Page 19 of The No Try Zone
He smiles brightly, punching the order in. “Sure thing, man. You like the Granite, huh?” He nods at my shirt, a new polo courtesy of the marketing department.
That, at least, gets a grin out of me. “Yeah. I’m the new head coach.”
“Gonna win the championship?”
“Sure hope so,” I tell him, a little surprised that the random barista at my neighborhood coffee shop knows enough about rugby to identify the city’s pro team and know we’re focused on the championship.
Maybe my luck hasn’t run out after all.
I grab my drink and head out to my car, which got a flat on the way down, thus giving me the absolute pleasure of changing a tire on I-85 in Virginia. In the rain. After unlocking the door, I lean in to put my coffee in the console and straighten back out, just in time to feel something hit the top of my head.
It’s…wet.
I look up. Not a cloud in the sky. But there is a trio of birds in the tree I parked beneath.
Fuck.
I walk around to the passenger side of my car and open the door to grab the spare napkins I keep stashed in the glove compartment. A gentle pat and inspection later, my worst fear is confirmed: I’ve been shat on by a bird.
“I get it,” I mutter up to the sky. “I promise. I truly, honestly get it.” I don’t know when the universe plans to stop punishing me for Vegas, but that night wasn’t supposed to happen. It was completely out of character for me, and I blame Sam’s eyes for everything. And her smile. And her laugh.
I do my best to get the bird shit out of my hair and double back to the coffee shop, aiming straight for the bathroom to wash it out, muttering the entire time.
Of course I get shit on by a bird. Of course I do.
I spend my entire life in control. One night –one night– I allow myself to have a little fun, and my worst nightmare happens.
That’s what I get, I suppose.
I look down at my bare ring finger. I pulled the ring off as soon as I left the room, but it wasn’t until I’d gone through security that I realized I still wore the necklace. The necklace that was incredibly important to Sam. The one that she’d almost certainly looked everywhere for, and didn’t find.
It’s been three weeks. Three weeks of waking up feeling guilty as hell for bailing. Three weeks of waiting with bated breath to see if the real paperwork is going to come from Vegas, and being relieved every day when it doesn’t show up. I’m beginning to think that maybe I – maybewe– dodged a bullet. But I can’t be certain, and since I can’t be certain, I have to keep proceeding like I’m married.
Married.
The word is terrifying. I have enough responsibility for my family as it is. Adding a wife to the mix? Impossible. Growing up, I knew the way my dad treated my mom was wrong. He was an alcoholic, she was his only target. I saw the way he dismissed and belittled her, kept her so tightly controlled that she had nothing for herself – no friends, no family, nothing but me, my sister, and my dad. From the outside, people thought we were the perfect little family. He died when I was fifteen from a massive heart attack, and while that was a blessing in a way, it threw us into a new world of hell, because my mom couldn’t function. She didn’t have a job, didn’t know how to pay the bills, could barely survive if she wasn’t being told what to do. The first year after he passed was bleak. And while Mom eventually found her footing as a receptionist, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis my sophomore year of high school. It came on hard, and it was one more wrench we weren’t prepared for.
Rugby was the one thing I counted on. The one time where I could simply be me, no matter what I was going through at home. The coaches always seemed to know what was going on at home, and while I never asked, it’s likely they did. Burlington was a pretty small town, all things considered, and in the end, the discipline of rugby changed my life even before my dad died. The game offered precision and rules, with clear cause and effect. It’s no wonder I leaned into a game that allowed me to focus my anger and frustration into something productive.
But once it was just the three of us, we were never what I would call safe. Always one emergency away from having to move out of the latest roach-infested apartment in the dead of night. We would never have been in that position if it weren’t for my dad. For the way he treated Mom, hiding behind the façade and safety of the rings on their fingers.
So, no. Marriage doesn’t help anyone. If anything, it’s a trap.
I shove all those thoughts and memories into the back of my head as I pull into the Granite’s parking lot. It’s a little surreal, if I’m being honest: two decades of keeping my head down, focusing on moving to the next step, following all the rules, being the guy that everyone knew would handle whatever got thrown at him, and it’s finally resulted in me being here. Five years as a head coach in the collegiate sphere, ten years as an assistant coach before that, and five years of full-on grunt work doing whatever was needed before that.
But I made it. Now, I just need to keep my life from imploding from a certain Vegas wedding. Because if I can do that, then I can help my mom and finally give my sister Erin a break. Maybe even move Mom down here, set her up in a little house that she can call her own. It’s only now that I’m making the kind of salary that even allows me to dream like this.Being head coach at the University of Vermont was wonderful, sure, but I wasn’t exactly rolling in the dough. I’m still not, but there’s a big enough difference in my income that it puts so much more of my dreams within reach.
My phone pings as I throw the engine into Park, so I fish it out of the cup holder and look down. Speak of the devil.
ERIN
Good luck on your first day of work, big brother!
I grin as I type back.
Hey thanks, sis. How’s things? How’s Mom?
ERIN
