But it didn’t.
It felt worse, and as coach he knew he had to take some, or maybe even all, of the blame.
Sam glanced back at the bleachers. He’d spotted Mariella as soon as she arrived. She’d been happy and smiling, and he remembered the twinge of pleasure in his gut when she’d waved to him.
Now her hands covered her mouth in shock as the other parents glared at her with angry looks on their faces. They were likely the ones who tried to do his job from the stands, who railed against him, too. He felt a strange sort of solidarity with Mariella, even as he wondered what the hell had happened to her son.
The opposing team was cheering, high-fiving and celebrating their win while his players stood around no doubt wishing they could slink off the field.
The referee blew a whistle, bringing the Titans coach and players out of their funk.
Both teams hustled to form a line in the middle of the field, and then proceeded to slap hands hung low, in a show of sportsmanship no one on his team was feeling, including him.
But that was how the game was played. You won, you lost and you played the next one.
Sam blew his whistle. “Huddle up on the sidelines!”
When everyone had assembled and formed a misshapen circle, he took a deep breath and spoke, trying to portray a sense of confidence he really didn’t feel.
“Team, this was a tough loss for all of us. But the only thing we can do is to learn from it and move on. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
“I’m sorry, Coach,” Josh choked out, sounding as if he was holding back tears. “I don’t know what happened out there.”
“I know what happened. You lost us the game, you numb-nut!” Dante shouted. “If you had passed the ball to me, instead of trying to take the shot yourself and be the hero, we would have won. Instead, you’re a loser.”
“Stop it, Dante,” Sam said sharply. “We’re all losers today. We win as a team and we lose as a team.”
He pointed at his players with his clipboard, making eye contact with each one.
“Each one of you has something you can improve on, and believe me, I’ll be dissecting everyone’s performance in this game like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
Dante shook off the arms of his teammates and stood in front of Josh with his fists clenched.
“You’re wrong, Coach. I’m not a loser. Not like this guy,” Dante shrieked, poking Josh in the chest. “He doesn’t even deserve to be on the team.”
“Get out of my face, man!” Josh warned through clenched teeth. “Get out of my face!”
“Josh!”
Sam turned his head and saw Mariella cupping her hands over her mouth and screaming.
“Josh, don’t!”
He turned back just in time to see Dante push Josh to the ground. Josh quickly rebounded and took a swing at his teammate. Like his goal, the punch missed, but that seemed to anger Dante even more.
Sam wedged himself between them. “Hey! Break it up!”
Despite his efforts, a second punch connected, and Sam heard cartilage crunch. Blood spurted from Josh’s nose.
The two boys stepped around him and kept swinging at each other.
Sam couldn’t believe this was happening.
When he was playing pro, fights in the stands among fans were commonplace, sometimes turning into dangerous melees. But on the field, no matter how he and his teammates felt about each other, they never would have dared to take a swing. They respected and supported each other. Besides, if they didn’t, their coach would have had their balls in a sling.
“Break it up, I said!”
He grabbed them by their sweaty collars and pushed them onto the bench, one at each end.
“Take a seat, and learn to love it. You’ll both be here for the next game. Maybe two.”
Soon Dante was surrounded by a semicircle of friends.
Josh, on the other hand, was alone, his nose bleeding heavily.
Sam felt a twinge of pain in his heart for the kid. Someone should have been supporting him, but it looked like most of them had taken Dante’s side, while the others looked like they just wanted to run away.
In his white button-down shirt and black dress pants, he felt more like a principal than a coach and he cursed inwardly. With one lousy loss and a lame fight, the dynamics of his team were broken. He would fix it, no matter what it took, but wished there were a playbook for coaching teenagers.
He flipped his gold paisley tie over his shoulder before stooping to examine Josh’s injuries. He was bent over and looked like he was about to puke.
“Can we get some help over here?”
A medic, who had been in the process of packing up, grabbed his treatment bag and rushed over.
“Who’s hurt?”
Sam got out of his way. “Um...the kid with the blood?”
“I know.” The guy laughed. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.”
Sam scowled, in no mood for jokes, and was about to tell the man just that when Mariella rushed over.
She knelt at her son’s side, but turned back and spoke to Sam. “Oh, my God. I saw him getting hit. Is his nose broken?”
“I—I don’t know,” he stuttered, not liking the anger he saw in her eyes.
The medic wrapped a towel around an ice pack and gave it to Josh. “It doesn’t appear to be, but I advise an X-ray just to be sure.”
Josh lifted his head and snuffled. “Mom, chill out. I’m okay.”
Leslie swooped in, and Sam was reminded of a vulture circling the dead. He didn’t remember seeing her in the stands, but he’d heard another mom saying that the woman rarely paid attention to the action on the field, preferring to people-watch and gossip instead.
“Dante, how about you? Are you okay?”
Mariella turned and glared over her shoulder at Leslie. “Of course he is,” she said in a curt tone. “My son is the one who’s hurt, or didn’t you notice all the blood?”
Leslie folded her arms across her Titans T-shirt. “It was pretty clear from the stands that it was your son’s fault.”
Mariella stood up and the two women began to argue. It was clear from their rising voices that things could escalate even further if he didn’t step in, once again.
He waved his hands in the air. “Time out, ladies. I’ve already had to break up one fight. I don’t want to have to break up another.”
Leslie flashed a quick smile. “I don’t know about her, but you won’t have any trouble with me, Coach. Can I collect my son now? My husband is waiting for me at home.”
Sam nodded and wondered why the man hadn’t shown up at the game. In fact, he’d never even met him.
More parents arrived to pick up their children, and from the looks on their faces, they weren’t happy with him, either.
He backpedaled a few steps and clapped his hands to get the attention of his team.
“Everyone is excused except Josh, for obvious reasons. I’ll email you guys a link to the footage of the game tomorrow morning. At practice on Monday, we’ll talk about what happened and how we can all improve our game.”
It didn’t take long for everyone to gather their things and leave. He was surprised no other parent chewed his ear out, but he supposed he’d have a few emails waiting for him when he got home.
Mariella walked over to him. “Coach, can I talk to you?”
He raised an eyebrow at her professional tone. After what they’d shared last night, he’d expected something a little warmer.
With a sigh, he followed Mariella downfield, out of earshot of Josh and the medic, who, although he was annoying, had managed to stop the bleeding.
She whirled around. “Why did you let this happen?”
“What are you talking about?” Sam stepped in close, to further ensure nobody could hear them.
; “I saw Dante push Josh first, and you did nothing to interfere.”
“Josh got in his face, too,” he added.
Her mouth dropped open. “It sounds like you’re blaming him. This wasn’t his fault. It’s yours.”
He raised his palms to stop her verbal assault, even though he knew she was right. “Everything happened so quickly. I stopped it as soon as I could.”
“Not soon enough,” she said, spitting out the words. “Now my son possibly has a broken nose. He’s been through enough pain, Sam.”
He tried to touch her elbow, but she pulled away.
“Leave me alone. I have to take Josh to the emergency room.”
Mariella stalked away, and then without looking back, she and the medic helped her son off the field.
Watching them go, he realized that due to the fight, there was no way he could make Josh team captain, and Dante was no longer an option, either.
“That’s going to go over well with the PTA moms,” he muttered.
Sam walked back to the bench and his knee started to throb. He grimaced as he hefted his equipment bag over his shoulder. Somehow, he’d figure out a way to get back into Mariella’s good graces. Turns out his old coach wasn’t the only one who could put his balls in a sling.
* * *
Josh pressed the ice pack against his nose and snuffled. “I ruined everything.”
His voice sounded like it was swathed in cotton, but the dejection in his tone hurt Mariella the most. It made her wish she could turn back time.
“Only your shirt,” she joked. “I’ll have to deploy my superhuman laundry skills to clean that thing.”
“Mom!” he moaned, splaying his legs across the kitchen floor.
“I’m just kidding,” she said, skirting around them. “You didn’t ruin everything, Josh. You only made a mistake.”
He leaned his head on his arm. “Doesn’t matter. Everyone hates me.”
Mariella rubbed her hands over her eyes, wishing she could just lie down, but not daring to yawn because she knew Josh would take offense. She needed coffee, strength and Sam, but right now she had none of those.
They had waited for over an hour in the emergency room at Bay Point Community Hospital before being seen by a doctor. Telling the intake coordinator she worked for the mayor had not gotten her any special consideration or preferential treatment. In fact, she wondered if it had lengthened her wait instead.
“Josh, eat.”
A slice of pizza lay on his plate. He pushed it away. “I’m not hungry. I couldn’t taste it anyway.”
The X-rays had revealed his nose was intact. He would have some pain for several days and would be practically living with an ice pack on his nose for the next few hours.
“At least it’s not broken,” she reminded him.
Josh picked up the nose brace that would protect him while he was practicing and waved it in her face.
“You really expect me to wear this thing?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Just think of it as battle gear.”
“Battle is right.” He snorted and then squinted in pain. “When I see Dante, I’m going to—”
She slapped her hand on the table so hard the salt and pepper shakers tipped over.
“You aren’t going to do anything.”
He slumped farther down in his chair. “If I had my old crew, they’d have my back. They’d do something.”
The group of boys Josh grew up with was part of the reason why she moved. As they got older, many of them had gotten involved in petty crimes, and she didn’t want Josh to fall in line with them.
“You’ve got me, Josh. You don’t need them.”
She knew the statement was futile, but she said the words anyway.
“Don’t tell me what or who I need. We never should have moved here!”
He ran out of the room and up the stairs, making all the stairs creak with his stomping, not just the third one.
Mariella sank down into one of the kitchen chairs, her exhaustion complete. She started to reach for a piece of pizza, and then buried her face in her hands. Her stomach in knots, she wasn’t hungry, either, and always felt this way after an argument with Josh.
Her son was crushed that he’d cost his team the game, and the nose injury just made things worse. She didn’t think he would quit, but she didn’t rule it out, either.
It would sure make things easier for her if he did.
She’d never have to see Sam again.
* * *
Sam sat in his SUV, across the street from Mariella’s house, debating whether to get out and knock on the front door. This time he was certain he wouldn’t get a warm welcome.
He swore silently. The twinkling lights on the manicured hedges reminded him of last night, when he’d first kissed Mariella. He didn’t believe in letting arguments fester, but it was too late to apologize now.
He crooked his elbow against the door. So why was he here? He wasn’t the kind of man to make a fool of himself for a woman. Or at least he didn’t used to be.
The lights went out in the living room, and then a few minutes later one light went on in what he assumed was a bedroom upstairs. She was going to bed and he’d missed his opportunity, though she probably wouldn’t forgive him anyway.
As he drove away, he wondered if Josh would be at practice on Monday, or if Mariella would force him to quit the team because of him. The season had gotten off to a rocky start, and if he couldn’t see Mariella, at the very least on the sidelines, this was going to be the longest four months of his life.
Chapter 7
Mariella clicked the alarm on her car and took a deep breath, grateful to be out in the fresh air instead of in the office. She’d left work a few hours early to attend a meeting with the principal and athletic director about the condition of the soccer field.
Leslie had texted her earlier in the day. Mariella didn’t ask, nor did she care, why she couldn’t be at the meeting.
Whenever she thought about how the woman had blamed Josh for the altercation between their two sons, she seethed inside. The less she had to interact with Leslie, the better, though with the number of PTA events planned for the rest of the school year, she couldn’t avoid her forever.
She headed toward the school entrance, ignoring the butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. When she got there, she pressed a button by the door, gave her name and waited to be buzzed in.
Sam would be at the meeting, too. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since the first game, and there was another one that night. She’d hoped he would contact her and try to smooth things over, but he hadn’t and that hurt more deeply than she’d expected.
Despite her feelings, she knew how to keep it civil. In her official capacity as PTA vice president, she supported his idea for artificial turf. Not for him, she vowed, but for Josh and the rest of the kids on the team, and those who would play after them.
It was just hard to stop hoping he could be more to her than just her son’s soccer coach.
Mariella’s nose wrinkled at the clean but strong scent of industrial bleach in the hallways. The churning in her stomach worsened with every step.
She reached the school office and the secretary led her down a hall to the conference room. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Sam already there, waiting. The principal and athletic director had not arrived.
Sam stood as she entered the room, but she refused to meet his eyes. She felt like royalty when he pulled out the chair next to his, even though she figured he was just being polite again. He waited until she sat down, then followed suit. They declined the secretary’s offer of something to drink, and she left the room.
Mariella stared at the white wall in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, Sam seemed uncomfortable. He tugged at the collar of his Titans sweatshirt.
> “The mayor let you out early, huh?”
“When Gregory found out about the meeting, he was all for it,” she replied without a smile.
“Thank you for coming,” Sam said quietly. “Leslie isn’t here and I wasn’t sure you were going to show up.”
“It’s my duty as PTA vice president.”
He gave her a mock salute. “Is that the only reason you’re here?”
She shot him a look. “Yes. Shouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. I only hoped that—”
“What?”
“That you wanted to see me, too.”
She crossed her arms in a show of defiance.
“Do you think I’ve missed you?”
“My ego wants to say yes, but my heart isn’t sure. Except for one thing,” he added.
“What’s that?”
The little smile on Sam’s lips threatened to melt her defenses.
“That I’ve definitely missed you.”
He reached a hand under the table and stroked her knee. “You look beautiful today.”
Defenses melted.
She touched the lapel of her custom-made gray pantsuit, paired with a silk, sleeveless ivory tank. She’d spent a small fortune on the garment in Beverly Hills, so she only wore it for interviews or important meetings.
She batted his fingers away. “Shh. I hear voices.”
Seconds later Principal Desmond Taylor, followed by Brian Putnam, the athletic director, entered the room.
They all shook hands, and the two men settled into their seats.
“Before we get started,” Principal Taylor said, “I’d like to express my thanks to you, Sam, for traveling all the way from London to coach the boys’ soccer team this season.”
“It was an honor to be invited,” Sam said. His regal voice sounded humble. “Five regular season game wins so far and only one loss shows just how talented the boys are.”
Principal Taylor adjusted his navy blue tie and cleared his throat. “We also appreciate the fact you took the position with no pay.”
Winning Her Holiday Love Page 10