Page 79 of Broken Hearts

I can’t help but smile back. “I’ll do anything for you. You know that, right?”

As we head back to the dining room, Coach gestures for me to follow him into his office, saying he wants to show me the playbook for the upcoming games.

“It’s a big deal; my father never shows his playbook.” She nudges me forward, and I follow him, feeling a bit honored.

Maybe he’s ready to accept me after all...

Apparently not, because as soon as we enter his office and I reach for the playbook, expecting him to dive right into game strategies, he places his hand over it, halting my movement.

For a moment, we sit there in silence. Then he leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes me uneasy. “I’m not here to talk about soccer, Westbrook,” he begins, his voice serious.

Straightening in my seat, I sense the shift in the tone of the conversation. “Okay. What’s on your mind, Coach?”

He takes a deep breath, his demeanor softening slightly. “You know I love my daughter. She’s my world, and one day, if you’re lucky enough to have a daughter, you’ll understand this helplessness when she’s in pain and you can’t fix it.”

Guilt seeps into my core, rendering me speechless. Yet, I want to tell him that I envision a future where I’ll have a daughter, where he’ll have a granddaughter, and if fate is kind, she’ll mirror my Eva with just a hint of me.

“I have no intention of hurting Evangeline, sir. I’m desperately in love with her,” I manage to say, my voice rough with emotion.

He nods, yet his eyes tell me he’s not fully convinced. “She lost her mother at fourteen—a terrible age to lose a parent. Franny was a perfect mother; she would’ve known how to guide Eva through life’s trials, especially when she fell for the wrong boy in high school.”

The label “wrong boy” stings, especially now when so much hangs in the balance.

He continues, a reminiscent smile on his face, “She was singing, smiling—the happiest I’d seen her in years. She was secretive, and I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew it was one of my players who made her smile like that, someone I’d told her to stay away from.”

I stay silent, acknowledging the truth in his words. He always knew.

With a weary hand through his hair, he looks aged beyond his years. “I saw the way you looked at her during practice when you thought no one noticed.”

Denial is pointless. “I loved her then, and I love her now.”

He leans forward, eyes piercing. “I’m not naive. I know something happened on prom night, and I know you were involved. The story about tripping on glass, the driver who was more military than chauffeur—it never added up.”

The memory of that night sends a wave of nausea through me. If not for fucking Max… My Eva might not have survived, and I would now live in a world where she’s not, and that would not be possible. He must see the distress on my face because his expression softens.

“I never intended to hurt her, and I’ve never laid a hand on her in anger. It may be hard to believe, given what you must think of me, but I vow to spend my life ensuring her happiness.”

He studies me, hopefully seeing the sincerity and resolve in my eyes. After a long moment, he taps his desk and nods.

“My daughter believes in second chances; I typically don’t. I’m giving you this one because she loves you deeply. But make no mistake, if you hurt my girl again, I’ll dedicate my life to ruining yours, no matter what your family name is.”

A name that your daughter now shares, I think, meeting his gaze squarely. “Then we’re in agreement because nothing is more important to me than her happiness.”

He regards me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he extends his hand across the desk. “Take care of her, Westbrook. She’s stronger than she looks, but everyone has their breaking point.”

I grasp his hand firmly, understanding the weight of his words. “I will, sir. I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.”

He releases my hand and leans back, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Alright then. Let’s talk a bit about soccer. Tell me what you think of the game plan for the next game.”

As we delve into the playbook, discussing strategies and plays, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief. The conversation with Coach, as daunting as it was, has solidified something in me—a determination to prove myself worthy of his daughter and the life we’re creating.

After a while, we wrap up the discussion, and I make my way back to the dining room, finding Eva chatting with Mrs. Harper. Her laughter fills the room, and I pause for a moment, watching her, appreciating the light she brings into every space she is in.

As I approach, she looks up, her eyes meeting mine, and I see a question in them. I nod subtly, letting her know that the talk with her dad went as well as it could have.

The evening winds down with a sense of newfound understanding and acceptance. When it’s time to leave, we walk out together, the night air cool against our skin.

I wrap her in my arms. “Come to my house with me. Mom will be happy to see you, and it’s so hard for me to sleep without you now.”

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