straight for us. Aubrey looked good in a skintight dress and pumps, but Simmy looked more like a cheap hooker.
“Christ, she’s hot,” Zac muttered under his breath, and I laughed. The guy had it bad, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it. Simmy’s eyes lit up when she noticed me, but I turned my back to her, hoping to avoid conversation. Zac smirked and I cast him a warning glare.
“Hey, Keefer. I didn't know you were going to be here,” Simmy purred as she sidled up to me.
I groaned out a response, and sensing my aggravation, Zac intervened. “So, how did it go at the school? Were you with Sharn again?
I didn’t miss the way Aubrey stood at little straighter at the mention of Sharn's name.
“Sharn Macer?” she spat out.
“Yeah, she's hosting the ball program GHS has pulled Keefer in to coach.”
“Ugh, what a skank. I hated that bitch at school.” Aubrey's voiced was laced with bitterness, and Simmy laughed in agreeance.
“Who the fuck asked either of you?” I glared at Aubrey, then Simmy, before brushing past them and headed to the bar. All the while trying to get a grip on my temper.
Zac followed me, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the bar next to me. “Dude, what the fuck was that about?”
“I have no idea.” I was just as surprised by my reaction as he was, but I didn’t like hearing Aubrey talk about Sharn that way.
“Please tell me you haven't got a hard on for Sharn fucking Macer, of all people,” he smirked.
“Shut it, bro. I’m not getting into this.”
“Ha-ha, I’m right. You like her. Who'd have thought Mr. Silent Smith likes loud-mouthed class of oh-six super slut Sharn Macer.”
My head whipped up to meet his eyes, and I drew my shoulders up as I stepped into his space. “Say one more word—”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Dude, chill, I'm just baiting you to prove what I already know. You’re hot for her. I don't know jack about her nowadays, and school was a long time ago. If you like her, she's cool with me.”
I backed off, confused that I was about to get into with my best friend… over a chick. “Thanks for the nod of approval, not that I'm asking for it. Nothing’s gonna happen with us.”
“Why not? You have ten weeks to cozy up to her, don't ya?”
I picked up the bottle of Bud on the bar and took a long swig. “Not happening, dude.”
He shook his head. “You need to lighten up, bro. How long’s it been? Four months? I don’t know how you do it. My dick would be falling off.”
“Six, jackass. I have more important things to think about than getting laid. And it’s called a right hand.”
“Gross, dude!”
I tilted my beer toward him and laughed.
We rejoined the others, and I managed to stay out of Simmy’s claws, thanks to Jase, who was more than willing to keep her distracted.
“Yo, Keef, heard you’re playing ball with Sharn Macer?” Morris called out across t
he pool table.
“Didn’t she turn you down in school, a lot?” I smirked at him, unable to resist, and he scowled. “She couldn’t handle me, man.”
We erupted in cheers and whoops, and Mike grabbed him from behind and mimicked pounding into him.
“So come on, Keefer, you hitting that?”
“Dude, will you shut the fuck up already! Who wants to play?” I motioned toward the table.
“I will,” Zac’s voice boomed from behind me. “Let’s make it interesting. A little wager. I win; you have to ‘fess up about Sharn. You win; well, you can choose.”
Zac was a good shot, but I was better. Besides, even if I did lose, there wasn’t anything to own up. So I liked her. Big deal. “You’re on. If I win, beers on you… for a month.”
Brannan nudged Morris, as they watched Zac’s reaction to my proposal. We drank in Durty’s three or four nights a week. Beers for a month would probably set him back a good three hundred and fifty dollars. He’d be mad to take the bet.
Surprising us all, he said, “It’s on.”
He racked up the balls, while I chalked my cue. The rest of the guys eyed us with interest. Things were known to get competitive between the two of us, but we never bet big bucks. Zac broke, sinking one spot and one stripe. He chose spots and missed his next shot. I pocketed three in a row, but the white ball followed the last ball down. I watched him carefully line up his cue with the yellow ball. It was a clean shot. Damn. The red went next, followed by the green.
“Feeling worried yet?” He grinned up at me, as he lined up the purple ball.
I didn’t answer as I watched the purple bounce off the cushion and into the pocket. I breathed a sigh of relief when he missed the blue, and I wasted no time in cleaning up the remaining stripes. There was just the eight ball left for the win. I lined up a shot, drew back the cue, and released it. The white ball collided with the black perfectly, nudging it toward the open pocket, but it rebounded off and rolled back toward the center of the table. Shit.
“Get ready to ‘fess up.” Zac didn’t mess around, sinking his remaining balls. As he lined up the eight ball, sheer determination etched his face and told me all I needed to know—he wasn’t losing this game. I groaned as I watched the black ball drop into the corner pocket.
“So, let’s hear it, dude. You and Sharn?”
I took a deep breath, walked around the table toward him. As I reached him, I leaned into him and whispered, “I like her. I like her… a fucking lot. Happy?”
He stepped back, a grin breaking across his face. “Fucking A, Keefer’s gone all soft on us. It’s only taken you seven years, dude.”
The guys all laughed as my cheeks flushed. Fuck. I was turning into a pussy.
Chapter 5
~ Sharn ~
“Sharn, will you do something, for fuck’s sake?” Russ gritted out in a hushed voice.
“Like what? There's no reasoning with her when she's like this.”
Russ and I were seated on the couch, like naughty children as we listened to the chaos unfold in the room next to us. Mom had come by to collect some of her things, and Dad was lying in wait, ready to confront her. It wasn't going well.
“Cindy, you can't just up and leave. We have to talk and work through the finances together.” His voice was calm but full of authority
“Talk? Ha, that's real big of you, Frank. Last week, you threw me out of my own damn house, and now you want to talk?”
“For the love of God, woman, you'd just dropped a bombshell and what? Expected me to roll over and take it, like usual? This is different, and you know it.”
Russ and I jumped, as the sound of a plate smashing reverberated through the house.
“She's going to smash her way through the whole kitchen at this rate.”
“I can't believe she's going to leave Dad, Russ. What are we going to do?” I whispered.
“Maybe he can sell the house?”
“Sell the house? I love this house. I don't want him to sell up. Maybe I'll have to put up more of my paycheck.” Tears rolled down my cheeks, as I listened to Dad lose his cool with Mom.
Russ pulled me into him and tried reassuring me it'd all work itself out. “I don't make enough with the band to up my cut. Maybe if I move out it'll lighten the load?”
“Seriously, Russ, how will that help? You're never here as it is.”
“CINDY, how could you?”
We sat in silence trying to figure out what we'd missed.
“Geary is a good man...” Mom's voice trailed off as her sobs drowned her words.
“I've known Geary for over ten years. How long?” The venom in Dad's voice shocked me.
“Six months.”
“Get out. GET OUT. NOW!”
I rose from the couch, wanting to go next door to comfort Dad, but Russ pulled me down shaking his head, and I sunk against the backrest, defeated. My suspicions were right; Mom was having an affair.
We waited until it was quiet then silently left the room and crept upstairs. Russ gave me a big hug before retreating to his room. He mentioned something about grabbing some stuff and going to stay with Danny for a few days. I wanted to ask him to stay, but I didn't. I'd be strong for Dad.
I sank into a chair and fired up the laptop. In my whole life, there'd been only one person I told everything. Opening my email, I started typing.
Livy,
How are things? Was Ecuador everything you hoped it would be? Any idea of when you might be heading back to Gainesville? It'd be really great to see you. Things at home aren't good. Turns out after thirty-two years of marriage Mom's the cold-hearted bitch I always thought. Call me, I'll fill you in.
Sharn x
I hit send and closed the lid. I really needed to talk to my best friend. Since college, everything had changed. Livy and Amber, our other best friend, never moved back after graduation. Amber was off playing house with her boyfriend, and Livy was having life changing experiences in Tampa and Ecuador. I’d made plenty of friends at UMich, but once I met Benson, his friends became my friends. When he ended things, he not only broke my heart, he also ruined my social life. I moved back to Gainesville with no money, no Benson, and no friends. It was why I dived into serial dating—a distraction from the crappy life I had returned home to. But even that wasn’t working anymore. There were only so many different guys that a girl could date before she started wondering whether it was them—or her.
I stared at my cell, willing it to ring, but after five minutes, I threw it onto to the bed in defeat. There'd been a time when people would have been queuing up to be my shoulder to cry on, and nowadays, it felt like I had no one. There was Mae, but we only really talked about guys and school. We hadn't crossed into the share-and-care friend zone, yet. She was a nice enough girl, two years older than I was, but I didn’t find myself wanting to open up to her. After one too many margaritas, I did spill my whole Benson heartbreak, but that was more the alcohol talking than me.
Refusing to wallow, I focused on grading papers. I was just about halfway through Kenny’s interesting interpretation of the main themes in Great Expectations when Dad poked his head around the door. “Sharn, honey, can I come in?”
I nodded, and he dropped onto the edge of the bed. His face had aged a decade. “I guess you and Russ heard everything?”
“We heard, Dad. I’m so sorry.”
He dropped his head in his hands, the tears glistening in his eyes. “I knew. It wasn’t a shock, not really. But hearing her say the words, it- it made it worse…”
I dropped the pen in my hand and walked over to join him on the bed. “Dad-”
“We were so in love, you know. Back before we got married, before we had you and your brother. Things, they- they were less complicated then. After Russ was born, your mom changed. She withdrew from me. I just figured she was adjusting to being a mom. But we were never the same.”
“She wasn’t like most moms.” I stared at the floor, remembering all the birthdays and childhood fir
sts ruined by a woman who should have loved me unconditionally.
“No, honey, she wasn’t.”
We stayed like that, side by side, for what felt like hours, before I offered to make us dinner. It was then that Dad broke the news that I had prepared myself for—Mom was moving out and Dad was going to have to sell the house. The tears flowed for the duration of dinner.
~
Monday was difficult. I couldn’t get Dad’s distraught face out of my mind. A couple of times the kids picked up on my somber mood, and I ended up fabricating a whole story about how busy my weekend had been. Thankfully, I’d managed to sleep last night, and so far, I had survived Tuesday without any great slip-ups, but my mood was still suffering.
The bell sounded, and the class filed out. I shut the door and grabbed my bag. Not wanting Keefer to think I was completely disinterested, I’d decided I needed to dress a little more appropriately for the sessions. I pulled out the gym pants and sneakers and headed to the women’s locker room to change.
Pulling up the zipper on the baby pink hoodie, I tore the band off my wrist and collected my hair in a messy pony. Checking myself in the mirror, I grimaced. I looked like I was about to go yoga, not watch ball, but it would have to do.
“Hey, glad you could join us, Miss M,” Kenny called across the field, as I exited the building. I waved and headed to the bleachers, but instead of climbing the steps, I sat in the front row.
Keefer was organizing the boys into groups and directing them to one of three stations he had set out. He looked all kinds of fine in his navy track pants and white and blue jersey. The ends of his dirty blond hair poked from under the cap pulled down low over his eyes. As he demonstrated a pitching technique, I noticed the way his jersey clung to his lean physique. He was so hot, I felt lightheaded from just watching him. Enjoying the view, I settled back onto the bleachers and rubbed my temples. The stress headache I’d had since Sunday refused to resolve. I clamped my eyes shut and tried ignoring the dull pain, but it only made it worse.
“You okay?”
I peered up at Keefer, who had managed to walk over without me even realizing. “Headache.” I held an arm over my head to try to block out the brightness of the sun, which wasn’t helping the pounding in my head.
