by Dana Nussio
Men rejected her. They’d been doing it all of her life. Her father. Paul. Guys didn’t stick around when life became complicated. Shane had just been reminding her, even when she’d been too preoccupied to notice, that he was just like the others. That it would be a mistake to put her trust in him.
“There it is,” Shane said, drawing her back to the game, where the laughter, cheers and thudding echoes of the bouncing ball should have held her attention in the first place. At least one of the coaches had been paying attention.
Her parent section was applauding, so it didn’t surprise her that Lucas was doing a victory spin before rolling back down the court as his team switched to defense. Her other four players on the court were focusing on their games while those on the bench shouted their heads off. She was the only one not doing her job tonight.
As her gaze flicked to the scoreboard, she blinked. The board read 29–27.
“We’re ahead!”
Her hand went to her mouth, but the words had already escaped. When Shane glanced her way and lifted a brow, she shrugged. The team had only been ahead a few times all season, and never during the fourth quarter. Still, with a razor-thin lead like that one, made closer by the other team’s one successful foul shot, this game was going to be a nail-biter.
“Let’s go, Junior Cats!” Shane had turned his attention back to the court, but he was still grinning.
It was the most significant exchange they’d had all night besides the awkward small talk in the van earlier. Maybe one day they would be able to work together without her constantly recalling what it was like to nestle in his arms. But that day wouldn’t be for a while.
Natalie forced herself to focus on the game now as the other team’s players passed the ball around in front of the basket, trying to set up a shot.
“Shoot, Titans! Shoot!” a parent called out.
Again, she and Shane exchanged a look. At each parent meeting, she reminded Junior Cat parents not to call out for players to shoot because it broke their concentration, but the other team’s parents apparently hadn’t received that memo. On the other hand, according to the Titans’ record, that hadn’t stopped them from winning. With less than a minute on the clock, one of the Titans drove up the right side of the basket and executed a modified layup.
The air rushed from Natalie’s lungs, and all five of the players in red Cats jerseys sank into their chairs. They now trailed by that same precious one point, which might as well have been a double-digit deficit as likely as they were to recapture the lead.
“Work together, Junior Cats! Don’t give up,” she called out, though she was having a hard time not doing the same thing.
Just once she wanted to give these boys and girls a taste of victory. They’d worked so hard, and it just wasn’t fair that they still wouldn’t see any positive results from their effort. But then every player and parent in this gym understood as well as she did that life wasn’t fair.
“Come on, guys, we’ve got this,” Kendall said in a louder voice than she’d ever used at practice or in a game.
“Yeah, we can do this,” Lucas chimed as he dribbled down the court and passed to Kendall.
Natalie could only grip her hands together and watch as the seconds ticked away. At least her players weren’t giving up on themselves. She hadn’t expected Lucas to pass at all if he could help it, but it didn’t surprise her that Kendall passed back to him. They all knew which player was their best hope for a basket.
Lucas moved up to the key and stopped, looking for a shot near the heavily guarded basket. When he didn’t find one, he made the predictable move of dribbling a second time since there was no double-dribble rule in wheelchair basketball. Of course, he would want to keep the ball.
Natalie held her breath, hoping one of the parents wouldn’t lose patience and beg for him to shoot. Even if he was a selfish player sometimes, he didn’t deserve to have his confidence blown when he threw an air ball at the buzzer.
“Come on, Lucas. You can do it,” she said under her breath.
Then he did something she didn’t expect. Chase was off, forgotten, on the far left side of the basket, where he’d spent much of the game. He’d probably only taken two shots all night, and both had bounced off the rim, so the other team probably didn’t see him as much of a threat. But he suddenly awakened, like a wallflower finally asked to dance, as Lucas whipped the ball into his hands.
Natalie’s hand lifted to her mouth of its own accord. Why had Lucas passed to him? He wasn’t ready for that kind of pressure. He wasn’t ready for the whole game to come down to his split-second decisions and the accuracy of his shot.
Chase didn’t even hesitate as he lined up the shot and took it. The ball arched over players who appeared surprised that he’d taken a shot at all, and then it swished through the hoop. The buzzer blared just after the ball dropped with a hollow sound to the gym floor.
Applause erupted on their end of the bleachers, and the line of wheelchairs that had been serving as the bench broke up as the players rushed out on the floor to celebrate. Although most of the attention was going to Chase for his game-winning shot, Natalie couldn’t get to Lucas fast enough.
“Such a smart play, Lucas,” she said as she bent to hug him. “Such a sign of teamwork.”
Shane had approached Chase and gave him a much deserved high five. She couldn’t blame him. The two of them had worked together on that exact shot during the last two practices. She looked away quickly, before he could catch her watching him.
“But Chase’s shot won the game,” Lucas said in a small voice.
Natalie only shook her head. “You lost as a team, and now you’ve won as a team. You were being an unselfish player tonight, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
He glanced over at all of the attention the other boy was receiving as if trying to decide if the unselfish play was worth it. But then some of the wheels started rolling his way, and he grinned.
“Okay, everyone line up for handshakes,” Natalie called out.
All of the players rolled into a row at the sideline, with Shane and Natalie taking their positions at the back. Since this was her team’s first victory, she could only hope that the players would be gracious winners.
As the players moved forward and shook hands with the opposing players and then their coaches, Shane glanced back at her over his shoulder. His grin was wider than she’d ever seen it before.
“This feels better than scoring the game-winning touchdown,” he said.
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Though she’d been determined to stay mad at him, or at least avoid him because of her humiliation from last night, she couldn’t help smiling back at him.
He probably knew exactly what it felt like to be carried around on the shoulders of a bunch of burly football players, but now he’d experienced a coach’s unbelievable high when players used the skills and plays they’d been taught and worked together to earn a victory. There was nothing like it.
“Learning to lose is important, too,” he added.
She nodded, though he’d turned back around as he reached the first opposing player.
“Probably more important,” she said to his back.
They both moved through the line, patting hands and saying “good game” to each player and coach. This was the first time all day that Natalie hadn’t felt on edge around Shane. Maybe now they could just pretend that the other night hadn’t happened.
As they reached the end of the line, Shane turned his chair to face her and continued as if they hadn’t taken a two-minute breath in the middle of their conversation.
“I know that learning to win and to lose is important,” he said, “but these kids deserve to have some wins in their lives.”
She nodded again, a knot forming in her throat. These children de
finitely deserved some small victories, and so did their assistant coach, who should get the chance to return to his life, to use the legs that had failed him. Even to return to the career he loved, whether it made sense to her or not.
Natalie’s eyes filled, and Shane’s eyes looked damp as well, but he turned away as if he didn’t want her to notice.
She blinked away the moisture and turned back to her players. “Okay, everyone. Let’s gather for a quick team meeting so everyone can get home.”
“Go home? No way,” Shane called out. “After a game like that, we need to celebrate.”
“What do you have in mind?” She lowered her voice. “It’s a school night, you know.”
“We won’t be long,” he assured her before turning back to the players and their parents, who’d gathered behind them.
“Ice cream for everyone! On me!”
* * *
THE KIDS’ ICE-CREAM cones had long since been gobbled away. The last of the milk shakes had been slurped. And a jingle marked the exit of the last player’s family taking off from Brighton’s only indoor ice-cream joint with enough seating for ten players and their families, plus a pair of coaches. Still, Natalie couldn’t bring herself to suggest that she and Shane go home, as well. Tonight had been such a great night for all of them, and she hated to see it end. It didn’t hurt that she and Shane had finally stopped acting so awkward around each other.
“You going to keep playing with that, or are you going to eat it?” Shane asked from across the long table.
The long, empty table, except for the two of them sitting in the center, preventing workers from cleaning it, refilling the saltshakers and prepping it for tomorrow’s lunch crowd. Had it been an accident that he was seated directly across from her at the table where several chairs had been removed to accommodate wheelchairs?
He must have thought she hadn’t heard him because he pointed to the paper bowl that contained her strawberry sundae. It looked more like strawberry soup now with lumps of berries. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t eaten it, other than that she’d been having such a nice time with him—and the players and their families, of course—that she’d forgotten about it.
“I like my ice cream soupy.” She stirred the liquid, making a whirlpool of the berry bits. “Why? Do you want some?”
He shook his head. “I like it best frozen. Or at least not warm.”
“It’s fine.” To prove it, she carefully guided a spoonful to her mouth. Syrupy-sweet, warm strawberry soup. Somehow she managed not to gag and licked her lips for effect.
“Good, huh?” He grinned.
But instead of taking another bite, she glanced down the table where one leftover paper bowl and several sticky smears remained. “Today was great, wasn’t it?”
“You mean the game?”
He watched her for so long that she couldn’t help shifting. Her face was hot, and she didn’t even want to think about the other places that felt strangely warm. She didn’t bother taking another bite of her ice cream. She would be wearing it down the front of her coach’s shirt if she tried.
“Of course. What else would it mean?”
But he grinned as he said it, a man who was well aware that he unnerved her.
“Maybe that thing at the clinic?” He folded his hands. “What was that about, anyway?”
“You mean the...switch?” She waited for him to answer, but when he didn’t, she rushed on. “I just thought it was best. You know, after...”
“The other night?”
Her cheeks burned, but her jaw tightened. He was purposely making this hard on her. Did he have no shame? Wasn’t it enough that he’d rejected her when she would have—She stopped herself right there because she wasn’t sure what she would have done if he hadn’t stopped them.
“I still can’t believe you had my case transferred. Does that happen often?”
“Rarely.” Or in her experience so far, never, but he didn’t need to know that.
“But you know how important it is for me to get out of this chair? How could you trust someone else—”
She brushed her hand back and forth in the air to interrupt him. “You don’t need to worry about that. Deborah is amazing. The best. I wouldn’t have had your case reassigned if I’d had any doubt that you would be getting the best possible care.”
“If she’s so great, why wasn’t I assigned to her in the first place?”
Natalie lifted a shoulder and lowered it. She’d asked herself that question several times before.
“So she’s a better PT than you are?”
“She has much more experience than I do, so, yes, probably.”
Again, he grinned. “Then I should take it as a sign of your generosity that you dumped me?”
Dumped? She swallowed. His smile was beginning to annoy her. “I know you think all of this is funny, but—”
“I’m sorry,” he said before she could finish. “You were just doing what you thought was best after...everything.”
Natalie nodded. She had to deal with this embarrassment if they were ever going to be comfortable coaching together.
“Anyway,” he started again, “about the...other, I wanted to apologize for that, too.”
Natalie couldn’t even look at him. Instead, she stared at her gripped hands. Why was he apologizing for kissing her? Technically she’d kissed him first. And the fact that he was sorry for what had been the most explosive kiss of her lifetime frustrated her even more.
“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” she said without looking up.
“I just wanted to explain why I...”
The truth struck her like a bowling ball to the gut, and her gaze shot up to meet his guarded one. He was apologizing, not for the kiss, but for not wanting her.
“Can we just not go there?”
“But I want to go there. I want to explain why—”
Whatever excuse he’d been about to give was cut off when Natalie’s phone rang and her mother’s photo appeared on the screen. Immediately, she grabbed it off the table and slid her thumb across the glass to answer the call.
“Hey,” she said in a low voice. “Sorry I’m running late, but—”
“Where are you? Why aren’t you home?”
Her mother’s voice was so loud that Shane had to hear it.
“I’ll be home soon,” she said in the most soothing voice she could muster. “Just give me a few minutes to—”
“I don’t have a have few minutes.”
Natalie gasped. “What’s wrong? Have you fallen?”
Already, she was out of her seat and slipping on her coat. Her gaze flitted to Shane, who was watching her closely. He gestured toward the exit with his index finger, asking if she needed to leave. She nodded.
“Don’t worry about me. It’s not like you care that Laura has been gone for over an hour.”
She almost relaxed. “I know. It’ll just be a few more minutes.”
“Then I’ll call the ambulance myself.”
“Ambulance?”
“I’m sure the EMTs will be able to stop the bleeding.”
“Stay put. I’ll be right there.”
Shane was already working his arms back into his coat sleeves, but she rounded the table and helped him.
“You don’t have to drop me off,” he said as she started wheeling his chair toward the door without asking permission. “I can get someone to come—”
“No time,” she clipped and pushed him out the door and through some of the dirty slush.
“I just don’t want you to waste time dropping me off when you clearly need to...” He let his words trail away as if hoping she would fill in the blanks.
“No time for that, either.”
She hit the button for the wheelchair lift and
had to force herself not to tap her foot while Shane was placed in the van. Hurrying around and hopping in the driver’s seat, she turned the ignition and threw the vehicle into Reverse.
“Is there anything I can do? I think Vinnie is on duty tonight, so I can call—”
She shook her head as she pulled from the parking lot. “I don’t know—won’t know—until I get there.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are you going to make me guess?”
She glanced at him once and then looked forward again as she pulled from the parking lot into the street.
“It’s time for you to meet my mom.”
CHAPTER TEN
SHANE GRIPPED HIS armrests tighter than he ever had before as Natalie hurried behind him up the wheelchair ramp outside her home. A ramp far more permanent looking than the one at his house. When they reached her front door, she unlocked it and then held it wide for him to enter first.
“Sorry about this,” she said to his back as she closed the door behind them.
“No big deal.” He quickly scanned the entry that led into a darkened formal living room where he was pretty sure no one had ever lived. “So where is your mom?”
A voice coming from the back of the house answered his question.
“Is that you, Natalie?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Mom.” She toed off her boots and set them on the mat.
“Then hurry, will you?”
“Coming.” Natalie gave Shane an apologetic look and then in a lower voice told him, “Wait here.” She jogged down the hall, leaving him by the front door.
But since he wasn’t willing to remain in the background, he started in the direction she’d just gone. He rounded the corner and stopped in the doorway of a family room that looked like a family actually spent time there. Natalie was crouched next to the wheelchair of woman who looked as much like Natalie as a blonde with almost translucent skin could. On a TV tray next to them, the bottom half of a broken glass had been placed next to a pile of blood-speckled tissues.