Love's Spark

by L A Cotton

  I reached over and punched his shoulder as Jase added, “I don't get it. She's so...her, and you're so, well...you.”

  “What the fuck does that mean, asshat?”

  He laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just never saw it coming.”

  He wasn't the only one. “Yeah, neither did I.”

  The three of them stared at me, with funny looks on their faces.

  “What?”

  “Dude, now that we’ve gotten the important stuff out of the way, are you going to tell us what happened to your face? You look like you’ve been ten rounds with Deontay Wilder.”

  My hand instinctively moved to the dressing under my eye. “I may have gotten into a fight at The Lounge, with that douche Sharn went on a couple of dates with. Took a bit of a beating.”

  Morris and J instantly straightened, their faces stone cold. “What the fuck, man! Why didn't you call us?” Jase demanded. He was a handful, but he always had our backs.

  “Sharn was with me. She was shaken up; I didn't want to make it worse by calling the cavalry. That fucktard will get what's coming to him.”

  Jase grunted and went to rack up the balls, and Morris patted my shoulder before joining him. “Shit, man, you should've called.”

  “I didn't want things getting any more out of hand. And I threw the first punch. He could've pressed charges.”

  Zac blew out a long breath. “Is she worth this?” He motioned to my face, but I didn't even need to consider his question. “Any day of the week.”

  “Fuck, man.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “I know.” The frown on my face deepened. “She's it for me. I can't believe I'm even thinking that, let alone saying it.” I groaned with frustration. “And I'm not being straight up with her. I need to tell her. Everything.”

  “Speaking of, how is your old man?”

  “Doing better. He seems like the old him again. I don't want to get my hopes up, but this could be the real deal. He could finally be pulling himself out of it.”

  Zac frowned, and I knew what he was thinking; we’d been here before. But the other night was different—Dad was different. He had to be.

  “You should tell her. Don't ruin this before it even has a chance to start.”

  “I know. She stayed over.”

  His head whipped up and his eyes almost bugged out of his head. “What? You never take girls back to your apartment, like ever.”

  “I told you, she's it.”

  “So, come on, I’ve got to ask—did you tap that?”

  I laughed, partly at his question and partly at how ridiculous my answer was going to sound. “No, we made out, cuddled, and fell asleep.”

  “Man, what is happening to you?”

  “Three words: Sharn-fucking-Macer.”

  He grinned, shaking his head, and added, “I told Aubrey that it's over. I didn't know about 42nds, man, I swear. She's always been a bitch, but that was not cool.”

  “Thanks, bro. Things could get a little awkward if we were dating chicks who hate each other.”

  “What are friends for? Besides, she was starting to want more. And I'm not looking for that.”

  I laid a hand on his shoulder. “Neither was I, man, neither was I.”

  ~

  As I headed out of the apartment, I texted Sharn.

  Me: Morning you

  My phone vibrated right away.

  Sharn: Morning. Waking up alone sucks.

  I laughed. Any other girl saying that would have had me running for the hills, but from Sharn, it just made me ache.

  Me: We'll have to see what we can do about that then.

  It was so easy to say what I wanted in text. I'd tried dating once or twice in the last year and failed miserably. I just wasn't into it. Sure, the part that usually happened at the end of the night was all good, but I never stayed over, never had girls over at my place, and I never lied and said things that they wanted to hear.

  With Sharn, it was easy; to be myself, flirt, laugh, and joke. It just wasn't easy letting her in or talking about Dad. But I knew I'd have to soon.

  Sharn: What are you doing today? I've got to help Dad pack and clean again.

  Keefer: Family stuff. Some stuff around the apartment.

  Sharn: Have a good day. Text later?

  Keefer: For sure.

  Dad had invited me over for dinner. He hadn't cooked in over ten years, and now it had been twice in a little over a week. Either he was feeling better or something was up. I wanted to believe it was the former, but the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that it was the calm before the storm.

  “Dad, it's me,” I called into the house as I walked through the door.

  “Kitchen, son.” True to his word, there was Dad—apron tied around his waist—plating up a roast.

  “Wow, I could get used to this,” I said as I caught his expression falter—just for a second—but then he smiled and motioned for me to sit at the small kitchen table.

  The kitchen door flung open, and Mrs. Elms, our neighbor, walked in. She was a small lady with white hair peppered with gray. She took in the sight of Dad dishing up the vegetables and potatoes while I sat at the table and smiled. “Well, if this doesn't do an old lady's heart good. Hi, Keefer. My, you just keep growing.”

  I laughed. She’d been saying that to me since I was fourteen and hit my first growth spurt. “Hi, Mrs. Elms. Are you joining us?”

  Dad got up and helped her over to the table. “I invited her, son. My way of saying thanks...for everything.”

  “Well, come in, then. Let’s eat.”

  It felt surreal to be eating dinner with Dad and Mrs. Elms. When I was a kid, I'd eaten with her and her husband more than once. But she'd never eaten with us.

  “So, Keefer, do you have a special lady in your life?”

  I choked and the potato lodged in my throat. I grabbed a glass of water and tried to wash it down. “Umm, I just started seeing someone...kind of.”

  “Kind of? What kind of answer is that, young man? You're either committed to her or you aren't.”

  Her eyes regarded me, waiting for my answer. I stuttered. I didn't know what to say. “Keefer, my dear, there is no point in wasting your time on a lady who you're not one-hundred percent sure about. Life is simply too short.”

  Her words hit me like a freight train. Damn, eighty-year-old Mrs. Elms was right. “I'm sure.”

  She beamed, and Dad just nodded, but his eyes told a different story. I couldn't place the emotion. Was it relief? Regret? Or a little of both?

  “Well, I can't speak for your father, dear, but I, for one, am very excited about meeting the young lady who's stolen your heart. You know that I’ve always considered you family.”

  We ate the rest of the meal engaged in comfortable conversation. Dad and Mrs. Elms talked a little about Mom, and they both wanted to know how coaching was going. All I could only think about the whole time was how Mrs. Elms called me out on my feelings for Sharn. This thing between us wasn't just some fling. It was real.

  After I cleaned up and washed the dishes, I joined Dad in the living room. He was watching old home movies again. Mrs. Elms had left shortly after eating—she needed her rest these days.

  “Son, come sit with your old man.”

  I dropped down onto the couch and watched a younger version of Dad playing with a small blond-haired child with a goofy grin. I laughed as he chased me around the garden while Mom sat in her lounger with her silly oversized sun hat on. The date displayed in the corner of the screen placed the scene a year before she died. I was six.

  It was surreal. Watching the happy family on the screen was like watching someone else's family or a movie. It didn't feel like my life. Dad must've noticed my sober face because he reached over, patted my hand, and whispered, “I'm sorry, son. So sorry.”

  When I finally managed to tear my eyes away from the child playing with his trike, I turned to face Dad. He'd fallen asleep. I grabbed a blanket from the back of
the couch and draped it over him before switching off the TV. Giving him one last glance, I headed out to my truck. Maybe this really was the fresh start I’d been waiting for all these years—I wanted so badly to believe it.

  ~

  “You’re late.” Coach looked up at me as I barged through the door panting. “So-sorry. My truck blew a tire.”

  “Well, take five then get your butt back in here. We have lots to get through.”

  I walked through his office and into the kitchen area. I wasn’t lying about the truck, but I had the spare swapped in no time. That wasn’t the reason I was running late. I’d overslept— the first time in years. But I’d spend all night texting Sharn. After two hours of texting back and forth, I finally plucked up the courage to ask her to come back to the apartment after the session tomorrow to talk about things. I felt sick just thinking about it, but it needed to be done.

  After grabbing a glass of water, I headed back into Coach’s office. “Ready.”

  “Sit. We’ve got the summer program to firm up, then we need to go over the timetable for juvie. And I need you to take a look at the budget for next year. There might be scope to bring on board someone else full-time. I was thinking of Zac if you think he’d be interested?”

  “I’ll ask him. Let me see the timetable for summer. Have you confirmed Lincoln and North East?” We were hiring private use of two of the baseball fields in local parks for our summer camps.

  “Done. I got Zac and that jackass Jase penciled in. Then Kevin and Sully are coming in to help out. I want you on point at both camps, though. Use the others as you need to. We already have thirty-five kids signed up for Lincoln. North East isn’t as full, yet. But it’s still early.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that. I want the kids from GHS at the camp, if they’re interested. There’s one kid in particular. But he might be difficult to get on board, and he definitely won’t be able to pay the fees.”

  Coach rolled his eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “I want us to fund their participation. Some of these boys need it.”

  He groaned. “Son, we’ve talked about this before. You can’t save every wayward kid.”

  “I know but some of these kids have real potential.”

  Coach rubbed his jaw, and I could see his resolve breaking. “Fine. Four. Four places, that’s it. Any more than that and it comes out of your pay.”

  “Thanks, Sir. You won’t regret it.” The grin on my face was obvious, as Coach snorted. “Hmm-mmm. That’s what you always say.”

  I couldn’t wait to tell Sharn that four of the kids would be funded for the summer camp if they wanted to participate. I knew I definitely wanted to ask Keylon and Otis. I’d ask all the boys, but hopefully, some of them would be able to fund it themselves. It didn’t cost the earth, but a lot of families were hard up for spare cash.

  “Right, let’s get back to it. We need this all confirmed by sundown.”

  I laughed—Coach was like a walking, talking GI Joe.

  Four hours later, we were almost done. Zac had joined us and we’d moved things along quicker than we anticipated. We were just tidying things up, when I had the urge to text Sharn.

  Me: Hey, hope your day is going okay. Not long until tomorrow. Can’t wait to see you.

  School was still in session, so I didn’t expect a reply.

  “Nice work today. Zac, it’d be great to have you on board on a more permanent basis. Give it some thought.” He turned his attention to me. “Son, you did well these last few months. Keep it up. You and I need to have a chat soon about some things. About the future.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Just as I was about to follow Zac out of the office, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the caller. “Hello.”

  “Hello, is this Keefer Smith, the son of Matthew Smith?” The color drained from my face and my hand dropped to my side. The phone slipped from my grip and ricocheted off the floor. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t do anything. I was paralyzed.

  Zac and Coach noticed the change, and Zac rushed to my side. He picked the phone off the floor and started speaking to the person on the other end. “This is Keefer’s friend, Zac Bryant. Is everything okay?”

  I knew it wasn’t. I just knew.

  “Yes, okay. Right away. Thank you.”

  I stood motionless, rooted to the spot, as Zac pocketed my phone and eyed Coach, who said, “Son, is everything okay?”

  Zac started to speak, but I cut him off.

  “Dad; it’s Dad.”

  Coach led me back to the couch to sit down while Zac filled him in on the information the hospital had given him. I could see his lips moving, the look of concern on Coach’s face and the sadness in Zac’s eyes, but nothing registered. Not really. Only one word perforated my bubble. Dead.

  Chapter 17

  ~ Sharn ~

  The end of sixth period couldn't come soon enough. I couldn't wait to see Keefer. I hadn't heard from him since yesterday, but things were great. We texted late into Sunday night and he wanted me to go to his apartment after the session today and talk about things. It was a little strange that I'd heard nothing from him in over twenty-four hours, but no girl wanted to be that girl—the one who started doubting things as soon as a guy didn't reply.

  Of course, every passing hour that I didn't hear from him caused my thoughts to turn more and more irrational. At one point, I'd convinced myself that he was at his apartment getting it on with Barbie-bitch from the bar. But I was being ridiculous. He was probably just busy or had cell problems. There was something between us—something real—and there was no way he'd hurt me. He promised me that he wouldn't.

  The bell rang and I almost leaped out of my seat, desperate to get to the field and see him. I rushed out of the room and into the hallway.

  “Whoa, Miss M. You in a rush?”

  “Sorry, Keylon. Come on, let’s walk out together.”

  He fell into step next to me, and despite my one-track mind, it was the perfect opportunity to talk to Keylon one-on-one.

  “How are things, Keylon? Is your nose better?”

  “It’s cool, Miss M. Things are okay, I guess.”

  I didn't miss that his eyes were looking anywhere but at me. Something was still troubling him. “If you ever need to talk, my door is always open.”

  A couple of the other boys joined us, and I dropped back to let them do their thing.

  I'd obviously been more worried than I let myself believe because relief washed over me when I spotted Keefer centerfield sorting out the equipment. But as I grew closer, it was replaced with a sinking field. No. No. No. The guy in the sweats, jersey, and baseball cap wasn't Keefer, which could mean only one thing. Keefer wasn't here.

  Fighting down the urge to demand to know what was going on, I approached the guy. He spotted me, stopped counting out gloves, and walked toward me. “Hi, you must be Sharn? I'm Zac.”

  I took hold of his extended hand and shook it. Keefer had mentioned his friend Zac before, and I was sure that I saw him at the bar where Keefer was with Barbie-bitch.

  “Hi. Hmm, where's Keefer?” I tried my best at sounding casual. When really inside I was screaming TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON.

  “Umm, listen, Sharn.”

  Oh, God. Here it was. Keefer had sent his friend so he could avoid me; he probably wanted to end things with me. The minute I thought it, I cursed myself. You’re being ridiculous, Sharn. How could he end things? We weren’t even really together—we hadn’t gotten that far yet.

  There was something in Zac’s eyes. Sadness or pity, I couldn’t be sure. “I know about you guys. Keefer is one of my best friends. Just give him a chance to explain, okay? When he's ready.”

  He didn't give me a chance to ask what in the hell he meant. He just left me standing there—eyes wide and mouth gaping—while he went to greet the boys.

  The whole two hours were pure torture. The boys didn’t take well to Keefer bailing on them and gave Zac a hard time. I tried to inter
vene where I could, but I didn’t have my usual energy. I was too busy overanalyzing Zac’s cryptic message. It sounded like he was saying to give Keefer space to come to me and explain, but what was I supposed to do, just forget about him? I needed to know what was going on!

  “Are they always so cocky?” Zac approached me, at my usual spot in the bleachers.

  “Keefer’s bonded with them. They respect him.”

  “Yeah, he says they’re good kids. Listen, I’m heading out,” he hesitated, “but remember what I said, yeah? Please just give him a chance.” His eyes pleaded with me, and all I could do was nod. But as he turned away from me, I blurted out, “Zac, wait. I know you don't want to break Keefer's confidence or whatever, but is he okay? I mean, I'm confused and I'm trying to not jump to conclusions here but it's a little hard.”

  He features softened and he rubbed a hand over his jaw, as if weighing his options. “Sharn, it really isn't my place. Just give him time. And don't give up on him. Please. He needs you.”

  ~

  It turned out patience wasn’t my strongest attribute. By Friday, I was ready to scream. I’d tried taking on board Zac’s words, but it was so hard. Obviously, whatever was going on in Keefer’s life was big—and I guessed it was probably the reason he was so reluctant to let me in—but it didn’t make things any easier. So, in an attempt to give him space, I sent him one final text after Tuesday’s session. It simply said: I hope everything is okay. I’m here if you need to talk. Sharn. I must’ve checked my phone a million times since then. Every time it vibrated or beeped, my heart missed a beat in anticipation and then plummeted into my toes when it wasn’t him.

  Mae tried asking me what was wrong more than once, but she eventually gave up. I didn’t blame her; I was in a foul mood. It didn’t help that the house viewings had started. Dad was upbeat, trying to be positive, but he couldn’t hide the stress lines around his eyes. The whole split was taking its toll. Russ seemed to think the answer was to stay out of town with the band, which left me holding things together—except I wasn't doing a great job.