Refuse to Lose (A Coach's Love Book 1)

by Alison Mello

  "Mr. Shepard, where is your attorney?" This guy has been the judge in this town since I was a child. He knows Caleb is one of my best friends and should be here to represent me.

  My brows shoot up, shocked that he cares. "He couldn't be here today, Your Honor. He's dealing with another case."

  "So be it. We’re here today because you were pulled over for driving while under the influence of alcohol. What do you have to say for yourself?"

  "I only had a few drinks, Your Honor." I shrug it off, but he doesn’t look amused.

  "Mr. Shepard, just because you’ve served our wonderful country, doesn't mean you can get away with drinking and driving." The judge looks down at a piece of paper and then looks back at me. "Being that you were on your way to semi-pro ball, here's what I'm going to offer you.” He pauses for a moment. “Our town has recently lost one of its little league coaches." I roll my eyes. Here we go. "You can either step up and coach the team this year as community service, or you can spend the next six months in jail. Choice is yours."

  "Are you serious right now? What kind of choice is that?" I bark out. I’m going to kill Billy for this. It was my choice to drive, but I did it so he wouldn’t.

  A smile spreads across his face. "Which will you choose, Mr. Shepherd?"

  I exhale a deep breath. "Fine, I’ll coach baseball."

  "Good, here you go. The season starts in four weeks. You better start contacting your team." He holds out a piece of paper that is handed to me by one of the court officers. I look at the sheet to see a list of names, addresses, and phone numbers.

  My eyes shoot up to meet his. "You planned this?" I question.

  He shrugs. "Not until I saw you on my docket. These kids need a coach, and I think they’ll be just as good for you as you’ll be for them. Now get out of my courtroom before I change my mind and lock you up." I start to walk away, but he calls out to me. "Oh and, Mr. Shepard."

  I turn back to him and respond, “Yes, Your Honor.”

  "Step foot in my courtroom again and I won't be so easy on you."

  I nod and then storm out of the courtroom and down to sign the papers that state I agree to the terms of my court-mandated community service. Caleb is going to hear about this.

  "Name," the woman behind the desk shouts out.

  Running my fingers through my thick, overgrown hair I mumble, "Trystan Shepherd."

  I finally look up at her to find a huge smile on her face. "Oh, hey, Trystan. What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in forever." She bats her lashes at me.

  I roll my eyes. "Same shit different day."

  She's gushing as she hands me my paperwork and tells me to sign in the appropriate spots. I don't even know this woman's name. She looks familiar and clearly she knows me.

  With her hands shaking, she bats her lashes yet again. "I'll be right back," she purrs her voice, showing how anxious she really is before walking away to make me a copy of the paperwork. I let out a deep breath wanting nothing more than to get away from this woman. She is just one more over-eager toothpick ready to jump into bed with me. She has no idea what my life is like, what I've been through, and she has no desire to know. Women throw themselves at me all the time, and it's disgusting. I mean, I know I'm good looking and if it weren't for the deployment and the injury to my ankle, I’d probably be playing at least semi-pro ball right now. But seriously, have some self-respect. You're probably thinking that I'm a pompous asshole, but I'm not. No, seriously. I was born and raised here in Stonehill, a small town in the middle of nowhere, West Virginia, and trust me—I wasn't joking when I said that everyone in this town knows everyone's business. It first started when everyone found out that my ex, Sophia, cheated on me while I was away at boot camp, but it got worse when my unit returned home from an overseas mission. The women were crawling all over us wanting nothing more than to be with the ‘hometown hero,’ as they labeled me upon my return. I had decided I had seen enough after my last deployment and got out. Now, I’m an everyday carpenter. Don’t get me wrong, I stay in shape, but that’s not why they want me.

  "Here you go, stud." She hands me an envelope with my paperwork in it. "I added a sticky note with my phone number. Let's get together sometime." I shake my head and walk away not saying a word. If she only knew how many phone numbers I've collected. Shit, I could make a new town phone book with them all.

  My shithead attorney approaches as I’m leaving the courthouse. "Well, if it isn't my best friend slash attorney finally coming to see me. It’s sad we don’t get to see each other and when I finally need you, you leave me hanging, you asshole." Caleb and I have known each since elementary school. We started playing little league baseball together and managed to stay on the same team until we got to high school. He started playing football, but I stuck with baseball. I tried to convince him to play both, but he said he needed the off-season to workout and recover from the beatings his body took on the field. He went to college on a football scholarship, then went to law school and is now an attorney. He always said he would back me as my lawyer even though he’s moved and lives about an hour and a half away.

  I went to community college but wanted to serve my country too, so I joined the National Guard as a 12W, Carpentry Specialist. I'm great with my hands, in more ways than one if you know what I mean. Things were going great until my guard unit got called up and I had to deploy to Afghanistan.

  He throws his head back in laughter, pulling me from my thoughts. "I was warned to stay out of the courtroom for this one." Cal put his arm over my shoulder. "You ready to coach some baseball?"

  "Dude! You fucking knew?" I shove him off of me, sending him flying off the steps. He's tall, standing about two inches taller than my five-foot-eleven, but he's not as bulky as he once was.

  "Yeah. Judge Mackey called me, told me the situation and said he thought this would be good for you. You know if you fuck this up he's going to throw your ass in jail, right?"

  I shake my head. "Fuck my life," I growl as we walk toward his car.

  He's still laughing at my expense, and it's pissing me off. "Come on. I'll take you to get your car before they charge you a fortune in storage fees." It's already going to cost me a pretty penny. They towed my car, and it's been sitting at the impound lot since Friday evening. We're talking three days of storage fees at probably fifty dollars a day plus whatever they charge me for the towing. God knows what else they'll tack on.

  I can't help but stare out the window as he drives me to get my car. He's sitting in silence, and the tension is thick. "Listen, I know you. This will be good for you." He finally breaks the quiet.

  "How is this going to be good for me? I don't know the first thing about how to deal with kids, and you know our town. This team is filled with kids whose parents either have money and just want a place to dump them while they’re out having fun, or as poor as shit and couldn't care less what their kids are doing. There’s no happy medium here, not to mention I’m not the one who needs help and you know it.”

  "First, all you do is work and sit in that house of yours like a hermit. Second, that makes you coaching them that much more important." He stops at a red light and looks at me. "Dude, you may not have come from money, but your mother was never around and you don’t even know your father. These kids will need an adult figure in their life, someone to look up to and who will be there for them. You know what life is like in this town. You were the kid who walked across town to get to practice because you wanted to play so bad."

  Damn fucking right I was. My mother was a single mom raising a stubborn son. I was a happy kid who didn't care if I had the best things in life as long as I could play baseball. My mama busted her ass to ensure I had what I needed to play, but she was never around to take me to practices and hardly ever made it to my games. My father left when my mom was pregnant, and we've never heard from him again. She won't even tell me who he is. She says she doesn't know, but I think she's full of shit. She screwed up getting pregnant with me when she was
twenty-one, but she was never one to sleep around. I was lucky that she at least cared enough to provide for me and keep food in the house despite the fact she was never home. She was always off either working or hanging with friends. She brought another man into our house one time and one time only. The bastard tried to beat me until I grabbed my bat and swung at him to defend myself. She came into the room, saw my black eye, and kicked him out. Told him if he ever came near either of us again, she'd let me use him for batting practice again.

  “Third, I know you’re not the one with the problem and we’ll deal with him, but I still think this will be good for you. It’ll give you something to do in your downtime.” I hear him talking, but it’s all white noise right now. “Earth to Trystan," Cal calls out, bringing me back from my thoughts. "Dude, get the fuck out of my car. I have to get going."

  "Thanks for the ride." I climb out of his precious Jaguar, slamming the door hard to piss him off. That's payback for leaving me high and dry today. He flips me off and spins his tires, kicking up dirt as he leaves the parking lot.

  When I get inside, there's Barney kicked back in a chair with his feet up. "Ready to get your car back, hot shot?" Barney, the town dick head, is a total waste of space just like he was as a kid. He’s the town bully. Always fucking with everyone, and he's never going to change. Ignoring him, I pull my wallet from my back pocket, slip my credit card from the slot, and toss it onto his desk. He rolls his eyes, pissed off that he didn't get a rise out of me. He grabs the card, swipes it through the machine, and tosses me a pen along with the slip I need to sign to get my car. I quickly scribble my name on the line and toss the paper and pen back at him. He hands me my card and keys. The entire transaction is done with nothing else said. I walk out to find my cherry red Corvette sitting next to some piece of shit car that’s covered with dirt. My eyes scan the car to ensure he didn't fuck it up because God help him if there is one scratch on her. My house isn't anything fancy, shit, neither are my clothes, but my Corvette is something I took pride in choosing. I have this and a truck that I use for work. This car cost me some loot, but she was well worth it. Once I'm satisfied, I climb in, put the top down and bolt out of the parking lot. It's a nice day, and there's nothing I like more than driving with the top down.

  After a brief ride around town, I find myself by the park where I once played ball and will now be coaching a bunch of ten to twelve-year-olds. It's empty, not a soul to be found. It's sad really. When I was growing up, this place was always full of children and laughter, kids swinging on the swings, a game of stickball going at the diamond. It didn't matter what side of the tracks you were from or how shitty life was, for the most part, we all got along and had a good time. I let out a deep breath. Now I have to figure out how to pull this group together and make them a team. I slam my car into gear and pull away from the curb. When I finally arrive home, I put the top up and climb out.

  "Hey," some kid calls, out walking across the street with his boys.

  "Yeah." I'm taking a defensive stance, ready in case these punks try something.

  He stops just in front of me and looks me up and down. "I heard you're our new coach."

  "Maybe I am. You have a problem with that?"

  The kid chuckles and looks over at his friends before eyeing me once again. "Not if you're actually going to care. Our old coach didn’t give a shit about us. He would leave us hanging for practices and blew us off for some of the games."

  My brows furrow. "Do you kiss your mama with that mouth?" I cross my arms over my chest.

  "My mama couldn't give a fuck what comes out of my mouth." He mocks me, crossing his arms over his chest.

  I shake my head. This is going to be interesting. "I do. You gather your friends and tell them to be at the field tomorrow evening at six p.m. We'll see what you got."

  . "You're in for a real treat.” He shakes his head, a cocky sneer on his face. “We're like the bad news bears." He taps his friend on the chest and says, “Let’s go.”

  "Wait." He turns back. "How did you know I was the new coach?"

  "The judge is my granddaddy."

  Great. That means the judge is going to be all over my ass and now not only do I have to coach a little league team, but it’s a bunch of kids that don't know how to play baseball. What the hell did I get myself into? I shake my head as I lock my vehicle and head into the house. It's a small home near the center of town. It’s nothing fancy, but it's mine. I have some things to do before practice tomorrow, like tidy up and email all the parents. I also have to get ready for work tomorrow; having to take the day off to go to court didn't exactly please my boss. Lucky for me, he is a good friend and he knows what happened, so he just busted my balls. He too grew up here and carried on his family’s small construction company. He was happy to hire me to work for him when I got back. He handles all the town’s small jobs. My phone vibrates in my back pocket as I finish opening the shades to let some sun in. When I pull my phone from my pocket, I see a text from a random number.

  I hear you've already started to fulfill your court order. There's equipment in the storage shed waiting for you. You can pick it up at five thirty tomorrow evening. Someone will be waiting.

  I throw my head back in laughter. I'm willing to bet the judge’s grandson has already told him that he spoke to me. That family has money, and he's probably one of the brats in this town that has had everything handed to him. I'm also willing to bet he is going to be the kid that will cause me the most trouble. Looking back at the message, I bet he means the old beat up shed by the park. That shed has been around longer than I have and despite the fact it has a lock, the thing can be accessed quite easily. You can blow on the door and it would fall off of the old hinges. I'm not sure how the judge thinks this is going to help me. The near miss crash I had Friday night was scarier than coaching this group of kids, but I'll play his game to stay out of jail.

  Once I've put out the trash, I grab my laptop and pull the paper he gave me from my back pocket. It has a list of fifteen kids’ names, phone numbers, and their email addresses. This is the moment I'm glad I paid attention in school when the teachers told us we would need to learn how to type and use computers. I boot up the laptop and log into Gmail, creating an email strictly for the team. Then I send the first email, putting a start to my community service.

  Hello team,

  I am your new coach, and our first practice will be at the town’s field tomorrow at six p.m. Please be there five minutes prior with cleats and any equipment that you own.

  Coach Trystan

  When I walk in the front door of our rented house, I find both boys at the kitchen table attempting to do homework. I say attempting because they are very excited and animated over baseball practice tonight. I'm glad that DJ finally has something to look forward to. He was really shy about joining sports when we first got here, and now that he's friends with Mason and he's discovered they both enjoy the same sport, he's ready to go.

  "Shouldn't you boys be hard at it?"

  "We're almost done, Mom. We're just excited for practice."

  "I'm sure you are, but if your homework isn't done neither of you are going anywhere."

  They both let out a sigh, but get back to their homework while I make them a snack of grapes, cheese, and pepperoni. Misty and I are both firm believers in our kids eating healthy. I'm pretty lucky when it comes to that, DJ is a great kid and eats healthy for the most part. Mason is pretty good too, but her other two kids are tough cookies. As a matter of fact, that's about all they like to eat—cookies and snacks. It drives Misty up a wall.

  "Mason, after you boys are done with your snack and homework, gather your things. I'm going to take you to your house to get your stuff, and your mom will pick you up at the field."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  I make myself busy cleaning up around the house, throwing a load of laundry in the wash and then changing into something a bit more comfortable for the ball field. It's spring, which means warm days and cool nigh
ts. I slip on a pair of jeggings, a t-shirt, and pull a sweatshirt from the closet to toss into my car. By the time I'm done, the boys have their homework done and are cleaning up from their snack. It's perfect timing because we need to leave shortly.

  We pull up to the ball field at five forty-five. The boys are eager to get started, so they jump out of the car and run straight to the field to begin throwing a ball around. At this level, they are starting to develop positions, and DJ has been a pitcher and a second baseman. He’s a switch hitter as well which isn't common, so he's usually in the middle of the lineup. Mason is a catcher which works out well for them. It gives DJ the chance to get a lot of pitching practice in. I think it was one of the things that got them started on a great friendship—they both have a love for the game, and they can work together to make each other a better player. I take a seat in the bleachers and wait to see who else shows up. The coach asked for us to be here five minutes early and it's now ten till six, but there aren't many people here yet. Of course, from what I've heard, this is the way it goes in this town. Their last coach was a jerk and the town was thrilled when the family moved away to the city where he could pick and choose his team members to build a winning team. He hated that his team was made up of kids who had the heart but not necessarily the talent, and there weren't enough kids for him to hold a tryout and pick his team here.

  Shit, I'm running late and this isn't the impression I wanted to leave with this team. I toss my shorts on and slip into my sneakers as I run out the door to my car and fly off to the field. Luckily, I don't live far. I pull up right at six, and I can see from the look on some of their faces they are not happy. "Sorry I'm late, folks. I promise this will not be a regular issue, but I was stuck at work." They're all looking at me like I'm full of shit. "Boys, I'm running over to the shed to grab some equipment. Can I get a few volunteers to help?" The boys all stand around looking at each other when finally two of them come walking over.