We hold each other’s gazes for a long time. I can’t even pull away. His words are like ammunition, and no lie, they make my heart beat twice as fast.
“I thought you said I could always be better,” I murmur.
“You can. Everyone can. But you have a gift. You are good and you know it. I know it. I just want to bring out the very best in you.” He leans back, still holding my eyes. “You’re holding back when you practice because you don’t want anyone to get offended, or maybe you just don’t want to stand out on the team. You want to blend in with them. Feel like a regular runner.” He huffs a laugh. “But that’s kinda hard to do when you’re the only black girl on the team. Forget trying to fit in. Why not stand out and be great?”
I snatch my gaze away.
“Forget their feelings, Lakes. Remember why you came here—why you got this scholarship in the first place. No one cares if their feelings are hurt because they can’t keep up. Their only choice will be to improve while you are around.”
Wow. All that barking and taunting Torres would do during practice, and I hear this? From a man who always calls me out as we work out and practice.
No wonder he was shaking his head at me when I finished. He knew. He knew that even though I was winning the practice races, I was holding back for my teammates. He knew I was limiting myself. I wanted them to be able to catch up. I wanted them to like me.
“Let me go grab a golf cart so I can drive you to the conditioning room,” Torres says, standing tall. “I’ll call Veronika. She should be on campus soon. Keep that ice on your ankle until I get back.”
He jogs away without looking back, and when he turns the corner to get to the tunnel for the lockers, I release a breath. I look up at the golden sunrise that’s now a half-circle behind the stadium wall ahead.
“I don’t like it here, Daddy,” I whisper, my throat thick with emotion.
I don’t know what I expect after that statement. I want to feel his arms around me, cry into his chest like I used to when I was feeling down or uncomfortable. I want him to tell me that it will all be okay, and that the team will soon learn to appreciate my skills once the season starts.
But he’s not here, and he hasn’t been here for six years. Six years, I haven’t heard his voice. Six years I haven’t felt his forehead kisses and haven’t been wrapped up in his bear hugs. Six years seem so small—so insignificant as far as time goes—but to me it feels like it has been a lifetime.
I notice a golf cart coming out of the tunnel and Torres is on it, his hair rustling with the wind. My heart skips a beat. Torres is coming to my rescue and I never thought I’d see the day.
I may not have Daddy anymore, but at least Torres is pretty good at pep talks. Even though he knows I can do better, he believes in me, and all it takes is that one coach to believe in you—to give you the chance you deserve and to have your back at all times.
It was my father at one point.
Now…it seems to be Joaquin Torres.
TWELVE
I can come across as rude and uptight to many people. Trust me, I know that. But there’s a reason I am the way I am. I wasn’t always like this, but the world has a way of turning a once innocent boy into a hardened, angry man overnight.
When I saw Melanie swing her leg over to trip Amber, I stopped running. My heart dropped. Amber rolled and ducked and fortunately got out of the way so she wouldn’t get stampeded by the other runners, but I saw the shock on her face. The pain in her eyes.
I looked at Melanie, who was staring at Amber, almost smirking and I almost lost my shit. Almost. I don’t even know how I kept my shit together. Perhaps seeing Amber in pain and tending to that overpowered my need to flip the fuck out.
A part of me wanted to shove right through the other teammates, yank Melanie up by the collar of her shirt, and shove her on the ground too. No words, just actions…but I couldn’t do that. I would never touch a woman like that—let alone an athlete of mine—and even if I was that kind of man, this is Bennett University. I am a replaceable coach. Melanie has a father who attends all the races and donates handsomely to the school, especially to the track team. And how do I know that? Because Hamilton has mentioned it to me several times.
Hamilton can’t stand Melanie’s dad, and she also can’t stand Melanie. They’re selfish, greedy, privileged people. Everything was handed to Melanie, including this scholarship, and she isn’t even that damn good. Definitely not worthy of a full-ride athletic scholarship to an Ivy League college.
I was outraged by what happened to Amber, I really was. But what could I have done? I’ve yelled at Melanie before and it resulted in me being suspended from coaching two games, all thanks to Mr. Howard demanding it from Hamilton. Hamilton had no choice after the dean told her to make it right.
After putting Amber on the back of the golf cart, I get behind the wheel and drive back to the tunnel. I glance over my shoulder once, but Amber isn’t looking my way. Her focus is behind her, staring back at the track and field. I don’t know why I feel a tightening in my chest when I notice.
When I’m in the tunnel, I park the cart close to the hallway where the locker room is and climb out, picking her up in my arms.
She yelps and clings to me, avoiding my eyes. The conditioning room is two doors down from my office. I swing the door open and walk inside, placing Amber down on one of the tall, wide tables. Amber clutches her ankle and winces.
“Veronika should be here any minute.”
She nods and then sighs. “I’m going to be late for class.”
“You’ll be fine. Kids here are always late.”
She’s quiet a beat. “Do you think it’s too late to transfer to another college?”
I fight a smile. “You’re on a scholarship. You’d breach it, and I’m sure wherever you go next, you won’t be able to run with a team.”
“I know.” She shrugs, but I notice the strain in her smile.
“Let me get you more ice.” I walk away before I can say anything else. I can’t look at her while she pities herself like that. A good athlete. A broken athlete. She’s supposed to be happy here—eager to practice and hang out with her teammates, not wanting to transfer.
I walk to the freezer and take out another ice pack. As soon as I turn around, Veronika charges into the room, taking off her satchel bag and tossing it on a chair in the corner.
“Sorry it took me so long!” she chimes, and for once I’m grateful that Veronika is here. She talks a lot, like a lot, but she’ll be a good distraction for me right now.
I don’t know what else to tell Amber. I don’t know how else to give her hope. I feel like a fucking pussy for not saying anything to Melanie at the very moment I saw her foot swing over. Amber won’t understand why I held back, but I need this job. This is the first real, professional job I’ve had and it took a lot of patience and effort for me to get here.
I think of my mother and the loneliness that follows her around like her own shadow. The sadness that will never go away. If I didn’t have this job—this career—I wouldn’t be able to help her. I can’t lose it because some selfish girl is hatefully jealous of another. Amber will only be here for four years and Melanie finishes this year. I plan on being here for the next decade-and-a-half or more, if I’m lucky.
I place the icepack on the bed as Veronika inspects Amber’s ankle. “Are you in severe pain?” she asks, examining the swollen side carefully.
“It hurts, but it’s not completely unbearable.”
“Hmm. Well, it looks like it could just be a mild sprain to me.” Veronika places Amber’s foot down. “I think you might have rolled it a little too hard. How did this happen?”
“We were running on the trail that leads to the football field.” I speak before Amber can say anything. “She might have caught one of the branches.”
Amber glances at me, and then lowers her head. I hate that look. I know she hates me right now for lying about what really happened to her, but I have to. This is to p
rotect her. Veronika has a big mouth. She’d tell everyone the truth, including Amber’s teammates and it will only result in more drama for Amber. She doesn’t need that.
“Well, Torres, maybe you should stay off the trails and keep it on the track, huh? The last thing we need are injured athletes. You’re lucky Lakes isn’t in season yet.” Veronika walks over to a cabinet and takes down some painkillers. She picks up a water bottle from the pack next to the cabinet and hands it to Amber. “Take these,” she says, dumping the pills in Amber’s hand. “You won’t be able to practice for about a week or so, give or take. It depends on how you recover and how the pain is. It looks like a minor sprain, but to be safe, I want you to take the rest of the week off from practice.”
Amber nods, popping the pills into her mouth and then cracking the bottle of water open to chug it and the pills down. “How will I get around campus for my classes?” she asks, gasping after swallowing the water.
“Well, Torres can send some emails,” says Veronika. “He can let them know you’re injured and to send your work online if you don’t want to walk. Most of it is done online anyway, right? He can do that just to be on the safe side. I have some crutches around here somewhere, but I’ll have to find them. I can have one of your teammates bring them to you when I do.”
Amber nods, and I notice tears in her eyes again. She blinks them away and then clears her throat. “How will I get to my apartment?”
“I’ll use the cart to drive you over,” I murmur.
“Kay.”
“All right, well, I want you to keep me updated on your ankle, missy! And seriously, try not to be on it too much. If it feels any worse, you go straight to a doctor. I think you’re okay for now, you just have to heal a bit and get the swelling down.” Veronika winks at Amber, as if this is some playful accident. I suppose I can’t really blame her for not taking it too seriously. She didn’t see what I saw on the trail. She didn’t see one teammate maliciously trip another. Ill intent. No remorse.
“I’m going to see if the café has any bagels,” Veronika announces, walking back to her bag. “After I get some food in my system, I’ll find the crutches and have them sent to you right away. I get really hangry in the mornings and that’s not good for anyone.” She departs with a laugh, and it’s only the two of us again.
Amber is avoiding looking at me altogether.
“You ready?” I ask.
She nods. Nothing more.
“Should I carry you or help you walk or…?” Jesus. What the hell am I even saying?
“Just help me walk,” she says, bringing her legs to the edge of the table. I lower myself enough so she can swing her arm over my shoulders and she hops down on her good foot.
She hops out the door with me to get to the cart and I don’t know why it bugs me so much to see her like this. Trying to be strong, but truly in a lot of pain. I can’t watch her struggle like this.
“I’m going to pick you up.” I don’t wait for her to protest. I pick her up in my arms and carry her to the cart, not missing the slight gasp that spills from her lips. I gently place her in the front this time, in the seat next to the wheel, and she slowly lowers her bad ankle.
As I pull away, I catch a whiff of her fruity scent. Cherries. A trace of honey. I noticed it before but was more concerned about getting her to the conditioning room. I hustle to get behind the wheel, start the cart up, and make a U-turn out of the tunnel.
The drive across campus is a quiet one. There are students already walking, heading to the café or to their classes. Some even go into the library, backpacks slung over their shoulders and coffees in hand.
In no time, I approach one of the women’s athletics apartment buildings and park the cart in an empty space close to it.
“Out of all the supplies we have for athletes, a wheelchair isn’t one of them,” I sigh.
“It’s okay, Coach Torres. I can make it up from here.”
“No the hell you can’t, Lakes.”
She lifts her chin. “I can manage.”
I start to say something else, but then someone yells, “What the hell happened to you?” Kendall Ramirez pops up and places her hands on the top of the cart, ducking down to look inside.
“Got a sprain,” Amber says, then shrugs. “Tripped and rolled it.”
“Damn. Do you need help inside?”
Amber nods. “Sure.” Then she looks at me. “Told you I can manage.”
I ignore that remark and climb out of the cart just as Kendall helps Amber step out on her good ankle. Amber buckles a bit when her rolled ankle swings out and I move quickly, catching her arm and throwing it over my shoulders. We both help her to the building.
“Doesn’t seem like you to trip and fall,” Kendall says.
“Tree branch,” Amber mutters, wincing.
“Damn. That sucks.”
I keep quiet, even as we enter the building and make our way to the elevator. When we’re on the second floor, Kendall tells me to keep Amber steady and then charges ahead to unlock the third door down.
I scoop her up again and carry her into the apartment, placing her down on the sofa. Sighing, Amber leans back, and Kendall slides the coffee table closer so that Amber can rest her sprained ankle on top of it.
“I’ll see if Veronika is back and has the crutches for you,” I tell her. I’m fucking useless. She can’t even look at me. She’s pissed at me and is trying to hide it.
“Okay. Thanks, Coach.”
“I can skip class to help you out, Amber. It’s no big deal,” Kendall says, sitting on the sofa next to her. “I hate numbers anyway.”
“That’s okay, Kendall. Seriously. I’m fine. I’m here now so it’s cool.”
I go to the door just as Kendall whispers, “Be honest. Did you really trip over a fucking tree branch?”
Amber lowers her head.
I walk out of the apartment.
THIRTEEN
Afternoon practice is slow. Nicole came up to me first thing to ask if Amber was okay. I told her she was fine, but didn’t miss the look she gave me, as if she had something more to say.
Unfortunately, Howard showed up, bouncing around and giggling and gossiping, as if nothing had ever happened.
She’s evil. That’s all I can assume.
I’m not usually so spiteful, but she had to pay for what she’d done, whether she knew I’d seen what happened or not. While the other girls practiced, I made Howard run up and down the stairs between the stadium seats for “talking too much.” It was my only excuse. And shit, she was talking too damn much.
After that, I made her run six laps around the track. By the time she was finished, her face was beet red, and she was so out of breath that she couldn’t talk anymore. Hell, that was the least I could make her do.
When practice is over, I go straight to Hamilton’s office. She’s sitting in her chair, reading over a thick packet of paper. Her desk is cluttered with folders and miscellaneous papers, and in the corner—up against the wall—is a short bookcase filled with track and field books, sports medicine books, and other things relative to sports and running.
I give the door three taps with my knuckles.
Hamilton looks over the glasses on the bridge of her nose to look at me. “Torres. How can I help you?” She immediately focuses on her papers again.
I step in and close the door. When she hears it click shut, she looks up again. She knows I only close the door when it’s urgent.
“What is going on?” she asks, brows drawing together as she takes her glasses off. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, Torres.”
“I need to talk to you. About Howard.”
“Okay?” She places the packet of paper down and sits up in her chair. “Do you want to sit?”
“No. This won’t be long.” I clear my throat. “As you know, I had the meter runners out this morning for a jog-to-sprint from Marble to the track.”
She nods, but I can tell she’s confused as to where this is going.
&
nbsp; “Well, while we were on the trail and getting close to the field, Lakes tripped over something and fell.”
“Shit. Is she okay?”
“No. She has an ankle sprain. It’s not too severe, but she will have to be out of practice for the next week or so, I’m sure.”
“Jesus.”
I pause a moment, debating on how to go about this. I guess it’s best to rip it off like a Band-Aid. “She tripped over Howard’s foot.” I lay it out there, loud, and clear.
Hamilton cocks her head and narrows her eyes. “What?”
“I was behind the girls when we were running, and I saw Howard swing her foot over and trip Lakes. On purpose. And I’m sure another teammate saw it happen too, but I don’t want to drag her into this. Seems to me she’s a little unnerved by Howard too.”
“Jesus. Are you serious?” Hamilton’s gaze falls and she shakes her head.
“Lakes says she knows it was Hamilton. She’s not happy. I told her I’d tell you about it.”
“Well, what did you say to Howard when it happened?”
“Come on, Freya! What the hell could I have possibly said after what happened to me last time? I wanted to cuss her the fuck out, but that would have been against conduct and I’m sure I would have gotten fired for it. And it’s not like Howard is just some girl who goes to Bennett. Her father? The donations? Apparently, we owe him a debt and always have to treat his daughter like a fucking princess, remember?”
Hamilton sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. I can tell she’s at a loss. “Yeah, I know.”
“You have to sit her out. Don’t let her come to practice for a few days or weeks. Make sure she doesn’t get to compete in the first couple of games as punishment. Lakes is really hurt, Freya. She was crying to me. She told me she hates it here—feels like she doesn’t fit in. She wants to leave the school.”
Coach Me Page 7
