The Coaching Hours

by Sara Ney

  I drag my eyes off the road, off the taillights of Rex Gunderson’s retreating vehicle to Elliot’s, afraid of what I’ll see there.

  “I know it’s not my place to ask, but what the hell was that?”

  He’s right—it really is not his place. Not anymore, not after he left without any declarations or commitments toward me.

  “That was Rex.” I’m deliberately being obtuse.

  “Clearly.” He pauses, tone laced with irritation. “What was he doing here?”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Just friends. You expect me to buy that bullshit?”

  I throw my hands up, too tired to argue, too excited to see him. He’s big and strapping and finally—FINALLY—standing on my doorstep, just as I’ve dreamed about hundreds of times.

  “Elliot, I’m really glad to see you, but if all you want to do is argue about my friendship with Gunderson, then you’ve come to the wrong place.” I swallow the lump in my throat before tears threaten to spill. “Besides, I thought you’d go home to your parents when you came back.”

  “No. I came straight here.” He swallows a lump, too. “This was where I wanted to be.”

  At his feet sit two huge duffel bags I don’t recognize, large, full duffels that look nothing like overnight bags. They’re big, overstuffed, made for travel.

  “What is all this? You’re only home for a few weeks, this seems…excessive.”

  “I left school, Anabelle. I packed up my shit and left.”

  “What do you mean?” I swear my breath hitches, breathlessly anticipating what he’s about to say. Hopeful but wary. Excited but cautious. Guilty.

  “I quit. Done. Dropped out—whatever words you want to assign to it. I withdrew.”

  “Elliot, we talked about this.” I cannot keep the nerves out of my voice. Why would he drop out of school and come back to Iowa when he hates it here? When he was so sure Michigan was the best school for him? For his future?

  “I wanted to Anabelle. This has been eating me up inside. You have no fucking idea—none. I missed you like crazy before I even moved there, and there was no fucking way I was going to stay in Michigan knowing you’re here doing this pregnancy thing on your own. No fucking way.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Can I come in?” He bounces on the balls of his feet, blowing on his hands though they’re covered with big, black mittens. “It’s cold as balls out here.”

  Elliot

  As soon as Anabelle closes the door behind me, drops the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and I see that baby bump…

  I drop to my knees, coming face to face with her pregnant belly. Place my hands on either side of it, smoothing my palms over the stretched cotton of her long-sleeved navy T-shirt.

  “Oh my God, look at you.” I don’t know what to say next; the sight of her isn’t what I was expecting. This Anabelle is ethereal and gorgeous—not that she wasn’t before—and glowing. Everything about her is calming and serene, and it’s no wonder Rex Gunderson is sniffing around.

  She’s never looked more beautiful than she does now.

  She’s sent me photos of herself and I follow her on Instagram, but photographs and the reality of it are two completely different things.

  It’s surreal.

  It’s beautiful.

  “I’m huge.” She reddens, dipping her face to hide the blush creeping across her cheeks and down her neck. “It’s embarrassing going to class now if you want to know the truth.”

  I rise to my feet.

  “My mom said you looked great.” She wasn’t kidding. “She gushes about you—my sisters call you Baby Mama, but it’s just to give me shit about not being married and having a kid out of wedlock.”

  “I love your sisters.”

  “They’re pretty fucking cool.” And now that they’ve officially met the girl I knocked up, have discovered Anabelle is not a grasping, irresponsible, sleazy party girl, they’re actually pretty damn excited to have a new niece or nephew. Thank fucking God because my sisters can be assholes when they’re not happy or don’t like someone. Together, when presenting a united front, they have made grown men cry; I can’t imagine what they’d do with a female they loathed, especially one who made me a father at the age of twenty-two.

  “Is your roommate home?”

  “No, she went home. She actually packed up and is coming back for her boxes when she gets back from break.”

  Good.

  “What do you mean, good?”

  “Shit—did I say that out loud?”

  She laughs, and it’s the first time I’ve heard the sound since one of our FaceTime chats—and we haven’t done one of those in weeks.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because we’re going to need that room.”

  “Elliot…” Her pale hands cover the expanse of her stomach, delicate fingers spanning over her belly button protectively.

  “I know what you’re thinking—you don’t want to get your hopes up. I’ve left twice already. I get that, okay? I understand why you’re scared, but I’m not going anywhere this time, and if you want, I’ll sleep in your old room until you’re comfortable having me back—or forever, I don’t care. I just want to be here for you.”

  “How? You need to be in school.”

  “After I left last time and told my parents, the three of us talked. I don’t know if my mom told you, but we worked out a plan. I applied here, just in case—and just got my acceptance. One semester at Michigan in the bag. Packed my shit. Kissed my loud neighbor’s ass goodbye, and here I am.”

  “Here.”

  “Here to stay. For good.”

  Her twinkly little laugh cannot disguise her nerves. “God Elliot, how much have I cost you in furniture in the past year?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m here—I’m just sorry it took so long.”

  “I wouldn’t have blamed you for not coming back—I really wouldn’t have. I understand why you need Michigan, and I can’t ask you to give up the best program for kinesiology for me. I can’t and won’t.”

  My head goes back and forth, and I choose my words carefully.

  “You know…every night I was alone in the miserable apartment. Every night I came home and sat there alone. Ate alone. Did homework alone. Ran alone. It sucked. And do you know why?”

  She shakes her head no, feebly, eyes wide.

  “Yes, you do. Even surrounded by people, I was alone because I wasn’t with you. I would haven’t lasted a year, with or without this baby, Anabelle. I would have been back for you regardless.”

  “Stop it.” Her nose sniffs.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re going to make me cry.”

  “Anabelle. I don’t know what to say to you. If you—” I gulp. “If you want me to step aside so you can see other people, I’ll do that because I love you. I want you to be happy and I’ve put you through enough already this year, but I also want you to know I want to try.”

  “Elliot—”

  “Would you let me finish? I’ve had almost seven hours in the car with nothing to do but think this through, think about you and this baby. It’s a fucking miracle I was able to finish this last semester, Anabelle. I have no idea how to be a dad, but mine is pretty fucking great, and so is yours—that right there is an automatic win for us.”

  I babble on, driven by nerves. “I’m excited. I want to barf sometimes, but who doesn’t? I’m scared shitless, but so are you, and we’re old enough to make this work.”

  She’s worrying her bottom lip, nibbling, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, so I do the only thing I can do. I ask.

  “I’m freaking the fuck out, Anabelle. Would you please say something?” You could cut the thick silence in the room with a dull knife.

  “Rex is…just my friend.”

  Seriously? She’s going to start the conversation by bringing that douche canoe into it? I bristle.

  “He is just my f
riend and he’s been amazing. I love him, and it’s important you know that because he’s not going anywhere. He’s rubbed my back and kept me company, and shoveled my sidewalk in the freezing cold. Rex has done all the things a good friend does to be supportive.”

  “Is he in love with you?”

  Anabelle bites her lip again. Nods. “I think he might be.”

  Unrequited love sucks dick.

  I’ve never felt it, never been in it, but I imagine loving someone who doesn’t love me back would gut me. Poor bastard.

  “Did he say as much?”

  “No, but he kissed me.”

  “When?”

  Why am I asking her these questions when the answer will only serve to piss me off? Glutton for punishment.

  “Tonight. Before you got here.”

  “And you let him?” My voice raises a notch, heart racing.

  “I did.”

  “And?” The suspense is killing me.

  “It was nice.”

  It was nice?

  What the hell does that mean? I’m not sure what to do with that information or how to react, so I stand there, gazing down at her, baffled. Patient but confused as shit.

  Then, “You’re just friends, but the kiss was nice?”

  “Yes.”

  Sort of how she and I were “just friends,” but the sex was fantastic? We were “just friends,” but are having a baby?

  Shit.

  “He knows he’s not the one for me.”

  “Does he though?”

  “Yes. We talk about you all the time.”

  Oh, awesome! I can imagine how those conversations go if we’re basing it on his behavior on the porch. He called me a douche and “baby daddy”, and neither came out his mouth sounding like compliments.

  I roll my eyes. “He didn’t seem thrilled to see me.”

  “No, he wasn’t, but put yourself in his shoes. We have a class together, we have fun together, and he didn’t judge me when he found out I was pregnant—in fact, he loves babies. Weird, right?”

  Yeah. Weird.

  I scowl.

  “He’s introduced me to his parents and really cares, Elliot. He’s changed in the past few months. I think getting kicked off the team was the best thing that’s happened to him, strange as that sounds.”

  “Okay, can we please stop talking about Rex Gunderson and start talking about us?”

  I’m so irritated.

  “But don’t you see? He’s a part of my life and he’ll have to be part of yours too if we’re going to make this work, if we’re going to be together. That’s what you want, right? To be together?”

  Yes. “Hell yes.”

  “Then you’ll figure out a way to tolerate each other, for my sake. I’m not abandoning a friend because the two of you can’t act mature. Suck it up.”

  Jealousy is a powerful sentiment, elevated when the situation is already fucked up.

  “That’s something a mom would say,” I murmur.

  Anabelle grins, beaming. “Is it?”

  “Yeah.” I glance down two overflowing bags dumped by the door. “You’re going to be an awesome mom, Anabelle. I’m sorry it’s sooner than you planned.”

  I can’t meet her eyes, can’t do anything but stare at that stomach, nestled beneath that navy cotton T-shirt, bump proudly on display. Long hair down, falling around her left shoulder, thick and shiny.

  My eyes drift to her breasts.

  Her narrow waist, despite the expanding bump, and I would wager if she turned around, I wouldn’t be able to tell she was pregnant.

  She’s checking me out, too, gaze skimming across my broad shoulders like she’s done a hundred times before, but this feels different.

  “The semester has been good to you. You look good.”

  “Do I? I feel like shit.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. I’ve done nothing but worry since I went back to Michigan. I didn’t know what you’d say when you saw me tonight, didn’t know if you’d tell me to go fuck myself or let me through the door. It’s been horrible.”

  I wasn’t kidding when I said I almost threw up.

  I had to stop a few times en route and dry heave out my driver’s side window. The closer I got to the house, the tighter the knots in my stomach pulled, a jumbled fucking mess.

  “I will admit, when I opened the door tonight, it was like seeing a ghost.”

  “You did look pretty pale.”

  “I’m always pale,” she jokes.

  And laughs, smiling, so big and wide it makes my fucking heart…race.

  Jump. Leap. Skip.

  “Anabelle.”

  A grin. “Elliot.”

  “I love you.”

  Say you love me, too. Say it so my palms stop sweating and my heart stops palpitating, and I can catch my breath. Put me out of my goddamn misery, because I’ve been miserable the past few weeks without you.

  Say it, I silently plead.

  Please.

  Finally, she does.

  “I…I think I’ve loved you since you brought me home and I looked up from your bed and saw you standing in the doorway—that had to have been the moment. I was embarrassed, but I also knew you had a beautiful soul, and I looked like such shit.”

  “You didn’t look like shit—you looked gorgeous.”

  She rolls her big blue eyes. “You’re just saying that now because you love me.”

  Maybe, or maybe she was thrown in my damn path so many goddamn times for a reason, which sounds crazy, but…

  There it is.

  The story of us.

  “Do you want to take off your coat?” She interrupts my musing and I glance down at my puffy coat, brows raised. I hadn’t realized I was wearing my jacket because I was engrossed by one thing. Her.

  “You’re okay with me staying?”

  “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for months, Elliot. Months.”

  “Then I’m staying.”

  “Say that again.” Her sweet voice is a whisper.

  “I’m staying,” I whisper back, reaching for her. “I love you and we are doing this.”

  “We’re really doing this.”

  Elliot

  Nine months later

  Once upon a time, I would have thought I was suffering a loss—the loss of my youth and social life and career. I didn’t realize how much I would be gaining—how could I possibly have? I was young and foolish and vulnerable after leaving Iowa, leaving Anabelle. I didn’t leave because I wanted to, but because that was my plan.

  Education, career, social life—in that order.

  In that order, always sticking to the plan.

  But if everything went according to plan, Rex Gunderson wouldn’t be prancing around an engagement party, holding my daughter, and he sure as shit wouldn’t—

  “I still cannot believe Gunderson is the godfather of my freaking child.”

  Next to me on the lawn, Anabelle smacks my arm, a gentle warning. “Would you stop complaining so loud, someone will hear you.” To mollify me, she grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. “He loves the baby almost as much as we do.”

  “I know,” I grumble. “And it’s really fucking annoying.”

  I had to draw the line when Anabelle wanted to use Regina as Lilly’s middle name. Rex. Reginald. Regina.

  No.

  Hell fucking no.

  My lip curls at the thought, earning me another nudge.

  “Babe, wipe that disgusted look off your face! This is a happy occasion—and look how cute they are!”

  Rex the Moron, AKA my baby’s godfather, is holding my daughter, parading her around the party like The Lion King, stopping every time a hot girl croons in their direction. “He’s using Lilly to pick up women. How are you okay with this?”

  My girlfriend snorts. “Pfft, it’s harmless, and you have to admit, it’s working. He already has a date for Saturday night.”

  She says that like it’s a good thing.

  “Would you ple
ase go take the baby from him? She’s not a pimp.”

  Anabelle gives me a sidelong glance. “Did you just compare our precious daughter to a street pimp?”

  “Babies and puppies are the best marketing ploys. He obviously knows this.” I nod absentmindedly, staring off toward Gunderson and Lilly. “Give it a few weeks, he’ll find a way to get ahold of a puppy, too.”

  “Probably.” Anabelle shrugs with a laugh. “But he is an amazing babysitter.”

  “No comment.”

  But the little fucker is. I hate acknowledging it, but it’s true. Gunderson is always there when we need him, especially if I can’t be home to help. Like a slowly thawing iceberg, I’m warming up to him.

  Slowly.

  Like the berg that dropped the Titanic—really, really fucking slowly.

  “Just look how cute she is in her pretty little dress.”

  She does look cute, and Lilly is a tiny, pink spitting-image replica of me, which pisses Rex off, so I guess that makes things even between him and I.

  “I should go grab her anyway. I bet she’s getting hungry.”

  Eye roll from Anabelle. “Lilly is not hungry—I fed her right before we got here.”

  “But she’s sucking on his shirt sleeve.” Even I know that’s a stretch.

  “Would you relax? She’s teething. Stop dreaming up reasons to take her away from Rex.”

  “But…”

  Anabelle slides up to me, stepping into my arms, pulling them around her waist. My hands slide over her hips, and I stand ramrod straight, letting her tease me.

  “Know what would make you less crabby?”

  “What?” My ears perk up.

  “If we watch television tonight.”

  “Television?” We’re always watching TV, how does that make—

  Oohhhhh. Now I get it. Television television.

  Sex.

  “How soon can we leave?”

  She kisses the tip of my nose. “We can’t. Zeke and Violet haven’t gotten here yet.”

  “So?” I pout. “We’ve been decorating for this party an entire three days. I did my time.”

  “Elliot, we can’t leave their engagement party before they arrive because you’re horny and can’t wait to get laid!”