Three & Out

by Laura Chapman

  Exchanging a glance, Brook moves quickly across the living room and knocks on the door to J.J.’s room. “Hey, buddy, are you up?”

  He knocks again and calls out J.J.’s name. I move to join him, but notice two folded up pieces of paper sitting on the kitchen table. I step closer. One is addressed to Brook and the other to me.

  “I think he’s gone,” Brook calls out. “The sofa bed is folded up and his bags aren’t in there.”

  “He left us notes.”

  “What?” Brook is at my side in an instant and picks up his paper, scanning it quickly. “Okay, he’s on his way back to Lincoln.”

  “Do you think he’s okay?”

  “He was pretty upset last night.”

  I rub his back gently and rest my cheek against his shoulder. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt himself or go on another bender after last night. He wouldn’t do that to you—to us.”

  “You’re right.”

  Giving Brook a little squeeze, I gesture to the paper in his hand. “What does yours say?”

  “It says, ‘Brook. Thanks for letting me stay here for a while. I know I overstayed my welcome, but you never made me feel that way. I have to appear in court in ten days and I’m heading back to Lincoln. Anderson sent me some links to counselors in town so I might as well check out therapy and see what it’s all about. My lawyer thinks the judge will suspend my license for six months and charge me a fine. I have a couple of favors to ask. One, please forgive me for all of the grief I’ve given you through the years. You’re a better friend than I deserve. Two, if I end up being sentenced to a week in corrections, will you set my fantasy lineup for me? You’re the only person I can trust to be fair. Three, take care. Thanks again for everything. Hope I see you guys back in Lincoln at Christmas.’”

  “That’s a good letter.”

  Brook clears his throat. “Yeah. It is.”

  Curious, I reach for my own letter and unfold it. It’s shorter, simpler. It’s just a few words.

  Harper,

  I’m sorry. For everything.

  J.J.

  Brook arches his neck to read over my shoulder.

  I glance from the paper back to the empty bedroom that is now an office once again. “I can’t believe he’s gone. Just like that.”

  “He left the way he came,” Brook muses. “Unannounced.”

  “What are we going to do without him here all the time?”

  “I can think of a few things.” He gives me a suggestive look and I have to laugh.

  It’s going to take some adjustment, going back to it just being us. Though he may have driven me nuts on more than one occasion—and he really should have been upfront with us about everything—J.J. was also there through some tough times. I hope he gets through this. I hope he won’t be defined by what he sees as failures. I hope he finds a way to be happy.

  And I hope the same can be said for us. In just a few short days, we should know more about our future.

  Week Thirteen Recap: Team Harper Wins Big in Season Finale

  After a season of lackluster finishes, Team Harper managed to secure a big win this week, defeating her opponent 115-79. It was her second win in three weeks, which marks a significant turning point for her team. Unfortunately, the season is now over and all a big-scoring week from quarterback Chad Baker and wide receivers Riley Garcia and Aaron Macovicka did was spare her the agony of having to finish the season in last place. (She’ll finish second to last.)

  Poor Team Harper. Better luck next year.

  Mega Ballerz Record: 3-10

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ALL WE CAN DO IS SIT and wait. The regents and chancellor have heard everything. The boosters are fully in the know. They’re all meeting tomorrow night to decide what happens next. Until then, we’re in a limbo. Regardless of the outcome, it’s pretty clear this will be our only year in Seattle. If they side with Griggs and O’Dwyer, there’s no way they’ll keep Brook, Sam, and the others who’ve come forward on the staff. If they don’t, and they fire them, we’re done too. Whoever they hire as the new head coach will want to bring in his own coaching staff. One or two of the assistants might be kept, but it’s highly improbable.

  I’m drifting off to sleep when Brook asks, “Want to go pick out a Christmas tree after work tomorrow? I drove by a couple of lots on my way home, and it reminded me that we wanted to get a real tree this year.”

  I’d forgotten about that conversation—a brief one we had months ago when we moved in. We both grew up in homes with artificial trees, and we have always been curious about what it would be like to have a real one. “But we don’t even know if we’ll be here.”

  “At least we’ll have made a memory and given a real tree a try.”

  He makes a couple of excellent points. “Let’s do it. Should we get the decorations out of storage?”

  “It’s already taken care of. I got them out after work.”

  Of course he did.

  THE NEXT EVENING, I’M not so sure this was such a good idea. “I don’t think we have enough rope.”

  Someday, I’m sure we’ll laugh at this. Brook and I will be sitting next to a Christmas tree—which will be an artificial one after this fiasco—telling our grandchildren about the Christmas years before when we foolishly decided to go against everything we knew to buy a real tree.

  Brook will tease me for not doing enough research about the different varieties. (In my defense, how was I supposed to know we’d have options at the nursery? I just figured you went and they gave you what they had.)

  Then I’ll tell them how their grandfather almost took out a poor unsuspecting elderly couple when he tried to carry the tree out by himself. (It would have served him right after acting offended when the nice clerk offered to have an attendant help.)

  Then we’ll get to the part about how the tree fell on top of me when Brook shoved it too far over the other edge of his SUV. (Thank goodness I closed my eyes, otherwise I’d probably be blind in addition to covered with sap and needles.)

  Of course, now we’ll have another chapter to add. The one where Grandpa MacLaughlin didn’t bring enough rope—and again, declined the offer to purchase more in the store. As a result, we ended up driving well below the posted speed limit all the way home—both of our arms out the window desperately holding on to the tree as best we could to keep it from falling off and causing an accident.

  I don’t bother acknowledging Brook’s statement. It’s obvious we don’t have enough rope. I figure if we get through the next ten minutes we’ll have no problems getting through the next fifty or sixty years. That is if we can get through this without my saying something I’ll regret and he learns a lesson about setting aside his pride and accepting help from experts

  “We’re almost home,” I announce instead, saying a quick prayer that we actually make it the last two minutes to our apartment without incident.

  “I should have taken the extra rope they offered.”

  See. He learned the lesson on his own without my screaming it at him.

  Brook rounds the last corner into our complex carefully. Despite his best efforts, the tree goes sliding. “Harper!”

  “On it.” I have my other arm out the window to create a barrier, and I tighten my grip. With a strength I never realized I possessed, I manage to keep the tree from falling until we come to a complete stop in the parking lot. I let go, and the tree falls. “Sorry,” I say, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt.

  Ignoring the twin pains throbbing in my lower back and neck, I grab one end of the tree and follow Brook up the stairs to our apartment.

  “Remind me . . . why we picked . . . an apartment on the . . . third floor?” he asks in between breaths.

  “Better . . . view . . . less . . . noise.”

  “‘Kay.”

  I’ll admit I’m somewhat appeased by Brook struggling every bit as I am right now. I only do cardio once or twice a week. He does it every day. I can at least take pride in knowing this is in fact
a giant pain in the ass, and I’m not just a wuss.

  It takes us three attempts to properly fit the tree in the stand. I’m not entirely sure Blitz won’t find some way to take the whole thing down at least once or twice before Christmas, but time will tell. At least we picked the right size tree. It fills the space in front of our window well, and there’s ample room at the top for a star. We were due to have something go right.

  Though we’re wiped and grouchier than we might have expected going into this outing, we work together in companionable silence to string the lights on the tree. Again, miracle of miracles, none of the lights are burnt out and none of the wires are frayed.

  Stepping back from the tree to survey our work, Brook asks, “Are these LED?”

  I pick up the box, wincing at the pinch of pain shooting out from my sciatic nerve. “Yep.”

  “Good. They don’t get as hot, which means there’s less of a chance of fire.”

  “Fire?” I stare at the tree even while I come up with an escape plan to get Brook, Blitz, and me all out of the apartment in under a minute when this cursed tree will inevitably go up in flames.

  “We’ll check the water every day to make sure it doesn’t get dry.” He scrolls down the page of whatever article he is reading on his cell phone. “That should reduce the risk of fire and keep the pine needles on the tree instead of on the floor. But it says here we can use the dried needles for potpourri and centerpieces.”

  “Are you reading Martha Stewart’s tips for a perfect holiday?”

  His lip twitches, and he tucks his phone back in his pocket. “Maybe.”

  With the tree lit, I seek out some ibuprofen while Brook finds one of the stations that plays Christmas music twenty-four seven and turns off the lamps. The white lights on the tree cast a calming glow around the apartment. Stepping up behind me, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back to lean against him.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say softly, almost afraid I’ll break the magical spell of this moment if I speak any louder. “I still say we should go back to artificial trees next year and forever after that, but even without the ornaments, it’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.” Turning me around in his arms so I’m facing him, he keeps his hands on my waist and moves easily to the music. He keeps the movements light and slow, which actually relieves some of the pain in my back.

  We sway along while a choir sings “Silent Night.” Even with the uncertainties surrounding us and the problems we’re facing, this moment is perfect.

  THEY’VE MADE A DECISION. I don’t know the verdict, but I’m sure the powers that be have come to one. That has to be the reason Brook is pacing in the hallway outside my office the following morning. That’s too bad. I kind of liked the semi-relaxed, playful dynamic we were able to instill while we pretended our little world wasn’t about to come crashing down.

  Unfortunately, I’m not the only one to notice his presence. Before I can slip away from my desk, Jessie’s head pops over my cubicle. “Is that your husband?”

  “Yep.” Maybe if I play it cool, like it’s no big deal, she won’t dig too deep.

  “He’s never been here before.”

  “It was football season. He was busy.” I sneak a glance out the door and note he seems to be talking to himself. “Now that the season is over—”

  “And now that his bosses are in hot water, I bet he has plenty of time.” She lowers her voice. “Is it true Coach Griggs is sleeping with a co-ed and is under investigation for harassing a reporter and a bunch of other women?”

  So much for playing it down and avoiding any intrigue. I should have known Jessie would be up-to-date with the latest gossip. It was bound to happen. Once that reporter came forward—once half a dozen other women backed her up—it was only a matter of time before it leaked out in the media, or at least on the message boards. There really aren’t secrets in this business, but maybe there shouldn’t be in this instance. Griggs is a piece of work, and O’Dwyer isn’t much better for covering up for him all these years.

  Brook happens to glance up at that moment and catches me staring. He freezes in place and offers a sheepish grin.

  “Harper?” Jessie prods.

  “Excuse me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Ignoring her disappointment, I slip out and pull him away from the doorway and our audience. Whatever he says is for my ears only. Jessie can get her update from the board or the six o’clock news (if it comes to that). In a somewhat confused stupor, Brook allows me to guide him all the way outside of the office before he reacts.

  “What are we doing out here?”

  “I figured we might need some privacy?” I glance around at the dead campus, glad he didn’t show up when students were scurrying around between classes. “Am I right?”

  “You’re always so on.”

  “Only with some things.” Never mind that we’re actually embroiled in this mess because I didn’t have a clearer grasp on our situation. “Did the board finish their meeting?”

  “Yeah. They’re firing Griggs, and they’ve asked O’Dwyer to tender his resignation immediately.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “To save face, they’re going to say it was all mutual. They’ll say something about being disappointed in our record and wanting to take the program in a different direction. There’s some talk of the journalist pressing charges, but I think they’re going to try and settle it out of court and hopefully keep it out of the papers.”

  “That’s it?” I suppose it makes sense. It’s a neat and tidy solution for an embarrassing—and actually, quite scandalous—situation.

  “It’s a pretty standard resolution. The same old story that’s used everywhere else.”

  That’s true, and it kind of makes you wonder about all of those other sudden coaching changes you hear about. How many of them are performance-based and how many are rooted in bad conduct?

  I fold my arms across my chest to ward off the cold and the sudden chill that’s run down my spine. “Is anything else going to happen?”

  “Probably not. The way he’s behaved toward you and the other spouses and girlfriends was inappropriate, but technically it wasn’t against the law.” Brook’s eyes narrow. “Unless there’s something you left out. Did he—”

  “No.” I clutch his arms. “He sent those texts and he overstepped some lines, but he never touched me.”

  “Okay.”

  “What will happen with the rest of the staff?” It’s a long shot, I know, but maybe he’s heard good news.

  “We’ll be out, too. Sometimes the new head coach will retain a couple of people, but . . .” He shakes his head. “That’s not going to be the case here. They’ll want a clean sweep.”

  “Okay.” I nod and swallow against the lump that suddenly formed in my throat. “What should we do?”

  “I have a few feelers out, like you suggested. If nothing comes from any of that, I still have my teaching degree. We could always go back to Nebraska.”

  The way he says that is either wistful or apologetic. It’s hard to tell. If it’s an apology, he can save it. While I miss Nebraska, none of this is his fault. Besides, I learned something on my trip back to the Cornhusker state. I missed him more than I’ve ever missed anything. He’s my home, not a place.

  “Let’s look at all of our options first.” I pull him close. “Let’s go with our new motto: whatever happens, happens.”

  JESSIE IS HOVERING outside my cubicle when I step back inside.

  “The dean showed up with one of the numbers people,” she whispers. “Boss lady swept her right into the office without so much as a ‘hello,’ and they’ve been in there with the door shut ever since.”

  “Any idea of what’s going on?”

  “Rumor has it they’re cutting the budget for our office. Something about not having enough funding to cover all of our salaries.” Panic crosses her face. “You don’t think I’m going to be fired, do you? I really need this job.”

  “
I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I pat her shoulder and stare at the closed office door.

  It obviously hasn’t occurred to her that the alternative would be me losing my job.

  Quit. The word pops into my head. Quit. It would be so easy. It really would. All I’d have to do is draft up a quick letter of resignation and save them the trouble of firing me. We all know that’s where we’re really headed. Now that the coaching staff has been canned—or as good as canned—they have no reason to keep me around. So really, my days are numbered. If I wait for them to fire me, I’m sure I’ll get some sort of severance package. But if I quit, maybe I can save face. Besides, while the money wouldn’t hurt, there are some things that matter more than a check.

  That settles it. With a comforting squeeze to Jessie’s shoulder, I sit down at my desk and pull open a blank Word document and start typing.

  Thank you for the opportunity to work in the Office of Admissions, but I must tenure my resignation effective . . .

  Playoffs Week One: Team MacLaughlin Clinches Victory, Will Compete for Championship Title

  Though her season got off to a shaky start—which, frankly, continued to be an up-and-down battle—Team MacLaughlin is headed somewhere no other rookie manager has ever been in the Real Coaches’ Wives League. That’s right, she’s playing in the championship game.

  With a mostly healthy roster, her chances look decent. Quarterback Todd Northwood hasn’t played his best since returning from a two-week injury, but he’s still reliable. Wide receiver Xavier Jimenez could go either way, but she should be able to rely on the rest of her core, headed by Octavian Peters and Aaron Makovicka. She’s also looking sharp with running backs Deangelo Darling and Jackson Sterling.

  The biggest question will be whether or not her tight end or defense can hold up this week.

  Let’s hope they all bring their A-game as she takes on Team Griggs for the title.