Page 96 of Trusting You
“Listen,” I say before she can go on. “My buddies are on top of helping me figure out my career. You don’t need to take on the same responsibility.”
“You’re not an obligation,” she says.
“I’m fully aware I need to find something to support both myself and Lily once my cash runs out. I can’t live day-to-day forever, especially with a child. I’m aware of all of it, Carter.”
I’m on the defensive, but I can’t help it. If Carter’s questioning my ability to support Lily, if she’s worried I’ll fuck up as soon as she leaves…well. I snort. Of course, she is. That’s all she ever does. Not a day goes by when Carter doesn’t consider me a fuck up.
“I’m not scanning it for you every day thinking something will pop up,” she says. “I happened to be looking at it this morning while waiting for Pierce to finish my latte…”
Fucking Pierce…
“…and an ad caught my attention. It’s for the local high school. A part-time football coach.”
I frown, my defenses unclear on how much higher they should rise.
“And I’m only letting you know because I think it might be perfect. Lily could go into day care part of the day; you can coach nearby and still have a ton of time with her. At least,” she says, retreating under my silence, “that’s what I thought. I could be way off base. This is your life, your decision. I only…well, football’s something you love. Maybe this is a way to get some of it back. And now I feel like I’m yelling into a void. Locke, say something.”
Our pace has sped up, and I slow my steps as I register her scurrying beside me to keep up.
“I don’t know,” I say at last.
Because I really don’t. This girl, who claims I tell her nothing about myself, has taken it upon herself to find a type of career for me that really could work. Ash, Ben, East…they mean well, but they point to traditional routes, even though not one of the fuckers has one of those. Financial shit, hedge fund stuff, basically become a suit behind a desk since I was so good with numbers—on the field, anyway. But none thought to mention another route in football. Maybe they figured it’d hurt my feelings, send me spiraling, to have to watch other men take the field while I was benched on the sidelines. And that was a real concern.
Yet…the thought of coaching young athletes, of having them reach whatever potential they want, yeah. It’s easy for those imagined kids to morph into Lily in my mind, encouraging her to do whatever she wants—please be sports—being there for her when she goes down, helping her get back up.
Helping kids.
That sounds pretty fucking fantastic.
“It’s not an end game, but it could be a stepping stone,” Carter says, her voice barely a squeak. “Maybe a way to open the gates into professional football coaching, I don’t know. I’m not familiar with the inner workings of—”
“You did good, Carter.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” And I’m laughing at the shock of it. “I’ll call, schedule an interview.”
“Awesome!” Carter hooks my arm and squeezes, her breast coming close to my side, then predictably flies away once she realizes what she’s done.
I shake my head, but say nothing, since what she’s done is more of a gift than she’ll ever know.
* * *
The bar is packedby the time Carter and I arrive. It’s unusual for a Wednesday night, but I’m a moron.
I consistently forget the siren call of Easton Mack.
He’s acoustic tonight, but his usual gig is as a drummer in a well-known band, at least in these parts, called Nocturne Court. But they’re gaining traction outside of Brooklyn at warp speed. Whispers of a record deal circle, and so do the ladies.
“Wow,” Carter says when I open the door, and she ducks under my arm. She echoes my thoughts. “Isn’t it, like, five p.m.?”
I nod while pointing to the bar. “My buddy, East, remember him?”
After a second, she says, “Yeah, except I nicknamed him Enigma in my head since he said nothing when I met him that one time, and therefore I know zilch about him.”
I bark out a laugh. “Typical East fashion. The dude doesn’t talk unless it’s necessary.”
Carter raises her brows. “I guess I wasn’t necessary.”