How to Date a Douchebag_The Coaching Hours

by Sara Ney

  And the gang is all here.

  Anabelle waits.

  Waits through the entire meet, until the last man has been pinned and the wrestlers are on their knees, tipping back water, listening to their last lecture before heading into the locker rooms.

  The sign is neon pink with glitter-covered letters, a blazing beacon in a room full of black and yellow that catches Coach Donnelly’s eye almost immediately when she holds it above her head. Rocks back and forth on her heels, the glitter catching the light in just the right way to make the letters shine.

  Coach glances up, searching the crowd for his daughter.

  I watch the poor man do a double take.

  Squint.

  Read.

  Read it again, lean forward, toss down his clipboard, and stalk toward Rex Gunderson. He grabs him by the shirt collar and points toward where Anabelle and I are standing, forcing Rex to read the sign. Pointing, jamming his fingers in our direction.

  “Yeesh,” Anabelle mutters. “It looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.”

  “That does look like a very likely scenario.”

  She smacks me in the abs. “Oh shit. He’s coming over.”

  Anabelle

  “What the hell is the meaning of this?” My father stomps over, glaring at me, at the ridiculous sign. Rips it out of my hands and tosses it to the stadium floor, along with all the other garbage the students in our section have discarded.

  “Hey! I worked really hard on that!”

  “You think this shit is funny, Anabelle Juliet?” My dad is so pissed—but then again, what else is new? “You have two seconds to tell me exactly what the hell is going on. Then I’m going to drag Mr. Gunderson’s bony ass over here and you’re going to repeat it to him.”

  I take a deep breath, Elliot standing beside me, one hand on the small of my back. “There’s something Gunderson and Eric Johnson needs to tell you.”

  “That they’re gay?” he shouts over the noise, glancing back at Rex.

  “What? No!” I laugh at my dad’s confusion. “I mean, maybe they are, who knows, but that is not the point I’m trying to make right now.”

  “What is your point? If you’re going to come into my house—my arena—with that tasteless sign and cause a ruckus, you better have a damn good reason for it, young lady.”

  My father’s bushy brows rise expectantly, eyes shifting between Elliot and me. Noticing the narrow space between our bodies, and our hands—they’re hanging at our sides but are almost touching. A palpable air of intimacy hangs between us.

  “Get to the point, Anabelle—I have some skull-crushing to do in the locker room and not much time to do it.”

  I open my mouth to tell him…

  …and the whole story comes out.

  The bet. Overhearing it at the gym. Crying in the library then going out and getting wasted. Elliot bringing me home, back to his place. Going on a fake date with Rex but not hating it.

  He’s mad, but he listens, nostrils flaring out with his displeasure. Arms crossing, steam rising from his ears.

  When I finish, he nods tersely, narrowed gaze sliding to a nervous Rex Gunderson, who didn’t have the balls to join us.

  Two days later, we heard through one of my dad’s wrestlers that Rex had been fired as team manager, suspended for the remainder of the semester, and is no longer able to hold a job on campus. Eric Johnson lost his partial scholarship and eligibility to wrestle at any Division 1 school.

  My feelings range from glad to guilty and every emotion in between, but that’s not what has been haunting me.

  Elliot is finally graduating, the end of the semester looming above us like a storm cloud, shadowing us wherever we go. With every box he packs up, every call from his mom to find out when he’ll be home, it becomes more real.

  Everything about us has been too easy. Everything about him is too constant and good. He’s handsome and funny and makes me feel…

  He makes me feel…

  I glance up at him from my spot at the library table with an unsteady smile, pen poised above a notebook. When he notices my eyes welling up, he’s quick to reach across the table and brush away the tears with his thumb.

  And tonight, after we make love, he’ll hold me with his strong, steady arms. It’ll make me feel better, for a few moments.

  Until it’s time for me to let him go.

  Anabelle

  “What are your plans this summer?”

  I can’t meet his eyes as he hefts a large box, carrying and setting it next to the door. Elliot’s pile of boxes is growing, stacked in the living room.

  The semester is over and he’s packed up, ready to leave, a summer internship already waiting for him a few states over.

  “Work.” I shuffle my bare feet. “I’ll probably try to see my mom for at least a week or two in Massachusetts. She’ll expect a visit since it’s been an entire semester, making me basically the world’s crappiest daughter.”

  “You’re hardly the crappiest.” He laughs. “I’m sure there are worse daughters in the world.”

  I don’t know what to say next, so I go with, “Thank you for leaving the couch—it would suck having to sit on the floor.”

  “No problem. It’s not like I could have taken it with me anyway.”

  Everything he’s taking along on his journey has to fit in his car, and it’s not much. Just a few boxes, his bedding, computer, and toiletries from the bathroom.

  “As it is, I only have room for a few more boxes, so…” Those mammoth hands of his get stuffed deep into the pockets of his cargo shorts.

  I look around, surveying the landscape. The bare walls, the nearly empty rooms. “What about your TV?”

  He hasn’t taken that out of his room yet.

  “I’m leaving it for you.”

  “Jeez, Elliot, I’m not keeping your TV.”

  “Anabelle, can you not make a big production out of it? You can have my bed and the TV and you won’t have to sleep in that shitty twin anymore.”

  “It’s not a shitty twin! It’s just tiny.”

  Since I have one more year of school before graduation, I’m staying, in this town and in this house. Who knows, I might even find myself a roommate to rent out my old room.

  “So this is it, huh? You’re doing it.”

  Packing up and moving to Michigan.

  “It’s really not that far.”

  Six hours and forty-three minutes, or an hour-and-forty-five-minute flight…not that I Googled it or anything.

  “No. It’s not that far I guess. I’m excited for you.”

  But not for myself. I’m going to miss him, going to lose a bit of myself when he finally turns and walks out that door for the last time.

  “We can text and follow each other on social media.”

  “Great.”

  “You don’t seem excited.”

  That’s because I’m not! I want to shout. I’m devastated you’re leaving! My best friend is leaving to create a new life for himself, one that doesn’t include me.

  “I’m excited, of course I am, don’t be silly. I’m just…I don’t know, Elliot. I’m pouting. Don’t even listen to me, okay? Don’t let me ruin your day.”

  “Ruin my day? Do you think I’m happy about this?”

  Then stay!

  Stay and finish your education here.

  I hang my head, unable to look him in the eyes, afraid of what I’ll see there. “I’m just being selfish.”

  “It’s not selfish, Anabelle. It just means you care.”

  A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it painfully when he adds, “You’ve been a really good friend to me.”

  “Friends.”

  “I thought that’s what you wanted—to be friends.”

  “Of course I do! But I already have enough friends, even if most of them aren’t in Iowa, and now you’ll be long-distance, too.” Outside, cars drive slowly down the street. The sounds of the students a few houses down can be heard as they haul furniture
to their curb. “You have to give me time to adjust, okay? I already miss you and you’re standing right in front of me.”

  “Give you time? Time for what?”

  “I’m losing someone I was just starting to, you know…love.”

  “You don’t think I feel the same way?”

  “As a friend? Of course.”

  “No, Anabelle, I love you—I do.”

  Why is he telling me this now, after all these months? Is he trying to destroy every piece of my already breaking heart?

  “You love me?” I struggle to get the words out.

  “Of course I do.”

  “But you’re leaving, so tell me this… what difference does it make? Go chase your dream, Elliot.”

  There’s an entire lifetime ahead of us.

  “Anabelle, you know I have to move. Michigan has one of the best post-grad programs for kinesiology in the country, and I’m lucky to have been accepted. You just transferred, so I can’t ask you to come with me. We practically just met.”

  “I know,” I answer miserably.

  He steps forward, cupping my chin in his hands. “You’re so close to graduation yourself.”

  “I wish you’d stop telling me things I already know.” I try to look away, but he won’t let me.

  “It sucks, but it’s for the best. You’re going to graduate, and I’m going to get my master’s, and I’ll come visit every once in a while when I can. I just don’t see how long-distance can work right now.”

  “It’s fine, Elliot. You already said you weren’t ready for a relationship and I respect that. I won’t pressure you. I’m mature enough to be okay with this. So, you can leave, and go with a clear conscience.” I falter, swallowing. “We’ll both miss each other, but we’ll get over it.”

  Life goes on.

  “Eventually, right?” His voice wavers. Shakes.

  And I swear, I’ve never seen a guy’s eyes well with tears before, but Elliot’s are welling up now. I can barely stand looking at him. It’s killing me inside. It’s killing me knowing he’s leaving, moving halfway across the country.

  Knowing he’s not going to be returning when classes resume in the fall.

  “Jesus, don’t you dare cry, too,” I scold, bottom lip trembling when he wraps his strong arms around me, resting his forehead on mine. “Please, don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry, Ana.” His face is buried in my shoulder, in my hair, arms wrapped around me tightly. “I love you, I do, but I have to go.”

  “You’re going to do amazing things, Elliot St. Charles. You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had.”

  “I’ll be back for the holidays. It’s not like you’re getting rid of me forever.”

  “But you’ll be old by then, maybe even have gray hair, and I’ll probably start dating Rex Gunderson and won’t remember your name.”

  “I swear to fucking God, if you start dating Rex Gunderson, I will literally—”

  “Literally what?”

  “I don’t know, but it would crush me.”

  An alarm goes off in his pocket, his cell phone chiming a gentle reminder that it’s time to leave.

  He’s needed somewhere else.

  “I have to go or I’ll be late meeting my parents.”

  “All right.”

  “Anabelle.” Elliot’s big, masculine hands take hold of my face. “I…I…”

  I bow my head, wordlessly saying what my lips can’t.

  I know.

  Me too.

  He presses his lips to mine, and I can taste the salt from our tears, his and mine.

  “Just go.” I can barely get the whisper out of my throat, it’s so raw from emotion. “Get out of here.”

  I give him a gentle shove toward the door and he takes a step over the threshold. Then another.

  He nods, fighting back tears, but one escapes anyway and slides down his face, glistening in the sunlight.

  I hate this. Hate it.

  “Goodbye,” he mouths.

  “Bye,” I mouth back.

  Then I watch him walk away. Climb into his car, start the engine, idling.

  He sits, staring at the little house we lived in together for one amazing semester—the best semester of my life—and I see him inhale a deep breath, clutching the steering wheel.

  He sends me a quick wave.

  I don’t know how long I stand on that porch, watching him go, but it’s long enough that his car disappears around the corner, out of sight.

  Finally, I have the energy to raise my hand and wave back.

  Except he’s not there anymore.

  He’s gone.

  “I love you.”

  Elliot: Hey you—what are you up to?

  Anabelle: Rearranging some IKEA furniture I just bought and put together.

  Elliot: Oh yeah? Like what?

  [Anabelle Donnelly sent an attachment]

  Elliot: You put that shelf together yourself???

  Anabelle: Why are you saying it like that?! With all those questions marks? YE OF LITTLE FAITH.

  Elliot: That thing is huge!

  Anabelle: I love them. My friend said white bookshelves are hard to decorate, but I’m in love with these. I need more room because my mom just sent some books I had at her house.

  Elliot: Don’t get too comfortable. You’re only there for two more semesters. You’re going to have to move all that shit out.

  Anabelle: That’s what dads and friends with pickup trucks are for.

  Elliot: You have a friend with a pickup truck?

  Anabelle: Not yet, but I’m determined to find one.

  Anabelle: Where are you now?

  Elliot: I stopped in Indiana last night, so I’m somewhere near the Great Lakes. Have you ever seen Lake Michigan in the summer?

  Anabelle: No, what’s it like?

  Elliot: Like being on the ocean, along the east coast. Really fucking pretty. You’d love it.

  Anabelle: Send me a picture before you get back in your car and keep driving.

  [Elliot St. Charles sent an attachment]

  Anabelle: Wow. You’re right, that does look like the ocean.

  Elliot: That’s not what I’d really like to be looking at right now.

  Anabelle: What would you rather be looking at right now?

  Elliot: Your sleeping face on the pillow next to mine.

  Anabelle: Don’t say things like that anymore.

  Elliot: Sorry, I won’t.

  Two weeks later

  Elliot: This apartment sucks.

  Anabelle: How so?

  Elliot: It always sounds like the tenant in the unit upstairs is rearranging furniture in the middle of the night. I think he’s a med student working second shift at the hospital.

  Anabelle: At least it’s not yelling and screaming. I once lived in a house with someone living in the basement, and she’d fight with her boyfriends all the time. Yeah, that’s right, I said boyfriends, as in multiple.

  Elliot: I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but the dude is still soooo fucking loud.

  Anabelle: I can gladly say my new roommate is NOT. I can barely tell she’s here because, well, she’s barely ever here. It’s kind of a bummer—I thought Madison would be better company, thought we’d watch movies and crap.

  Elliot: So a replacement Elliot?

  Anabelle: Without the benefits, LOL

  Elliot: Maybe she’ll come around more when school starts. Everyone is MIA in the summer because there’s nothing to do in town.

  Anabelle: She was with me at the party last semester. You know the one…

  Elliot: That party will be etched into my brain forever.

  Anabelle: Because I humiliated myself???

  Elliot: No, because you let me be there for you.

  Anabelle: What do you mean?

  Elliot: I didn’t realize it at the time, but I’d never felt so protective over anyone. That night was a first.

  Anabelle: Seriously? But I was so drunk.

  Elliot: Maybe, bu
t I knew the reason why, and you looked so fucking pretty.

  Anabelle: Despite being drunk?

  Elliot: Yeah, despite you being drunk. And the morning after? Man, I thought you were so cute.

  Anabelle: I was HUNG-OVER AF. The morning after was a train wreck. I wore the same clothes home.

  Elliot: You did seem pretty embarrassed, but man were you cute.

  Anabelle: Humiliated.

  Elliot: Thank God there was no repeat performance.

  Anabelle: OH! Changing gears! Did Dev tell you I’m still playing soccer with those guys? They’ve started playing once a week, so I go to the gym less.

  Elliot: You guys are playing once a week? Damn, now you’re making me jealous. I could never get their lazy asses onto the field more than once a month.

  Anabelle: I found a few more girls to join the team so I’m no longer outnumbered. **brushes dust off shoulders** The field is full of Devin’s drool. Plus, I think he likes me.

  Elliot: Oh I bet he likes you.

  Anabelle: Not like THAT, LOL. We’re bros.

  Elliot: Bros my ass. He’s probably so fucking glad I’m gone.

  Anabelle: Probably, LOL. I do catch him staring at my ass a lot.

  Elliot: Tell him to knock that shit off.

  Anabelle: Why? He’s not GRABBING it. He tries to hide it, but subtlety is not his forte, the poor guy. I bent over twice last night just to test the theory.

  Elliot: Sometimes you’re a real fucking brat, do you know that, Donnelly?

  Anabelle: You love it.

  Elliot: I do.

  Elliot: And I miss you.

  Anabelle: I miss you, too.

  Six weeks later

  Friday, August 22nd

  Dear Elliot,

  I thought I’d email you instead of text because I told myself I’d stay off my phone until this midterm paper is done. So, I’m doing this the old-fashioned way, modern day snail mail…or maybe I’m sending you this letter because I’ve had a glass of wine tonight and am slightly buzzed and missing you more than I probably should or have any right to. Who knows, by the time I get to the end, I might delete it instead of hitting send.

  Madison has been great to live with. She has a few friends who come hang out at our place, and I’m starting to consider them friends, too. She’s been waitressing all summer at Mad Dog Jacks, which I didn’t know served food. She says the tips are awesome, mostly because during the day, it’s barflies that come in, over-tipping because they’re drunk. I don’t know, maybe I’ll apply there. I have some nights free and could use the extra cash.