Page 121 of Only in Your Dreams

“There’s no way I’m getting this job,” I mutter. “They’re the top team in their division. It’s the one and only job like this available in the city, unless you’re willing to work in baseball or hockey, or some other sport, which,” I pull a face, “no thank you. And I’ve got precisely zero experience in the field—”

“You’ve worked in data analysis for years, Mel.”

I wrinkle my nose. “At a bank. It says they’re open to applications without experience in sports, but it still feels like a longshot.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You’ve basically been doing this job with me for weeks,” he counters, nudging the Huskies playbook I’ve been working through this morning.

Right. He’s right.

I’ve always hated my job, but the faith Zac has put in me since I helped get him his first win makes it even harder to sit through my nine-to-five. The Huskies have won another two games in a row now. It’s the most useful I’ve felt in months, the most enthralled I’ve been with a career in stats since I graduated college.

Maybe the Huskies aren’t strictlymyteam, but me and Zac? We feel like a team lately. As hard as I’ve worked to get my confidence up, I still find myself slipping from time to time, though I do have more better days than bad ones. Zac never lets me spiral, though. He really was made to coach.

“You do realize my sole purpose would be to help your rival team win games, right? Tell them exactly how your players fall short?”

It’s the mark of the kind of man he is that Zac actually laughs at the thought. “Never said I’d make it easy on you. Besides, you know what else felt like a longshot, just a little while ago?”

“What?”

He flicks a strand of hair off my face. “You and me. I started off sleeping with one eye open, thinking you might strangle me before sunrise. And look how well it’s going.”

“That’s part of the plan. Lulling you into a false sense of security.” I stare at my phone. “Okay, I’ll apply. There’s no harm in it, right?”

I’ve seen this man smile countless times since I was fourteen. It’s as devastating today as it was then. I press a kiss to his cheek. “Here,” I mark off the last player stat I was eyeing in his playbook and slide it over to him, “have at it.”

Zac scans the columns of data, the stats I’ve highlighted among the opposing team statistics. “You’re a fucking genius, you know that? Forget the Knights. I’m about to fire my stats guy and roll you out a red carpet to a new office at UOB.”

A giggle escapes me, and I might call off whatever this relationship is just for the sake of never hearing that undignified sound come out of my mouth again. “No way. The next job I get, it’ll be on my own merit. Anyway, I’m sure not a single soul would think it’s suspicious you hired the woman you’re semi-sleeping with.”

He clicks his pen and starts scribbling furiously over a legal pad of paper, referring to my notes. “They can all semi-kiss my ass. Besides, they think you’re sleeping with Brooks fucking Attwood.”

The door behind us slides open with gusto, and a worse-for-wear Noah shuffles onto the porch, shielding his eyes from the mid-morning light. “Damn, who turned up the sun today?”

“That would be the makers of Coors Light, or whatever other trash beer you drink,” Zac says without looking up. “Is this the state you plan on showing up to your meeting with those scouts tonight?”

“The beauty of youth is that I bounce back quick. Give me a waffle and a hot shower, maybe some hair of the dog, and I’m good to go.” Noah drops into the chair facing mine, grunting as he goes down. His sandy hair is sticking up at all angles. He belongs on the cover of an early two-thousands rock album.

“Which scouts are you meeting with?” I ask, piling waffles on a plate for him.

“Ones for the Hornets in Florida. And the Rebels will be at our game on Friday.” He dips a finger in a waffle square and licks off the syrup. “I don’t know what good these meetings are, anyway, considering I’m not in a position to leave my mom—”

“Don’t,” Zac cuts in. He sets down his pen with careful precision. “Over my dead body will you squander away your talent because of your father. It’s not fucking happening.”

It’s not the first time Noah has brought this up, but it breaks my heart the same as it did the first time. The guilt and responsibility he feels for his mom, and protecting her from his father. It’s why he chose to go to UOB, when he could have had a full-ride anywhere else. Even when he stays here with us, he goes home to check on her every day.

“He’s right, you know,” I say as gently as I can. “Have you discussed it with your mom? I bet she’d say the same thing.”

“She does,” he admits. “She keeps saying she’ll divorce him, kick him out of the house, but that’s been her story for years. I wouldn’t feel right leaving her.”

Zac sits back in his chair. “You’ve been talking about playing for the Hornets since I’ve known you, and you have a real shot at it.”

“We could check on your mom, if it gives you the peace of mind to leave,” I chime in. And then pause awkwardly when I realize what I’ve just offered. Hard to do that when I don’t plan to be here much longer.

Zac averts his eyes. “I’d do that. I’d check on her.”

Noah runs a hand along his forehead, staring at Zac’s open playbook across the table. He looks far too tormented for a talented twenty-year-old just trying to figure out his life.

“Would you consider coming with me tonight?” he asks after a beat. “To meet the scouts.”

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