Page 152 of The Girlfriend Zone

For several interminable seconds, Coach McBride doesn’t move. He doesn’t move a single goddamn muscle on his face. And I have no clue what that means because he has the best poker face I’ve ever seen. Then he says, “Excuse me.”

That’s it. Justexcuse me—and he walks away, heading down the hall. Leighton’s mom has the decency to look mildly chagrined as she says to her daughter, “I’ll check in with you soon about the wedding photos,” then disappears the other way.

Leighton doesn’t answer her.

I don’t know what to say.

My world is cratering. He might be trading me. But the fact that he might be mad at his daughter is what matters most. I look at Leighton. Then I follow him, catching up quickly with her right behind me.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but it’s true. I’m crazy about your daughter?—”

Coach holds up a stop-sign hand. “I am not interested in hearing about your emotions right now. I am disappointed in you—no, disappointed doesn’t even begin to cut it,” he says, his voice ice cold, like a knife’s steel edge in winter.

Holy shit. I can’t believe I’d thought this would be easy. I can’t believe I was such a fool, thinking the fact that I’ve had a good relationship with him means anything. I’d thought him being a good guy would matter. But the problem isn’t him—it’s me. I pride myself on being a good guy. But I didn’t act like one.

I swallow roughly, past the knot of shame in my throat. “I’m sorry, sir,” I say, but that hardly cuts it. That doesn’t do a damn thing to cover up my grave mistake.

Then he turns to the woman I love. “I am more hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me you had fallen for someone. Haven’t I taught you that you can come to me for anything?”

Her eyes rim with tears, and she rolls her lips together, trying so hard—vainly—to hold them in. But one falls. “You have, and I’m so sorry,” she says, and she sounds like she’s breaking. All I want to do is hold her so she doesn’t have to fall apart alone.

But he’s not done with me either.

He points a finger my way, and it feels like I’ve been stabbed as he says, “And you—why didn’t you have the guts to come to me and say, ‘I’m involved with your daughter. Deal with it.’”

I flinch. He’s not wrong. “You’re right, sir. That’s what I should’ve done.”

“Damn right that’s what you should’ve done. And nowyou’re going to get your ass on the bus. I’m finished with you.”

Chastened beyond words, I turn around. Shame crashes over me like a wave, but underneath that is something sharper—a deeper ache. I’ve always wanted to do right by Coach McBride. I owe him. He turned my career around when I needed it most, and I’ve spent years trying to prove I deserved that chance.

Now I feel like I’ve lost his respect, and honestly, I probably have. It shouldn’t hurt this much—but it does. It feels like someone I care about is walking away, and it hits me square in the chest, raw and familiar. Because I’ve felt this before—when my dad walked out and left us behind. When someone you look up to turns away, it doesn’t just hurt. It hollows you out.

Behind me, Leighton’s voice cuts through the quiet. “I’m so sorry. I came to the office today to tell you, Dad. I wanted you to know. That’s why I was there. That’s why I texted you. That’s why I wanted to have breakfast with you.”

“I can’t talk about this right now. We’ll handle this when I’m home. Good night, Leighton,” he says, more stoic than I’ve ever seen.

Then, he’s gone, up the stairs, and I rush back to her. Leighton’s hands cover her face, tears streaking her cheeks. My heart shatters.

“Sweetheart,” I say, desperate for words. All my schooling, all my talk of learning from my mistakes, and I’ve come up empty. Only that won’t do. I’ve got to do right by her. I reach for her hands, peel them off her eyes. “We’ll figure it out. I promise. Can I call you tonight when we land?”

She sniffs, swiping at her cheeks. “Go. Focus on playing. Don’t worry about me.”

“But Idoworry about you.”

“I don’t deserve it,” she chokes out. “I ruined everything. I acted like my mother. This was awful, and it’s all my fault.”

“Leighton, it’s not. This blew up—it’s too much for anyone.”

“Itismy fault,” she insists, her voice ragged. “I ruined it for you. For him. For us all. And now this talk of a?—”

She doesn’t say the wordtrade,but it hangs between us like a curse. My chest tightens. I want to tell her we’ll figure that out too. But what the hell do my assurances mean anymore? I’m supposed to be the calm, steady hand. Lot of good that did.

And while her words gut me, I don’t want to make anything worse. “The whole thing…it just…” I drag a hand through my hair, searching for something to say to make it better.

But I find nothing.

“Go.” Her tone softens but still cracks. “You need to play well tomorrow. It’s an important game, and I can’t ruin things more.”

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