Page 66 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

I don’t know if he’s coming back.

And suddenly, I’m terrified Ellie might be right.

20

JAKE

I hesitate on the porch,my hand hovering over the door handle.

The light inside glows warm against the darkening sky, casting soft shadows against the curtains. They're having dinner. I can picture it—Ellie chattering away, Sam moving through the motions, both of them in the rhythm of their little world.

A world I’m still not sure I belong in.

How long should I stay?

The thought has been gnawing at me since Sam and I had it out the other night. I let my frustration get the best of me, which is understandable given the situation.

However, I meant every word I said, but that doesn’t make this any easier. We’re at a crossroads. Will Sam reach for me, or the security she surrounds herself with—the world where she refuses to let anyone in?

My good intentions do nothing to erase the disdain in her eyes when she looked at me—like I was the problem. I had no right to tell her how to raise her daughter. All I wanted was to be a part of their lives, not as a guest passing through it.

Maybe I’m moving too fast for her. Maybe I should slow down and give her space.

Or maybe I’ve been fooling myself all along and giving her the benefit of the doubt without thinking it through.

I exhale sharply and push the door open.

The smell of roasted chicken and warm bread drifts through the air, wrapping around me like a blanket. Sam is at the table, her head slightly bowed as she slices Ellie’s chicken into small bites. Ellie is swinging her legs under the table, humming to herself. They don’t notice me at first.

Then Ellie looks up, and her whole face lights up.

“Jake!” She drops her fork and launches herself from her chair so fast that Sam barely has time to react. Her little arms wrap tight around my waist, and I steady myself as if her overwhelming energy might topple me. I’m caught between relief and guilt. But there’s more to it than that.

I squeeze her back. “Hey, Peanut.”

My heart lurches in my chest as I glance at Sam.

When she finally lifts her gaze, it’s unreadable. She’s probably caught between relief and wondering where I’ve been all day. She doesn’t say anything.

I don’t know what I expected. A fight? A cold shoulder? The longer I stand, the more concerned I become. I’d be happy if she gave me a clue to tell me what her mood is.

Instead, she just goes back to cutting Ellie’s food.

My chest tightens.

I’m not sure which is worse—her anger, or this distance.

I clear my throat. "Mind if I sit?"

Ellie nods enthusiastically, dragging me toward the table before Sam can answer. I take the seat across from her, feeling like I just stepped into a room where the air is thinner and harder to breathe.

Sam doesn’t look at me. Not once.

Avoidance.

I expected coldness, but not this.

Ellie doesn’t seem to notice the tension, or maybe she does and is just determined to push through it.

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