Page 36 of Courtside

She smiled at them, gesturing for them to sit in the two chairs in front of her desk. “Mornin’, gentlemen,” she said, her strong Southern accent shaping her words. “Come on in and have a seat.”

Connie Brown scared the shit out of David. While she was undeniably nice, she was unrelenting in her desire to build a winning sports program, and from his first conversation with her it had been made abundantly clear that, if he wanted a lasting career at Southeastern, he needed to produce wins.

Once he and Tim sat down, Connie folded her hands under her chin and looked between the two of them. “It’s not lookin’ good,” she stated.

David looked over at Tim, only to find him watching David with slightly raised brows.Wonderful. He’d be no damn help.Turning back to Connie, David straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I know. We are doing what we can to turn it around — pushing the guys harder, adding practice time, working to find the plays that work within their skillset.”

Connie’s expression remained impassive. “David, we hired you because every single one of your references mentioned how good you were with player development. Not just skill development, but building trust and relationships with these kids.” She grabbed a stack of papers from her desk, shaking them in their direction. “These stats? They’re the result of a fractured team. Everyone can see it.” Tossing the papers to the side, she looked David dead in the eye. “Do what you were hired to do. Build up these boys and you will build up your team.”

He started to open his mouth to respond, but thought better of it.

Standing up, he extended a hand out to Connie. Her handshake was strong. As she shook Tim’s hand, she added, “I’m rootin’ for you both. Don’t disappoint me.”

The two men were quiet as they walked back to David’s office. Tim followed him in, shutting the door behind them. David groaned as he collapsed into his chair, rubbing at his face with his hands before reaching for the cold cup of coffee on the corner of his desk.

“You don’t need that, Coach,” Tim commented.

David scowled at the older man, but took his advice and reached for the half-empty water bottle instead. He drained it all, and then tossed it at the trash can that stood by the door.

Of course he missed.

He got up, picked up the bottle and threw it into the trash with a bit more force than was necessary.

When he sat back down, Tim was looking at him, his expression more thoughtful than usual.

“What,” David asked, uncaring in that moment if he came off as sharp. It was all feeling like a bit too much at the moment, and his give-a-shits had all abandoned him.

Tim shrugged, crossing his arms. “I’m just wondering what the plan is.”

“The plan?” David barked out a pained laugh. “I don’t know. I’m executing my plan, trying to get the guys to listen to me, but it’s like they don’t buy in. They don’t trust me.”

“Maybe they don’t trust you because they don’t know you,” Tim offered.

“What do you mean they don’t know me? I’m there with them. I talk. They get to see my ugly mug almost every day.”

Tim shook his head. “But they don’t know you.” He went quiet for a moment, as though considering what to say next. David waited for him to continue, drumming his fingers against the desk. “You know, as an assistant, we spend a lot of time getting to know the guys. It’s almost like it’s in our job description.Be approachable, be the good guy who they can talk to.But they’ve got to have that with you, too. Of course it’s your job to do all of the X’s and O’s, but they’ve got to respect you, and ultimately, that has to be earned.”

David had never heard Tim talk so much in all the months they’d been working together. He couldn’t quite figure out how to feel about the sudden onslaught of opinion from his otherwise tight-lipped assistant.

“So how am I supposed to earn their respect?” David asked, resigned to the fact that if he survived this day, he would probably come out of it without an ounce of his pride or dignity intact.

“I can’t tell you that,” Tim said. “But like Connie said, if it was what you were good at before, then figure it out. The guys need it. Hell,weneed it.”

And David didn’t know what to say to that. He was the head coach. It was his job to make it happen: the wins, the player development, the team chemistry. It was on him, on his shoulders, and Tim couldn’t possibly understand what that pressure was like. He was trying so goddamn hard to do it all, and it wasn’t working.

If what they needed was more — more time, more energy, more attention, he would give it.

He’d find a way.

* * *

That evening’s practice was a shit-show.

They were scrimmaging, with the current starters in white and the second five against them in black.

David was running them through a half court trap that focused on picking off the cross-court reversal pass, but Chris Terrence, who was playing the middle spot, wasn’t fast enough to hover in the middle and then make it to steal the pass.

“It’s not working, Coach.” Jordan Peak, one of their captains, turned to David and Tim after yet another successful play from the offense broke through their trap.

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