“My love for you won’t change,” he murmurs in my ear. He holds the back of my head and as I lower my chin, our eyes connect. “I want only you, Lakes. Resigning will not change how I feel about you.”
“Promise,” I whisper on his lips.
“Promise.” His mouth falls on mine and I don’t know what it is about this moment, but it’s powerful. This isn’t like the times before, when we teased and joked and built up to this moment. It’s not even like the first time, which was burning hot and electric and charged with lust.
No, this is something I didn’t think I’d feel until I was married. This is love. We are making love and I am enjoying every single second of it.
The way he kisses me and the way he holds me is exactly what I need right now. It’s so mature—so different from the reckless, swift, greedy sex we had before.
This moment with him is bonding us for life. He is giving me his all—his heart, his body, his mind—and I am taking as much of it as I can.
There is a part of me that aches because I know Joaquin deserves a life that’s fair. He deserves to fulfill his passion, be the coach he can be, and our bond has broken that.
But as much as I want to blame myself…I can’t too much. He is taking that blame right away from me and obliterating it, stroke by stroke. Kiss by kiss.
“I love you,” I tell him as his body tenses.
“Fuck, I love you too, Amber,” he says on my lips, and then he drops his head, his body locks, and his cock throbs as he releases inside me.
We lay here for a while, breathing through the moment, never wanting to let each other go. I stare up at the ceiling fan, holding back tears. He eventually wrenches himself away and flops down beside me. I turn to look at him, and he leans in to kiss my forehead.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but eventually day becomes night and after talking a bit more about the situation with Hamilton, we are both in his shower.
He has me in his arms, my back pressed to the cool white tiles. The water streams from the showerhead, running down the contours of his muscular back. Our moans are loud, and he’s relentless as he fucks me, stealing kisses from me, holding onto me tight, despite both of us being wet and slippery.
I’ve never had sex in the shower before, but this? I will never forget this. Torres is skilled and can make me feel wanted at any time and any place.
I don’t want these moments to pass us by, but I can’t help feeling deep down in my heart that after tonight, everything is going to change…
I can feel it coming, like a ripple effect, and I know I won’t be prepared for it when it does.
FORTY-EIGHT
If there is one thing I know, it’s that Amber deserves so much more than a man like me. I’m a little over a decade older than her. She’s in college and should focus on living her life and having fun, not about whether I’ll be able to get another job after resigning from Bennett. My problems shouldn’t become hers. She has so much more to look forward to, and I’m hindering that.
I glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It’s nearing two in the morning and she’s asleep on my chest. She fell asleep when I started playing with her hair.
I listen to her light snores and the innocent noises she makes as she dreams, then I look at her and feel a squeeze around my heart. This girl means everything to me. I never want to see her hurt, and I definitely don’t want to force her to grow up any faster than she needs to. She already had to do that when she lost her father. Part of her childhood was taken from her and she had to face that sad reality.
I refuse to hold her back. Yes, I love her, and yes, I know that she loves me…but sometimes love comes at the wrong time. And that’s what kills me. I look at her now and I feel like I won’t be able to breathe properly without her next to me, but I realize that if I don’t let her go now, I never will. It’s selfish of me to keep this going, no matter how much I love her.
What kills me most is that I’ve thought about it, and I won’t be able to break this down for her. I can’t tell her that this is what’s best for her because she’s so damn selfless, she doesn’t care what’s best for her. She wants what’s best for both of us and will fight tooth and nail and even accept a loss if it means we can remain. I refuse to let that happen.
So, after tonight, I must create that distance. I have to break the ties.
After tonight, she has to realize that there is more to life than falling for a broken, battered man like me.
FORTY-NINE
I was right about things changing.
I notice it the moment I wake up and realize Torres isn’t in bed with me. The apartment is completely quiet. Normally if I wake up in his bed after he does, I can hear some music playing or the TV playing reruns of a sitcom.
Not today.
I crawl out of bed and notice my clothes are folded on top of his dresser, my phone placed beside the folded pile. Brows furrowed, I go to the clothes and pick them up.
I glance at the door that’s halfway open, then at my clothes again, deciding to get dressed before going out. After I finish putting on clothes, I open the Uber app to book one because I feel like I’m going to need it.
When I leave the bedroom, I spot Torres standing in the kitchen drinking coffee from a BU mug. He notices me coming around the corner and, in an instant, I notice that the light that was in his eyes the day before has faded.
He’s clearly been thinking about something, and I’m sure it isn’t something that works in the favor of both of us.
“Morning,” I murmur as I approach him.
“Morning.” He smiles, but it seems forced. “Coffee?”
“Uh…no, I think I’m good.” I shift on my feet as he places his coffee mug down on the countertop across from him.
“Any good news overnight, perhaps?” I ask, smiling.
He huffs a laugh, sliding the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his shorts. He’s shirtless again, and his muscles flex with the movement. “If only,” he sighs, and his eyes leave mine again. He stares at the wall across from him, at the backsplash above the sink.
“Yeah. If only.” I look past him, at the door. “Well, I…uh…I know you have a lot to do today so I think I’m going to head back to my place.”
“You sure? You hungry? Want anything?”
“No, it’s okay. I have food at my place.” Why does this feel so weird? After such an intense night last night, it shouldn’t feel like this. There’s this…this strain that I don’t like right now. There’s guilt in his eyes and he feels so…distant.
My phone chimes and I take it out, reading the notification that my Uber driver is arriving.
I ignore all the feelings churning inside me and step in front of him. Leaning on my toes, I kiss his cheek, a hand pressed to his warm chest, and he sighs.
“I hope to see you later,” I murmur.
I find his eyes, but his don’t find mine. He’s staring down at the floor now.
“Torres?” I call, glad my voice doesn’t break.
“Go on to your apartment, Lakes.” His sentence isn’t harsh or demanding, but it cuts me in a way that I feel it shouldn’t.
I step back, looking at him all over. Not once does he look me in the eyes.
To spare myself any more grief, I pull away. “I’ll see you later.” I say the words hurriedly as I rush for the door.
Unlocking it quickly, I twist the doorknob and walk out, and when I look back, Torres has pushed off the counter and is watching me go.
His lips part, like he has something to say, but then it clamps shut and his gaze drops again.
I close the door and walk away.
On my way to my apartment, I can’t get what happened out of my head. I bite one of my fingernails and stare out of the window, feeling a loss.
Maybe he just needs time alone to think. This is a big deal and I’m a distraction.
I can give him time. I have to.
With that in mind as I enter my apartment, I take a shower a
nd decide to take a nap. When I wake up, I check my phone, eager for a text from him, but there isn’t a single notification.
I toss my phone to the foot of the bed and climb out of it, going to the kitchen to dump Froot Loops and milk into a bowl and eating it while watching a documentary on Netflix on my laptop. I’m hoping this will distract me, but it’s useless. Every five minutes I’m checking my phone, hoping for a call or a text from Torres.
Nothing comes in all day or night.
He needs time and I get that. I have to respect it, so I sleep again, ready for this day to be over with already and hoping tomorrow is a better one.
Only, it isn’t better. I wake up, and still no calls or text from Torres. I do, however, have an email from Hamilton who is asking me to come in and fill in a few forms.
I lower my phone, and something in the corner of the room catches my eye. The dragon I won from the carnival. I stare at it a long time, remember what that dragon led to. Games and dares and kissing.
I close my eyes, fighting the burn in them, and then push to a stand to get dressed.
After filling out a few forms for Hamilton, I go by Torres’ office and it is completely empty. The wooden desk has been cleared, the black rolling chair neatly tucked beneath it. Not even a sheet of paper is left behind. It’s like he was never even here.
The sight of it being so empty bothers me. Even though I knew he’d have to pack up, it’s a fracturing thing to witness. I pull out my phone as I walk across the track and through the opening of the gate and finally send him a text. I need to know he’s okay.
When I get to my apartment, there is no response. I wait for hours to hear from him and nothing. What is going on with him? I know he’s still around. He has to be, right?
Around ten at night, Kendall comes strolling in. She spots me on the sofa, my knees drawn to my chest and my eyes on my phone that’s on the coffee table. She walks in my direction. “Amber? What’s going on?” she asks.
I can’t bring myself to look at her right now. I know if I do, I’ll cry.
“Amber?” Kendall calls again.
I sigh and drop my legs, but still avoid looking at her. “Torres resigned,” I murmur.
“What?” Her voice is loud and confused. “Why?”
I finally give her my eyes. “Hamilton found out about us.”
“Holy shit!” she gasps. “B-but how? I thought you were being careful? That you created rules or whatever so you wouldn’t be seen together on campus?”
“Yeah, well, we sort of broke those rules. It was a stupid accident, but it cost him his job.”
“Damn, Amber.” Kendall drops down on the sofa beside me, in utter disbelief. “Does anyone else besides me and Hamilton know about it?”
“No. Hamilton didn’t want to escalate it, so she thought his resignation was the best option too. He’ll be gone, and doesn’t have to be punished, and I get to stay on the team. Big hoorah,” I mutter sarcastically.
“Damn, Amber. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were going through so much. I’ve been a shitty friend lately. Working and coming home and passing the fuck out.”
“Oh, my gosh, Kendall. Stop it. You are a great friend. You have a job now. You’re busy! The last thing you should be worried about is my relationship with Torres.”
She purses her lips and shakes her head. “How are you feeling about it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I feel like…things are going to change now. Between me and him. They already are changing.”
“Does he want to keep seeing you?”
I shrug again, and this time I don’t say anything. That question stings a lot—so much so I bite into my bottom lip to keep the tears at bay.
“Aww, Amber.” Kendall scoots over and wraps me up in her arms. I lay my head on her chest, surprised I don’t cry on the spot.
“There will be no reason for him to stay in the Bennett area if he’s resigned,” I murmur.
“No, there won’t be,” Kendall agrees.
“And that sucks. A lot.”
“It does.” She pauses. “Do you love him?”
I can’t bring myself to say the words, so I nod instead, and that’s all the answer Kendall needs. She hugs me tighter around the shoulders and says, “Yeah, I can tell.”
FIFTY
I figure the best thing I can do is give Torres space. I mean, I am going home in three days and would love to see him again, but since he hasn’t responded to any of my messages, I don’t think it’s best. I assume he’s trying to get his head in the game, figure out his next move, and with me around, he probably won’t be able to concentrate, and that’s fine. Totally fine.
But I miss him, and I know that’s so selfish to think, but I do.
The day before I have to leave, after running on the track with Kendall, I do become worried. Kendall is going home for the summer today, and I’ve helped her and her mom take some of her things down to the car. When I’m back in the apartment, I’m left alone. My phone doesn’t vibrate or ring. There hasn’t been a text from him for days.
I need to know that he’s okay.
I open the Uber app and book one, and it arrives in less than ten minutes. After I give the driver the address, I ride in the back in silence. The driver is chatty, and he doesn’t ask many questions, which means I don’t have to respond much.
When the ride is over, I climb out and thank him, and as he takes off, I stare at Torres’ apartment building. Drawing in a deep breath, I release it and move ahead.
I knock on his door three times.
No response.
I knock again.
Nothing.
I press my ear to the door to see if I’ll be able to hear anything, like the TV running or music playing—some kind of sign that he’s around—but there is nothing but silence on the other side.
“Are you looking for Mr. Torres?”
I gasp, pulling my ear away from the door and turning to find the voice. There is a woman standing in front of the door on the right, a brown bag of groceries tucked in her left arm, the other hand holding a set of keys. She’s an older woman with olive skin and stringy gray and brown hair.
“Oh, uh, yes,” I tell her. “Have you seen him?”
“I haven’t, but from what I know, he’s not renewing his lease this summer, which, I have to tell you, kind of sucks because he’s a pretty quiet fella. I’m really good friends with the land lord, so she tells me things about who comes and goes.”
“Oh.” I nod.
“Are you one of his track kids? I remember him telling me he’s a coach for that fancy college down the street.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m—well, I was one of his athletes.”
She nods and smiles. “Well, if I see him, I’ll let him know you stopped by. Oh—what is your name? I didn’t even think to ask.”
“Lakes. Thank you,” I murmur, and then I turn and walk away.
I cross the street to get to the park and there are children playing and mothers chatting. I take a seat on the bench, pull my phone out, and request another Uber.
As I wait, I send Torres another text. If he’s not staying in his apartment, then where is he? I know he has his mom, so maybe he’s with her. She must live close by.
Unfortunately, I’ll never be able to find out. My Uber driver arrives, a young, quiet woman this time, and throughout the twenty-minute drive, there is no response from Torres.
I scroll through all the message bubbles I’ve sent to him, feeling an extreme surge of embarrassment by them all.
Hey, are you okay?
Would love to see you!
I’m starting to get a little worried. Can we talk?
Did I do something wrong?
Just stopped by your place. Your neighbor says you’re not renewing your lease. Why didn’t you tell me? Where are you?
I knew you were upset about this.
That last message is one I just sent because why else wouldn’t he be answering me?
I g
ot him kicked out of what he told me was the best job opportunity he’d ever had and even though he told me constantly that he didn’t regret being with me, clearly there is something he holds against what we had.
Why else would he have left without saying a word?
Why else would I feel so helpless, like I’ll never, ever see him again? Fuck, I don’t even know if I can live with the idea of that. To never see him again will kill me.
When Mama picks me up the next day, knocking on my door with a smile, I can’t even hold myself together. I tried keeping the tears at bay as I finished packing and brought my things next to the door, but seeing her opens up the floodgates.
I see her and I think of home. Of Daddy. I think of how my life would be if Daddy were still here. Would I have cared for Torres as much? Would I have thought about all the ways he was a similar coach to my dad? Would he have bothered to understand me if he knew my father was still alive?
We connected because our fathers are dead. We connected because we both know what it’s like to work hard and prove our worth, to be marginalized and underestimated based on our race, but how do I know that Torres wouldn’t have just ignored it all if things were different? Now that I think about it, it feels like Torres connected with me out of sheer pity, and I hate that feeling.
So, when I swing the door open and see my mother, I fall into her arms and it catches her off guard, but like she always does when I’m down, she holds me and rubs my back.
“What happened, Amby?” she asks as I sob into her chest.
And I want to tell her. I really do, but not here. I think I’ll feel much better discussing it with her when I’m home and safer with my surroundings.
I pull away and dry my eyes with the backs of my hands. “Can we talk about it when we’re home?” I ask.
Coach Me Page 21
