Page 40 of Undeniable

“The game’s at home tonight. If you leave now, you’ll probably get to see most of it. I would drive you, but I’m in the middle of this.” He picked up the tablet and waved it around.

“How do you know she has a game?”

“She gave us her game schedule so we could make our schedule. That’s also how I know she’s going to be gone all weekend. It was something she negotiated before we even hired her.”

Downing the second drink, I pulled up the app on my phone and requested another car.

“Look, Josh told me what he walked in on a few weeks ago. I haven’t wanted to bring it up, but—”

“Then don’t.”

He didn’t flinch at my unyielding tone and instead changed tactics. “Word of advice?” he offered, and I wanted to tell him to shove his advice where the sun doesn’t shine, but I didn’t.

“I know we don’t know what happened, but I figured you fucked up somehow.”

My anxiety felt like a thick band wrapped around my heart. Instinctually, I rubbed at my chest trying to relieve the pressure while he continued.

“If that woman graces you with a second chance—which you would be fucking idiotic not to want—don’t fuck it up.”

The high school gym was only a little over a quarter full, but the few people who were in attendance yelled and cheered loud enough to make up for the smaller crowd.

After paying my three-dollar entry fee, I took a seat in the middle of the bleachers on Ivy’s team’s side.

It was only halfway through the first set, and her team was leading by five points.

Ivy was dressed in black leggings and a gray T-shirt with the school’s name printed on the front. Her hair was set in twin French braids on either side of her head, and I was immediately thrust into the past.

She always wore her hair like that in high school. She said it was the easiest way to style it for volleyball or anything, really, because her hair was so long.

And that band around my heart tightened again.

One of her players stepped behind the end line and looked up to Ivy. With the clipboard blocking her hand, Ivy held up a number, which referred to a spot on the opposite side of the court and where the player should serve.

The whistle blew and the player served. The ball sailed over the net and into the back right corner. The poor girl shanked it, giving Ivy’s team the point.

They erupted into cheers, gathering in the middle of the court to slap hands and then returning to their positions.

Ivy’s team went on a four-point run before the other team got the ball back. The other team served, and Ivy’s team scored immediately. Their outside hitter hit the ball around the block and into a corner with no one covering it.

Ivy celebrated with her team and gave her assistant coach—who was constantly typing on a tablet, likely keeping stats—a high five before she told her player serving where to send the ball.

And that’s the way it continued. I watched Ivy effortlessly coach her team to victory. She called strategic time-outs and never became hotheaded or angry when they did, undoubtedly, make an error.

Her connection to the players on her team and their willingness to follow her lead was inspiring. Especially since it had only been a handful of weeks since the season started.

She’d always been an exceptional player, but I thought she made an even better coach.

I’d watched every single one of her college volleyball games. At least those that were televised. And she’d coached with the same passion and grace as she’d played with.

Their team swept their opponent, winning all three sets and the match.

The teams slapped hands under the next and the gym quickly emptied. Ivy led her team out a door and into what I assumed were the rest of the school and locker rooms.

A normal person would’ve just texted her and asked her to meet me in the gym or parking lot when she was done. But I assumed she still had me blocked, hence my spontaneous trip to find her.

And since she likely wouldn’t have responded to my text even if I wasn’t blocked, I headed down the steep bleacher stairs and through the same door they’d disappeared through. I also figured my odds were better if I showed up in person.

Unfortunately, the hallway was empty, and I had no idea where the hell to go. There was a sign on the door in front of me that indicated it was the girls’ locker room, which meant I was not going in there. A little farther down the hall was the boys’ locker room and another, smaller gym.

---