Coach Me

by Shanora Williams

  “Oh, my God.” I bring a hand up, cupping my mouth as I stare at him. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to sting from tears.

  I can’t believe it. I’ve heard so many stories on the news about people who are wrongfully killed by cops, but to know it’s happened to someone I know—someone I care deeply about—is…it’s indescribable. How do you react to someone telling you this kind of story? How do you not feel angry for them?

  I feel his pain—feel him as he squeezes my hand and releases it repeatedly, as if he’s trying to control his rage, his hurt.

  “I sat there all fucking night in the back of a cop car, watching my father bleed out on the ground. An ambulance didn’t arrive until fifteen minutes later. I was at the police station all night, giving statements, but I was numb, and I didn’t speak up properly and I blame myself for my mom losing the case. She’d put up a lawsuit when it happened. I—I should have told them everything, down to how I felt when it happened, how my father was a good man and that he didn’t deserve it, but instead I was so numb and scared and worried that I’d be next that I said the bare minimum…all because I wanted the nightmare to end. I wanted it to be over, but with shit like that, Amber…the nightmare never ends. I still live it to this day. I still think about how differently that night could have gone if maybe my father had stayed home instead of taking me to practice, or if he had driven my mother’s car instead of that white Impala.”

  “I know,” I nod, but my voice is cracking. “I know, but you can’t change that, Joaquin. You didn’t even know it would happen. You can’t blame yourself for something you weren’t prepared for. He was your father. That cop killed him.”

  He scoffs and pulls his hand out of mine, shooting to a stand. “And you want to know what the worst part of it was? After the trial was officially over, the cop was put on paid leave for six months. He got away with it. All those sleepless nights…all those tears my mother and I shed…and that’s all he got. A slap on the wrist. A pat on the back from his fellow men in blue. ‘Better to be safe than sorry’ I heard them say. That motherfucker is back in the field with a gun, still living his life after ruining an entire family, and he doesn’t give a fuck. None of them give a fuck.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

  “I don’t hate every cop. Trust me, I don’t, because I know some work hard, they are dedicated, and want to save lives, but cops like him? Cops who are too quick to reach for their guns without listening to reason? Quick to judge someone without facts or proof, or because their skin is different than theirs? Those are the cops I hate. They don’t deserve to have authority or power, and people in this world who are just like them, without the badge and gun, are just as bad and that’s why I don’t stand for any of that bullshit anymore. If I see it, I speak up. I try and make a difference because I had the chance before and failed not only myself and my mother, but my father too.”

  There are thick tears streaming down his cheeks now and I am at a loss. I can’t speak to this, all I can do is react.

  I stand up and wrap my arms around him. I hold on tight and refuse to pull away. At first he doesn’t hug me back, most likely used to suffering and dealing with this pain alone, but I’m not pulling away from this.

  I lost my father to a tragedy too, and though it wasn’t on a discriminatory front, it still hurt. Now I know why Joaquin Torres is the way he is—why he can come across as bitter and rude and even harsh. He is in pain, and has had to live with this pain for years. He had to accept that his father is dead because of a mistake and he blames himself for that.

  I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I’d seen my father die right in front of me. I can’t imagine what kind of person I would have become.

  So I hug him with all the love that I have, hoping it will take away some of his hurt and pain. I hug him like my life depends on it, and that his does too, because maybe it really does. Maybe he’s at a breaking point and the only way for him to recover is with the only thing that can ever heal a broken heart. Love.

  He eventually wraps his arms around me and hugs me back just as tight, his solid body molding with mine, and we stand in his bedroom like this for a long, long time.

  Not talking.

  Not moving.

  Just hugging.

  Because he clearly needs this, and I’m glad I can be the person to bring him comfort right now.

  FORTY-TWO

  I’ve never spoken to anyone about what happened with my father. Hamilton found out about the story from when she interviewed me. I didn’t elaborate but she read about the case after hiring me, gave me her condolences and that was the end of that. Mills knows because he’d heard about the case personally and how a track student was affected—the track student being me.

  Mamá, of course, I’ve spoken to her about it, but not like how I just talked to Amber about it. I’ve never gotten too deep about it, so angry. I always try to spare my anger and my tears with my mother because it only causes her tears and hurt, and she’s had enough of that.

  But with Amber, I am an open dam. I break open with her, and I have to admit it feels good to get it off my chest—to share my hurt and anger with someone who can understand. I can’t believe I’ve held it in for so long.

  Now, neither of us can part. We curl up in my bed and Amber takes it upon herself to talk about the loss of her father.

  “It was raining hard and the woman had bad wipers and couldn’t see well,” she says, explaining his car crash to me. “After it happened, the woman visited us for a year. She worked for a restaurant as a pastry maker and always brought us left over pastries. They were really good. She had so much guilt for what she’d done. My mom always tells me she wanted to hate that lady for taking him away from us—for not pulling over and waiting for the rain to stop—but she said it’s not in her heart to hate someone like her over an accident.”

  “Do you hate her?” I ask.

  “No.” Her tone is sure. “It sucks that he can’t be here with me, but I can’t blame that woman. My mom told my dad to wait the storm out but he didn’t want to. He wanted to come home to us—was eager to get there—but other things happened, and that woman had to pick up her daughter from daycare before they closed. So no, I can’t blame her for all of it. My dad understood the bad conditions of the weather just as much as she did her bad wipers. Everything we do in life has a risk. Riding a plane. Going on a cruise. Riding a rollercoaster. Driving a car.”

  “That’s true,” I murmur.

  She sits up on her elbow. “How big do you think the risk is with us being together? Doing this?” she asks.

  “It’s a big one,” I tell her. “For starters, this job is all I’ve got. It’s the only way I can afford to pay my rent and my mother’s mortgage. I also got this job out of pure luck. One of my friends knew Hamilton and told me to reach out to her since the track team was looking for new coaches, so I did. And because Hamilton wanted to diversify the team, she hired me. When I’m with you, I feel like I’m taking all of it for granted…but like I said before, it’s hard not being with you.”

  She bites back a smile, dropping her head. Her hair is no longer in the bun. Nah, I unraveled that bun on our second round. It’s now down in big, wild curls, framing her face. I push some of it back to get a better look at her.

  “I will never regret this,” I tell her. “We’re careful. We’re smart. No one will find out as long as it stays that way, right?”

  “Yeah.” She nods and I lift my head, bringing hers down to kiss her. She climbs on top of me and cradles my face in her hands and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this feeling. Her hands on my face, her body close to mine.

  I’m getting hard just from having her on top of me like this.

  Before I know it, we’re tearing at each other’s clothes again—well, what’s left of them anyway. She climbs on top of me before I can take initiative, gripping my cock, and stroking it in her smooth hands.

  I groan, body tensing as I meet her gaze. Bi
ting into her bottom lip, she releases my cock, only to bend over and take me into her mouth.

  “Fuck, Amber,” I groan as she takes me down to her throat. I grab a fistful of her hair, guiding her head up and down as she sucks me. She does it so damn well, like she’s practiced it so many times before. The thought of her practicing with anyone else other than me pisses me off, but right now, she’s mine. Nobody else’s but mine and I relish in that fact.

  By the time she pulls her mouth away, my cock is stiff, the veins prodding as I throb. She licks her lips and straddles my lap. She angles her pussy above the head of my cock and slowly sinks down on it, and I groan, palming her perfect ass.

  Her moans are loud as she sinks down on top of me, but she doesn’t hesitate a moment. As if she’s hungry for me, she plants her hands on my chest and rides the hell out of me.

  She starts slowly, carefully, looking down into my eyes as she works her hips, her hair curtaining her face as her pussy tightens and grips the hell out of my cock.

  I can’t take this shit at all.

  “Come here,” I growl as I sit up and clutch a handful of her hair. “Fuck, you look so good on top of me.” I force her head back so her neck is exposed and I claim her throat with my lips because this shit is priceless.

  Fuck the risks.

  Fuck the age difference.

  Fuck it all.

  Amber Lakes is all mine and I’ll be damned if I let her slip away from me.

  FORTY-THREE

  My bond with Torres has become even stronger after the night I spent in his apartment. I didn’t even go home that night. We talked until we were bleary-eyed, and I fell asleep in his arms. When I woke up, he had toasted bagels and fresh fruit waiting in the kitchen.

  It was nice, and interestingly enough, I could see myself living with Torres after that night, but maybe that’s just the high of that moment talking. I know relationships aren’t that simple and ours is far from basic or easy, but we make it work.

  We continue track season at a safe distance, and when practice is over, I go to his place to study, eat, have sex, or all three and it is amazing.

  The team eventually gets to the championships and I ace my races. I end up winning a medal for the 200-meter dash in the championships for coming in first place and it’s bitter sweet. I’m proud of it, but sad that now that things are starting to feel normal and good, the season is coming to an end.

  Before I know it, exams have gone by and I’m packing up to return home for the summer. Mama will be arriving in four days to drive me back to Raleigh and the thought of it kills me because Torres lives here, and I know I won’t be able to see him as much as I want to or visit him like before.

  I remember him telling me about his former girlfriend, and how there was a distance between them and it didn’t work out.

  Not that he has ever said I am his girlfriend or anything, but it feels like it at this point. I don’t think I’m comfortable enough calling him my boyfriend, but what we have works for now. No titles are necessary.

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I take it out. It’s a text from Torres.

  Torres: Meet me at my office. Want to ask you something.

  I read his message three times and then respond with, “Okay.”

  After grabbing my keys, I head for the living room. Kendall is sleeping on the sofa. She started working her job with her aunt and has been coming home late and leaving early since track season started. She snores as I’m on my way out.

  I trek across campus until I’m on the track and make my way to the tunnels where the track coaches’ offices and locker rooms are. I pass the locker room to get to the wing of offices and make a sharp right to get to the room at the end of the hall.

  I give the door two knocks, despite it being wide open.

  Torres picks his head up and when he sees me, he smiles. “Lakes.” His voice is deep and sweet.

  I want to run in and throw my arms around his neck, but I know I can’t. Not here, no matter how badly I want to greet him with all my love.

  He looks down and picks up a packet of paper. “I’m glad you’re here. I would have asked about this tonight but didn’t want to wait.”

  “What is it?” I ask, eyeing the papers in his hand before locking on his brown irises.

  “Well, every summer I do a side job where I coach for an elite track league. There are track meets every week, practices every night, and it can be overwhelming, but it’s worth it for runners who are looking to build up their skills over summer. The athletes spend a whole month at the hotel the league reserves and the stay is covered, as well as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You’ll have your own jersey too.”

  “Oh, my God. Wait. Are you talking about Golden Runners Elite?”

  He smirks. “I knew you’d heard of it.”

  “Uh—yeah! Which runner hasn’t? Are you serious right now? You coach for them during the summer?”

  “Have been for the past three summers, and since I do, I am allowed to recruit one athlete a summer. Last year I recruited Regis, but this year, I want to recruit you…but only if you want it.”

  “Holy shit—Joaquin! Are you kidding me right now? I would love to be recruited for that! I would literally do nothing but train over the summer anyway. I might as well do it there!” I can’t even contain my excitement right now. I jump into his arms and hug him, bouncing on my toes. “This is seriously a dream come true! I never thought I’d get anywhere near GRE.”

  He laughs over my shoulder as he hugs me, and I pull back and kiss him out of instinct. I’m so used to doing it—to laying claim to those lips of his—and as soon as I realized I’ve fucked up and broken one of our rules, I try to pull myself away, but I can’t because he keeps an arm around my waist and reels me back in.

  “I think this is a good reason to break the rules a little,” he says on my lips, and then he kisses me whole, his palm splayed on my back. I feel him step forward and I know he’s going for the door to give us some privacy.

  He pulls his mouth away and reaches over my shoulder, but then he immediately stops and snatches his whole body away from me.

  I frown up at him, confused as he leaps away, only to realize his eyes aren’t on me, they’re on the open office door. And standing in the hall with her mouth ajar and her eyes wide is Coach Hamilton.

  FORTY-FOUR

  I don’t even know how to react when I see my head coach standing in the hallway and it’s obvious she has no idea what to say to this either.

  I see her eyes shift from mine to Torres’ and when I look back at him, he’s giving her a helpless stare.

  Her head does a small, incredulous shake, and then she turns away and marches down the hallway. Shit!

  “Goddamn it!” Torres slams the papers down on his desk and I flinch, not only from the sound, but from the aftermath of what just happened. He stands straight again. “I have to go talk to her,” he says, charging for the door.

  “No—I’ll go talk to her. I’ll tell her it was mutual—that it’s not what it looks like.”

  “She won’t believe that shit, Amber! Fuck! How could I be so stupid?”

  I ignore him and leave the office. If anyone has a chance of getting Hamilton to listen, it’s me. I’m the student. I’m not a victim, and she needs to know that.

  I rush to her office, but the lights are off. She’s not here. Where the hell did she go?

  I turn down the hallway to check if she’s near the locker rooms, only to find Melanie and Foster in deep conversation. They spot me as I round the corner, and frowns seize both their faces.

  I ignore them and go for the exit of the tunnel, but Foster calls for me before I can get out of their sight.

  “Hey, Lakes. Come here a sec. Let me ask you something,” she says.

  “I—I’m sorry, Coach. I really have to be somewhere.”

  “It’ll only take a second, Amber. Come here.” She gestures for me to come urgently. Melanie has her arms folded and a brow cocked, as if she
wants nothing to do with whatever Foster has to ask.

  I sigh, glancing over my shoulder at the exit, but reluctantly walking to Foster.

  “You like it here, Lakes?” Foster asks.

  “Yes,” I answer, nodding. “I do.”

  “Why?” Melanie demands, and I look her way with a frown.

  “Because I enjoy running for Bennett, and I like the academics too.”

  “Have you not realized yet that you don’t belong here?” Melanie snaps. “I just—for the love of God, you have come to this team and you’ve ruined it. I’m so glad I’m leaving this year so that I can’t see this team be sabotaged anymore!”

  “What?” I gasp. “Melanie, how can you say that? I have never done anything wrong to you! You’ve hated me ever since you saw me!”

  “Yeah, because Bennett’s women’s track has always been a laid-back thing and then you came and made it a competition for everyone. No one wants to race anymore because they feel defeated by you.”

  “That’s not true!” I snap.

  “Have you ever considered transferring elsewhere, Lakes? Like NC A&T, maybe?”

  “NC A&T?” I repeat, and I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “So, you’re asking if I, a black student, would transfer from a predominantly white school to go to a predominantly black school?”

  “Well, if you want to put it that way,” Foster says, shrugging, and then laughing as she side-eyes Melanie.

  Melanie smirks and folds her arms again.

  “Why is it that you think I should do that? Because you think girls like me aren’t good enough to go to Ivy League colleges? Is my skin not bright enough to run on the same track as you? To drink from the same water fountains? To share the same locker rooms? To have basic human fucking rights?”