Coach Steele: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Autumn Avery

  My heart’s pumping so hard I feel like it’s about to break down. I realize my hand is shaking and have to hold my phone with both hands to stop it from slapping against my cheek. If Tara has heard about this, that means everyone has heard about it, and that means one thing: Coach is going to be, or already has been, fired.

  The next morning at school is the most nerve-wracking morning of my life. As I walk through the front doors I feel like all eyes are on me. I know I’m just being paranoid. No one knows about Coach and me, so I have no reason to feel like this. I just can’t help it.

  The air feels choking and humid and I’m already on the verge of a nervous breakdown as I step into the main hallway. People are milling about as usual, but I can already feel the tension in the air. The news has definitely spread.

  Every group of kids I pass is talking about it.

  “Did you hear about Coach Steele?”

  “Did you hear the news!?”

  “I think he did it.”

  “You do?”

  “Guys are pigs.”

  “I think he’s innocent!”

  Their words echo in my brain and rattle around in my skull like ball bearings as I make my way to my locker. I lean forward and rest my head against the cool metal door, trying to calm down. It helps a little to calm my panic and the flush I feel in my cheeks and forehead.

  My first few classes go by like a blur. I barely hear what Mr. J is talking about in calculus, and definitely can’t concentrate for US History. It doesn’t help that Miss Tories has the softest, most boring voice in the universe. Finally, the bell rings for lunch and I’m walking as quickly as I can to the cafeteria.

  More gossip swirls around me as I step through the doors. My eyes instantly swing to the faculty section.

  He’s not there.

  I see the principal, a few teachers, the hockey coach and some woman from the office, but no Coach Steele.

  The line is just starting to form but I know I won’t be able to eat, so I just head to my normal table and sit down. I’m the first one here and sit like a statue, my eyes glued to the door, watching people come in.

  I know Coach Steele won’t be one of them. There’s no way he’s going to be here today. Even if the school would let him, which I doubt, he wouldn’t want to show his face with all this gossip surrounding him. But a part of me keeps praying that this is all a big mistake, and he’s going to march in those doors and Mrs. Thompson will make an apology announcement that she made it all up and all of this will be over with.

  Or maybe I’m still lying at home in bed and this is all a big terrible dream and I’ll wake up from it, shake it off, come back to school and run into Coach’s strong arms and kiss him.

  But I know that’s just a pipe dream. As time goes by, and more and more kids filter in and sit down, I realize the truth: this is really happening.

  I don’t even get up to get any food and before I know it Tara and Molly are sitting down beside me.

  “Oh my God, did you hear about Coach Steele?” Molly asks me. I can’t roll my eyes hard enough.

  “Yes, Molly. I heard. I know you know I heard, because Tara heard, which means she told you already and told you that she told me. Can we just not gossip about this right now?”

  “What are you talking about?” Tara asks, legitimately flabbergasted. “This is like the biggest news since – ever!”

  “What is there to say?” I ask. “I mean, we don’t even know what happened yet.”

  “We know he was accused of rape!” Tara says emphatically. “What more do you need!?”

  I can feel the rage rising and my chest getting tight. Is this all it takes to destroy a man’s reputation? You would think after all the good work Coach did at this school and how popular he was, people would at least be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially knowing just how crazy Mrs. Thompson is.

  “I have to go,” I say as I get up. I really do. If I stay here much longer I’m going to end up wringing Tara’s neck.

  “You have to go where?” Tara asks. “What are you so mad about? What, is he your boyfriend?”

  It takes everything in me not to slap her as she laughs with Molly. But I manage to pull myself together and walk out of the cafeteria. I know I’m imagining it, but it feels like every eye in the room is on me.

  I walk quickly through the hall. I don’t know where I’m going, but the cafeteria is not where I need to be right now. My mind’s spinning like a hurricane. How am I supposed to deal with this? There’s no playbook for things like this.

  As I turn the corner toward my locker, I run right into someone.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I stammer. But as I move to go around the person, I see who it is. Mrs. Thompson.

  My heart skips a beat and I instantly start sweating. I can smell her perfume. Something like a cheap hooker would wear. She’s caked in makeup and looks like she hasn’t slept. Every fiber of my being wants to claw her eyes out.

  “Oh, that’s okay, dear,” she says to me as she steps around me.

  “Don’t call me dear.”

  The words are out of my mouth before I even realize I was going to say anything. I hear Mrs. Thompson stop in her tracks, but I don’t turn around.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” I repeat. To Hell with the consequences! I’m freaking out and I know it, but I just can’t control myself right now. It’s taking everything I have not to turn around and punch her straight in her face. And I’ve never hit anyone before in my life.

  “I—” she stammers. “I don’t think that’s any way to talk to a teacher, do you?”

  Her voice is like a cheese grater chattering across my bones. Fists clenched at my side, I finally turn around to face her. I feel like a boxer standing off against my opponent. There’s no longer a teacher standing in front of me. There’s just a sad, pathetic, lying woman wearing terrible makeup and clothes off the sale rack.

  “I’ll say whatever I want to you,” I say through clenched teeth. Mrs. Thompson’s jaw drops in disbelief.

  “What did you say?”

  “You’re a liar,” I say, taking a step forward. I’m actually scaring myself right now. I’ve never been this angry before in my life and if I don’t watch out I’m going to take it too far and say something I can’t take back.

  “Excuse me!?” She yelps.

  “You’re a liar,” I repeat. “Coach Steele didn’t touch you. He would never touch you!”

  Before she can reply, I spin on my heels and walk quickly away. I’ve never had Mrs. Thompson for class before, so there’s little chance she knows who I am and won’t be able to hunt me down to discipline me. If I can just avoid her I should be okay.

  My anger is taking over. I kick the door to the back parking lot open and step outside. Coach’s house isn’t far away. I know because he threw us a party after our win against Winsor Academy.

  I’ve never cut school before, but this is a special circumstance. I head out, cutting across the fields toward Main Street.

  I have to find Coach.

  I have to get to the bottom of this.

  5

  Coach Steele

  Coach Steele

  * * *

  My hands clench the armrests of my chair so hard my knuckles have gone white. With one jerk I could tear this chair to pieces. I’ve been sitting here for the better part of two hours, locked in the shock of the last twenty-four hours.

  Rapist.

  That’s what they’re calling me. I know they are. There will be some people who believe in me, but for the most part, people will already have made up their minds. My life, as I know it, is over.

  I got a call from the principal, Sarah Brown, this morning letting me know she thought it was probably a good idea that I didn’t come in today.

  “When should I come in then?” I’d asked her.

  “Well, this situation’s a little touch and go right now,” she said. That was code for “Probably never, but I don’t want to
say that now.”

  So I hung up and took a seat and haven’t moved since.

  I know why all this is happening.

  Mrs. Thompson came over to the house last night in classic soap opera fashion. She was wearing a long black peacoat and when I opened the door, she let it fall open to reveal what she was wearing underneath: nothing.

  “I know you’ve been wanting this,” she told me as she tried to step into the house. “Let’s just stop this silly game and let it happen. I don’t care if we work together.”

  I knew Mrs. Thompson was a little on the crazy side, but I never expected this, especially given the fact that she has two kids and a husband at home. I’d heard the rumors around school that they were having problems, but I tend not to pay much attention to what other people say when it comes to those things.

  She had a pretty decent body. I’m not gonna lie. But it’s nothing compared to my Katie’s, and after having tasted her, nothing else could come close.

  “Mrs. Thompson, this is inappropriate,” I said, blocking her from coming into the house. “I thought I made it clear—“

  “Stop it,” she said, and before I knew it, she reached out and slid her hand down my pants and grabbed my dick. “Show me why they call you Steele.”

  I’ve never moved so fast to get a woman’s hand off my dick as I did then. Suddenly I was as fast as a superhero. It was unbelievable. But what was more unbelievable, was the look of pure anger on her face.

  “What is wrong with you?” She asked me. My mind was racing. What if someone saw this?

  She stepped forward and leaned up against me and put her hand against my thigh.

  “You need me to warm you up first?” She asked.

  “No. No, I don’t,” I replied, gently putting a hand against her shoulders to push her off. “I want you to get out of here. Now.”

  The confusion in her face blew my mind. This woman has to be completely batshit, I thought. No one could still possibly think there was something between us after all these failed advances. I mean, this is way behind not picking up on signals. “What, are you gay?” She asked me, with such a look of anger on her face that I almost thought she was going to hit me. “That must be it. You must be a total fruit.”

  I was so shocked it took me a second to recover.

  “No, Mrs. Thompson. I’m not…a fruit. But I’ve told you enough times now that this is not going to happen. I need you to hear me.”

  She stood there silently for so long I started to wonder if she’d turned to stone or was a robot that had started malfunctioning or something. She didn’t even seem embarrassed that her tits were hanging out while she stood there.

  Finally, her eyes narrowed and she spoke.

  “You’re going to regret this,” she said. And with that, she pulled her coat closed around her, turned around and walked off into the shadows.

  I knew right then what she meant. But I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe she’d actually go through with it. But then this morning when the phone rang, I realized the truth.

  * * *

  My whole life is over. Something like this can destroy a man’s reputation and mine’s already probably fucked. There’s no way Principal Brown is going to have me back after this, no matter what she says about this being “touch and go.” More like “you touched her, you go!”

  I can pack up my shit and leave. If this doesn’t go to court, which it probably will. But even if it doesn’t and all that happens is I lose my job, I’ll never be able to see my Katie again.

  The thought has me devastated. It’s like all the color has gone out of the world. I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet today. All I’ve done is sit here and steam in my chair, going over the options I have, which are very few.

  I can pack up my shit and run, but that will just make me look even guiltier. Taking a bus to Montana when you’ve just been accused of rape probably isn’t the best bet.

  I could flee the country, learn another language and see if they want a basketball coach in France somewhere.

  I could pay Mrs. Thompson a visit and see if I can convince her to drop the charges. She’d probably make me fuck her, and I just don’t know if I could do it. Literally. Not only is my heart about to explode out of my chest out of sheer anxiety, but the fact that I despise her would probably kill any chance I have of getting a hard-on.

  I suppose I could invent a time machine, use it to go back to last night and put Mrs. Thompson in a cardboard box and mail her to Indonesia.

  Finally, I’ve had enough and leap out of my chair, knocking it onto the floor. I head to my bedroom and toss on an old tank top and a pair of sweatpants and head down to the basement. My heavy bag is sitting in the corner, but it only takes a second to hoist it back onto the chain in the middle of the room.

  This is just what I need.

  All my frustrations come pouring out of me with every blow. My fists fly like a blur as I pound the worn black leather of the bag. Swing after swing. Left, right, left, right. I hammer the thing with a fury I haven’t had in years.

  I’d dreamt of being a boxer when I was young, but the whole professional basketball career got in the way of that. Dust flies off the bag as I unleash a flurry of blows. I haven’t even bothered wrapping my hands. I want to feel the pain on my knuckles. It takes my mind off my situation.

  The sting of my skin is nothing compared to the pain I feel when I think about the fact that I may never be able to see Katie again. I waited. I waited so long for her to turn eighteen, and now, after I’ve had a taste of her, she’s going to be ripped out of my life.

  I can’t let that happen.

  But I don’t know what else to do. How am I going to handle this? Breaking the news of our relationship to her parents was going to be hard enough without this on top of it.

  Sweat is pouring down my face and chest. My tank top is soaked through before I realize it. I wonder how long I’ve been down here. My arms are burning, but I can’t stop swinging. My heart rate must be sky high and I’m gasping for breath with each blow. And that’s when I hear the doorbell.

  Letting my hands drop, I listen.

  It rings again. Who could it be?

  On my way up the stairs I grab a rag and wipe my face. I think about putting on something to make myself look more presentable, but decide against it. If it’s someone from school, it’s not going to matter. The chances of them showing up here in person anyway are slim to none.

  It’s probably the cops come to inform me about the charges against me, but just for a second, I let myself hope that it’s Katie come to see me. She’s at school, but maybe she cut. Maybe they had a half day for some random reason and instead of going home she came here.

  I dab the sweat from my chest and open the door.

  My heart sinks.

  “Hello, sir. Are you Bryce Steele?”

  Two officers stand on my front steps. I actually recognize the one on the left as one of the kids on my team who graduated a few years ago. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere in the world but here.

  “Hey, Peters,” I say with a nod. Chris Peters, that’s his name.

  “Coach,” he says with a nod back, then catches himself. “Uh, Mr. Steele.”

  The other officer takes over.

  “Mr. Steele, I’m Officer Brady and this is Officer Peters. We’re here about some allegations that have been made against you by a Mrs. Jane Thompson. Are you aware of these allegations?”

  “I am,” I say grimly. Peters shuffles his feet and looks at the ground, obviously not wanting any part of this.

  “Well, we’re obviously going to need to speak with you about it. Would you be able to come down to the station today?”

  “You’re asking me? Aren’t you going to arrest me?”

  “We’d rather not,” Officer Brady says. “People know you. The kids all know you. We’d like to not make this a big scene. We’re willing to let you come down on your own.”

  “No one thinks you’re
gonna flee the country or anything,” Peters jokes, finally chiming in.

  “Right,” I say slowly. Little does Peters know this was actually something I was considering. “Okay, just let me shower up and get dressed. See you guys in an hour. That work for you?”

  “That’s fine, Coach,” Peters says. “Uh, Mr. Steele.”

  Despite my mood, I manage to smile at Peters as they head back to the cruiser. I step inside and shut the door and head for the bathroom, when the doorbell rings again.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I curse under my breath. I yank open the door. “Yes?”

  And there she is. Standing on my steps, is Katie.

  6

  Katie

  Katie

  * * *

  “Katie!” Coach sounds surprised to see me and looks at me like he can’t believe I’m here. He’s all sweaty and looks like he’s been working out. His tank top is soaked through and I can see his muscles, and even though I’m freaking out over this situation, I’m turned on.

  “What are you doing here?” He asks, ushering me quickly inside. His hand is warm on my back and I can smell his sweat as I brush past him. He shuts and locks the door behind me and turns to face me.

  “I came to see you,” I tell him, inhaling deeply, taking his scent into my lungs. It is calming. Just being around him is calming, like somehow everything will be okay. He’s radiating warmth. “What were you doing?”

  “Just working the bag,” he replies. It’s then I notice his knuckles.

  “Oh my God! What did you do to yourself!?” I take his hands in mine. I can feel the calluses on his palm, but the skin on his knuckles is red, rough and scraped and in some places, bleeding.

  “I may have gotten carried away,” he says with a sigh.

  “Come here, let me take care of this for you,” I tell him and take him by the hand and lead him into the bathroom. “Do you have anything we can put on this?”