Page 11 of The Perfect Love

Nick: You’re stalling.

Me: You don’t even know why I’m asking.

Nick: Irrelevant. If you’re asking me to give you a push, it’s because it’s something you want to do. Since I’m not there to hold your hand, you’ll just have to be brave and do it on your own.

Me: Like you’d hold my hand.

Nick: Yeah, no. That’s reserved for when you’re almost dying in the hospital. Right now, I’d give you a shove. Or drag you by the ear.

Me: Leigh’s rubbing off on you.

Me: Do NOT make a sex joke about your wife. She’ll know and yell at both of us.

Nick: Then stop texting me and go do the thing. Seize the day. Carpe diem. Hakuna matata. Live laugh love. Insert applicable mantra here.

I laugh at that. That’s what I wanted when I texted him—for him to pull me out of my head.

Nick can act like a five-year-old to cheer me up and get me out of my head, or he can settle in for a lengthy conversation about the complexities of life. It’s what makes us such good friends. And he’s always shown up for me whenever I need him.

Me: Okay, you’ve convinced me.

Nick: Excellent timing because a toddler meltdown is imminent, and I need to go.

Me: Have fun with that.

Nick was a teen dad, but life worked out how it was supposed to for him. He and his wife are insanely in love, and he’s a great dad. I almost envy him. Not the teen pregnancy part, but how happy he is with his life. He proves every day that it doesn’t matter if you’re young, you can find your person and start a beautiful life with them.

And that’s enough sappiness for me this morning.

As if I’m running from those thoughts, my feet start moving and I finally make it through the doors of the building. The coach’s office is easy enough to find, and I quickly knock on the door before I can second-guess myself.

“Come on in.”

I push the door open and see Coach M behind his desk. I saw him from a distance last year when I came up for a couple of games, but I’ve never met him before. Aaron mentioned me to him, though, so I’m not showing up out of the blue.

He looks up, his piercing gaze instantly connecting with mine, sizing me up. I stand tall, letting him break eye contact first.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so. My name’s Trevor Matteny, Aaron—”

“Ah, Cooper’s friend. He mentioned you’d be stopping in. Come sit.”

Coach M is in his late forties with a serious look in his eyes, but the laugh lines around his mouth tell me it’s all a hard-ass coach act.

“Thanks for meeting with me.”

“No problem. So, Aaron didn’t tell me much about you, only that playing isn’t an option anymore, but you’d like to be involved with the team in some way.”

“That’s the gist. I was playing D1 ball for Syracuse and was supposed to be looking forward to the draft about now, but my dumb ass went snowboarding with my friend in January and bounced off a few trees.”

“And the doctors were definitive about you not playing again?”

“There’s only so much rehabbing you can do with a fully replaced knee, a partially replaced hip, and an entire leg that’s held together by rods and pins. Moving boxes the other day took me out, so anything beyond a pick-up game with my friends is out for me.”

He nods slowly. “I’m sorry to hear that, and I understand the desire not to lose something that’s woven into who you are. It’s why I offered Aaron the coaching position. What exactly are you looking for? I don’t have any paid coaching positions available, but I’ll always take volunteers.”

“I don’t know exactly. I’m studying sports management now, and I guess I was thinking—well, I was thinking I’d take whatever I can get. Ideally, I’d like to see the behind the scenes of the team, maybe? Something working with you or the other coaches. And yeah, I’d love to be involved with practices and stuff. I don’t need anything paid, but the locker room, the field, the game calls to me. I’m not ready to leave it behind.”

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