Page 45 of Save the Game

“No,” he agrees. “And I’m not trying to insinuate that the situation is precisely the same, Max, but I know better than some how difficult it can be to separate fact from the narrative we create in our minds. You’re worried Luke feels sorry for you—pities you—because something terrible happened to you, something nobody should ever have to experience. But he should feel bad, Max, because somebody taking advantage of you is horrifying. Does that mean that he’s only with you because of misplaced self-righteousness?”

“No.”

“No,” he agrees firmly.

“I guess…I don’t know, I just sort of freaked out because he knows and I would never have told him, Coach. I wanted us to be separate from…that.”

“I know,” he says gently.

“I felt blindsided, and then all of a sudden the only thing I could think about was how…good… Luke is, and how I don’t deserve him, and maybe he’s only with me because I’m a charity case.”

Coach Mackenzie reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Christ, I’m not qualified to unpack a single thing you just said,” he mumbles to himself, and I give a bark of surprised laughter. He looks up at me and I smile, apologetically.

“Sorry, Coach.”

“Max Kuemper, I want you to listen when I tell you that you are nobody’s charity case, and nothing that happened to you in the past predicates what you deserve now. I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. You don’t deserve a single thing that has happened to you, and if I ever learn who did that to you—." He halts, backpedaling before he verbally threatens a student. “Well, I’d have a chat with them, anyway.”

I laugh. “Good save, Coach.”

He stands, and I wonder if that’s my signal that I’ve overstayed my welcome. I get up, but before I can slide the blanket off, he’s pulled me into a firm hug. I decide to take advantage of it, no matter that he’s my coach and we’re in his living room and this is probably breaking a dozen school rules—I rest my cheek on his shoulder and dig my fingers into the shirt on his back, holding on as tightly as I can manage. He passes his hand down the back of my head and neck, repeating the motion slowly each time he reaches the top of my spine.

My fingers hurt from how hard I’m gripping his shirt, and I know I should be embarrassed to be hugging him like this. Mostly, though, I’m just intensely grateful that he’s here, that he let me inside and that he’s not pulling away.

“Sometime this week, Max, I think we should work together and find you somebody to talk to,” he says, the words pitched low and private, just for me.

I squeeze my eyes shut. He’s right that I need to speak to a professional—the events of this evening have proved that. I wish, though, that I could just talk to him. “Okay.”

Knowing that I’m really pushing the boundaries of his kindness now, I unclench my hands and lift my face off his shoulder. He releases me, eyeing me seriously through narrowed green eyes. I pull the blanket from my shoulders and loosely fold it before handing it back to him.

“Thank you.”

“We’ll get you something of Anthony’s to wear. You won’t fit in anything of mine,” Coach says decisively, eyeing my bare arms and tossing the blanket onto the couch. “Speaking of, let’s not deprive Anthony any longer of the chance to take care of you.”

He gestures for me to proceed him to the kitchen. “What do you mean?”

What he means is abundantly clear the second we walk into the kitchen. Anthony Lawson has been busy, and if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in myself, I might have already noticed the smell of food cooking. While Coach Mackenzie and I have been talking, he’s been in here, cooking enough breakfast to feed a family of six. He smiles when we walk in, dark eyes tracking from me over to Coach and looking him up and down as though to assure himself he’s all in one piece.

“Anthony, this is Max Kuemper,” Coach introduces me, as calm as if we’re meeting for the first time and not after I had a mental breakdown on their doorstep.

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, pulling me into a friendly, one-armed hug. “You’re the kid I’m going to be shutting down in a few years.”

“Won’t you be retired by the time I’m there?” I ask, and he laughs.

“You watch your mouth,” he says good-naturedly. “Have a seat and help yourself, plenty of food to go around, although I make no promises about it being edible.”

Coach Mackenzie chuckles softly, and I awkwardly take a seat at their table. He sits down next to me, stretching his legs out and pushing a plate toward me. There is a navy-blue hoodie hanging off the back of Coach’s chair; he pulls it into his lap and raises his voice to address his partner.

“Anthony, Max is going to borrow this, all right?” He hands me the hoodie.

“Sure, it’s all his.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, feeling both sheepish and stupidly grateful. I put it on right away, cold again now that I’ve left the blanket in the living room.

“Don’t mention it,” Lawson says as he sits down across from me and starts spooning heaps of food onto his plate. I do the same, not wanting to seem rude even though I’m the farthest thing from hungry.

They fall into easy conversation, bringing me in so seamlessly one would think we have dinner together often. It’s nice, seeing them together like this—Coach Mackenzie more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him during practice, and Lawson effortlessly making him smile. I’ve seen him smile more in the last fifteen minutes than I have the entire time I’ve known him, and it’s kind of blowing my mind.

I offer to do the cleaning after dinner, but Coach Mackenzie waves this off with a stern look that has me biting back any further arguments. Hovering uncertainly near the doorway, I wonder if I should finally say my goodbyes and head home. I’ve already taken up so much of their time and kindness, the debt already too big for me to repay.

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