Page 63 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

I busy myself pulling together breakfast. The bacon is in the frying pan but I’m just going through the motions.

“When will Jake be home?” She lifts her head to peer at me.

“I’m not sure.”

I put waffles in the toaster and return to the bacon. The grease pops and splashes.

“Damn it.” I lick the hot spot on my hand that got burned. Dammit. Is the entire day going to be like this?

This is beginning to look like a Manic Monday and now I know exactly how Cindi Lauper felt when she wrote it. I feel like I’ve let Ellie down. I contemplate going back to bed to erase this terrible morning and tempt fate with a do-over.

I drop waffles on her plate, butter them, and drizzle syrup on top. I add a slice of reheated bacon and slide the plate to her.

She lacks her normal enthusiasm.

“Let me see your finger.”

She holds out her hand, and I carefully unwrap the Band-Aid from last night. The cut is small, but it’s still there—a tiny wound, just enough to make me ache with guilt.

Jake said it wasn’t a big deal. He handled it. And looking at it now, I know he was right. But all I can think about is how scared I was when I saw the first-aid kit on the table. I realize I snapped at him without stopping to breathe, or to give him a chance to explain before I went ballistic.

Ellie watches me with quiet eyes as I gently clean the cut and rebandage it. “Does it hurt?”

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

I force a smile. “Good. You need to eat before I take you to school.”

“I’m not hungry.” And as I observe her face, I see the same unease I feel in my gut.

I grab a cold waffle and nibble at it. I can’t blame Ellie for not eating. The waffle has the texture and taste of cardboard today. Or does it taste like shit because the man I want to be eating it with isn’t here?

Ellie manages to eat a few bites of food and eats her slice of bacon. I suppose it will do. We retreat to our rooms to dress for the day and meet in the foyer like normal but she’s not her talkative self.

The drive to school is quiet. Too quiet.

Usually, Ellie chatters the whole way—about what she’s going to do in art class, or what her friend Mia brought for lunch yesterday. But today?

Crickets.

She stares out the window, her little hands folded in her lap, her stuffed lion sitting in the seat beside her.

And suddenly, I hate feeling the way I do. Ihate the tension. I hate the unknown. I hate being out of control but Jake isn’t a man to be controlled. He’s strong and opinionated. He’s smart and loyal. And he really likes us. Perhaps he loves us. And he has all the qualities that make him an incredible catch and a fantastic dad. He’s the whole package.

So it makes the weight of last night sour even more in my stomach. I feel guilty for beating him up over nothing. And by acting hastily, this has affected Ellie. I am mad that this has fallen onto her small shoulders. She shouldn’t feel like she’s in the middle.

But she shouldn’t have to wonder if Jake is coming back, either. That’s on Jake.

And for that, I’m pissed. Jake should have left a note or texted me that he’ll be back later. I grip the wheel tighter, pretending it’s his neck. How dare he act like this? How can he leave us?

“Ellie, are you okay?”

She nods, but I don’t believe her. Her finger is fine but emotionally, she’s not herself.

I want to say more—to fix it, somehow—but I can’t. I don’t know what to fix because Jake is MIA. I pull up to the school and stop in the drop-off lane.

“Have a good day,” I tell her as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “I love you.”

She hesitates for half a second and then I hear her mumble, “I love you, too.”

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