Page 73 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

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JAKE

The house smellslike lavender and something sweet—maybe the vanilla candles Sam always lights when she’s trying to relax. It’s warm, too, the kind of warmth that doesn’t just come from a heater—but from the love of people inside. Samantha’s in the kitchen, barefoot, moving in that methodical way she does, everything precise, structured. She’s always in control. Meanwhile, Ellie’s sprawled on the floor with her markers and a stack of paper, her little brow furrowed in concentration as she colored in her coloring book.

My spot is on the couch, stretched out, one arm behind my head, watching them both. Watching the scene around me, the one that I never expected to be part of, moves me and now I don’t know if I can walk away from it.

I should be relieved when my phone buzzes. I already know what the call is about before I even answer. It’s the one I’ve been waiting for, the one I’ve been working toward since the injury. But as I sit up and swipe to answer, a pit settles in my stomach.

“Yeah?” I keep my voice low, getting up and moving toward the window.

“Jake, your scan is fine and you’re in the clear.” The doctor’s voice is full of satisfaction. “You have made a full recovery and you’re back for the fall lineup.”

I exhale slowly, gripping the back of the couch as I stare out into the darkness beyond the glass. There it is. The open door. The chance to reclaim everything I lost.

And yet, my gut twists.

“You still there?”

“Yeah,” I say, but it doesn’t even sound like my voice.

“You good? I figured you’d be celebrating.”

“I am,” I say automatically, but I can’t even convince myself.

I should be relieved. I should be ecstatic.

Instead, I glance over my shoulder. Ellie’s still coloring, her little mouth moving as she hums some song. Samantha is wiping down the counters, tucking away the last remnants of dinner. Neither of them are looking at me. My chest tightens.

“Jake, you worked your ass off for this,” my doctor reminds me. “You deserve to be back out there.”

I know. I do.

I showed up at appointments and went to physical therapy as directed, but that was the easy part. The mental anguish was hell.

But when I glance back, I see Samantha hesitating at the sink, her posture just a little too still.

Shit.

“Thanks for calling,” I say and my voice lowers.

I hang up before he can say anything else.

And just like that, the weight of my future comes crashing down on me when I hear Ellie sniffle. It’s the sound she makes when she’s trying to be brave and not cry like the night she cuther finger.

I turn.

She’s hugging the lion cub stuffed animal I won for her at the fair, gripping it so tight her little fingers are turning white. Her eyes were wide, glassy, and locked onto me with a kind of devastation I wasn’t prepared for.

She looks at Sam, then back at me. “You’re leaving,” she whispers.

I freeze.

Samantha’s already moving, crouching down next to Ellie, her hands gentle on her shoulders. “Baby, no, you don’t know that?—”

“But I do!” Ellie chokes out. “I heard it. He said he’s going back. That’s what he wants, right?” Her tiny voice cracks. “He’s leaving us.”

I take a step forward, but Ellie shrinks back, hugging the stuffed lion to her chest like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

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