Page 235 of Coach
Shane shook his head, his gaze drifting far away. “She never complained, never yelled. She just . . . faded, like the color draining out of a photograph. By the time I was sixteen, I realized she hadn’t laughed in years, not really, not a deep-in-your-belly laugh that fills a soul.”
“When did you leave?”
“As soon as I graduated high school,” he said in a whisper. “I told myself I was doing it for me, for something better, but I think I just couldn’t watchher disappear anymore.”
He looked down at his hands—those hands that built things, that held tools with precision and strength—and for a second, I saw the boy he must’ve been.
“We used to be so close,” he said, his voice somewhere in a past decade. “I think that might’ve been the last time I was close with anyone.”
I cocked my head. “You and Stevie seem close.”
That made him chuckle. “Stevie’s like a badass, uncontained ball of fire. In some ways, she’s like my sister, but we work together. There’s still a line there, you know?”
I shrugged, understanding—but not really.
“She’s great and all. I couldn’t run my shop without her, but she’s not family, not like . . . like what I saw the other night at trivia. Hell, you’re closer to your players than I am to anyone in my life—and they’re kids. I’m too messed up for anyone to want—”
I reached out and let my fingers brush his, then placed my hand over his.
His body stiffened, and his mouth clamped tight, but he didn’t pull away.
“She . . . Mom needed me, and I . . . I just left.” His voice cracked, breaking my heart with it. “I didn’t have to go . . . I just . . . couldn’t stay. I left her to carryit all by herself. And the worst part? I didn’t even look back or visit or offer to help. God, I’m awful.”
“Shane—”
“I’m sorry. God, Mateo . . . I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go into all that.” He blinked, then looked at me like he’d surprised himself.
“I’m glad you did.” I shook my head. “I like the man I’m learning about.”
His gaze intensified, a laser homing in on its target, then he exhaled like he’d been holding it for hours and let his eyes wander again. “I used to think I’d go back someday, make peace or prove something, maybe just help her out a little. I don’t know what I planned to do—or when, or how. I guess . . . I built something here instead.”
“With your own hands,” I said.
“Yeah, something that didn’t need fixing.” His eyes flicked up again. “Even if . . .”
I waited a heartbeat, leaning forward, into his space. “If what?”
A tiny boy answered, “If I still need to be fixed.”
The room went quiet again, not feeling heavy, just full.
The closing credits began crawling across the screen, and the stars, clearly drunk, were laughing and joking in the background.
Neither of us moved.
Was it inertia? The stillness of the moment? The weight of his words?
I’m not sure why he remained still, my hand atop his, but I wasn’t ready to lose the warmth of him next to me. He’d only begun to open up, to let me see inside his crusty shell, and I wasn’t ready for him to pull back into himself once more.
Chapter 26
Shane
Mateo sat beside me, still holding my hand, staring at the TV like it might suddenly offer a lifeline. A rerun ofCard Sharksnow played on the television, in all of its polyester suits and faux Vegas glory. Some guy named Terry had just guessed “lower” on a six. The host yelled his choice like it was the moon landing.
And me?
I was dying inside.
